Face Off

by Brenda Novak

  She had her mind on that, so when James came into her office while she was packing up to leave and asked when they could schedule Mary Harpe for some of their studies she tried to put him off until she was prepared to deal with that.

  “Let’s give her a chance to settle in first,” she told the neurologist as she slid files into her briefcase. She probably wouldn’t have time to update them—due to what she hoped to accomplish with those manifests—but she was taking them home, anyway.

  “Why?”

  She heard the slight whine in his voice and couldn’t help being irritated. “Because I haven’t even gotten a feel for her yet. There’s no rush.”

  “For crying out loud, Evelyn! What difference does getting ‘a feel for her’ make?”

  “I don’t know. I guess…” She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I’m too distracted right now, not ready to make a decision.”

  “You’ve been distracted a lot lately.”

  She closed her briefcase. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Rumor has it you’re thinking of leaving Hanover House.”

  With a sigh, she rested her hands on top of her briefcase. She hadn’t made that announcement to the mental health team because she wasn’t sure what she was going to do. Nothing had been finalized. “I have some personal issues that I might have to attend to. But nothing’s been decided quite yet.”

  “If you do leave, who’ll take the lead here at Hanover House?”

  She lifted her eyebrows. “Are you hoping to replace me?”

  “Someone will have to do it. Why not me? I feel I’m the most qualified.”

  “Except that you’re always talking about leaving yourself. What about your wife? I thought she hated Alaska.”

  “She can hold out.”

  Suddenly Annie could be tough? He’d acted as though he was on the verge of quitting so many times. “Provided you have sufficient power here?”

  “If I have power over my own career and can actually publish my findings, it’d be worth it.”

  Evelyn checked the clock. It was five fifteen. She’d told Amarok she’d make dinner and didn’t want to be late in case he was hungry. “James, I can’t deal with this right now. I promise, when things calm down, we’ll have a meeting, and we’ll discuss everyone’s goals and desires, as well as their limitations.”

  “And when do you think that’ll happen?”

  “James, I—” She caught herself before she snapped at him. “Look, I found out today, only a few hours ago, that Jasper is indeed in the area.”

  He seemed taken aback. “You did?”

  “Yes. So forgive me if I’m a bit scattered or abrupt. You’d be a little rattled, too, if the person who’d slit your throat and left you for dead twenty-two years ago—and tried to kill you again far more recently—had come back to finish the job.”

  “I’m sorry. But you haven’t even mentioned that, so how was I to know?”

  “I’m coping as best I can. I need you to do the job you were hired to do and be patient a little while longer.”

  “Okay. But if you do decide to leave, will you put my name forward with Janice?”

  Evelyn couldn’t believe his self-interest but managed to refrain from firing him on the spot. “I’ll think about it,” she said, and slipped past him on her way out. She knew she should also alert the rest of the team to Jasper’s presence and probably should’ve done that first thing. But she could feel the clock ticking. If they couldn’t come up with some way to identify who Jasper was so they could catch him, nothing else—at least for her—would ever matter again.

  * * *

  Bambi had kicked off her high heels and left them in the car, so her feet were freezing. “Hurry up. I can’t even feel my toes!”

  Mason Anderson, one of the bartenders who worked with her at Dick’s, was hunched over the lock on Andy Smith’s back door while she stood behind him, keeping an eye out to make sure they weren’t going to get caught. “I’m working as fast as I can. Would you like to try it?”

  “If I could do it myself, I wouldn’t need you,” she muttered, but she’d never have come back here alone. There was something about Andy Smith that’d frightened her the last time she’d seen him, some … evil in his eyes he’d managed to hide before. Remembering how he’d looked at her—with such loathing and disgust—right before he slammed the door in her face still gave her goose bumps. She wasn’t sure why he’d relented and thrown that twenty at her, but she could tell it had nothing to do with compassion.

  “If you don’t get us in soon, we’ll have to give up.” She was too nervous, felt as though she was about to have a heart attack.

  “Shut up!” he snapped. “I’m almost there.”

  She’d told Mason that Andy Smith had some crystal meth in his house. She wasn’t positive, but she’d been so angry when Andy turned her away empty-handed that she’d complained about him to Mason the next day—and that was when they’d hatched this plan. She couldn’t recant, but she wouldn’t need to. She and Mason would take other things if they didn’t find the drugs they wanted. Once they sold that stuff, they could buy their own meth. As far as she was concerned, Andy deserved what they were doing to him.

  “Here we go.” Mason put his shoulder to the door as he turned the handle.

  They both rushed inside. He went straight for Andy’s big-screen TV, since that was the most obvious item of value, while she hurried down the hall to the bedroom and dug through the dresser drawers and an open suitcase she found on one side of the bed.

  She could hear Mason coming toward her even before he appeared in the doorway. “Anything?”

  “No. Nothing.”

  He propped his meaty fists on his hips. He had dark hair, almost black eyes and a pockmarked face. Bambi thought he tried to compensate for that in the weight room. She suspected he also took steroids, because he was almost too muscle-bound. “Where could he keep his shit? Did you check that suitcase?”

  “Of course.”

  “Looks like he’s going somewhere,” he mused.

  “Good riddance. That’s all I can say.”

  “He’d take his dope.”

  “I’m telling you, there’s nothing in there. What he gave me when I was here before he got out of his top drawer, but I’ve already looked there, too.”

  “Damn it.” Mason went into the kitchen, where, from the sound of it, he was slamming cupboards and emptying out drawers, and she moved on to Andy’s bathroom.

  There was nothing particularly interesting in the medicine cabinet—just a box of rubbers, nail clippers, Q-tips and antiseptic. Under the sink he had the usual—plus a box of hair bleach, which was odd given that Andy had dark hair.

  “Damn it! I’m not finding anything!” Mason yelled out to her.

  “You got his TV. That’s something!” she called back.

  “I’m taking his laptop, too.”

  “Where’d you find that?”

  “Right here on the kitchen table.”

  She didn’t care what he took. She grabbed the shampoo out of the shower and squeezed it all over Andy’s bed, carpet and the clothes she’d dumped out of his drawers. “Take that, you pompous asshole.”

  Mason stood in the doorway. “What are you doing?”

  She tossed the bottle on the bed. “Having a little fun.”

  “Let’s get out of here. There’s nothing else worth staying for.”

  She handed him a watch and a ring she’d taken from the counter in the bathroom. “There’s this.”

  “I don’t want this shit. It’s too easy to identify.” He gave it back, so she kept it herself. She wouldn’t pawn it. The cops would be able to trace it that way. She’d give it to her younger brother.

  “Come on,” Mason said, an impatient edge to his tone.

  As she followed him to the living room, she noticed a door that hadn’t been opened. “Where does this go?”

  “I have no idea. I didn’t even see it until now.”

  She
turned the knob only to find it locked. “This could be where he keeps his meth.”

  “In a linen closet?”

  “Why not? Besides, maybe it’s not a closet. Can you open it?”

  Mason peered out the front windows.

  “Anyone coming?”

  “No.”

  “So? Should we see what’s in here or not?”

  “We’ve come this far.…” He pulled the tools he’d used to pick the lock on the back door from his coat pocket.

  Bambi could feel her heartbeat vibrating through her whole body. She wanted to flee before they could get caught, but she was intrigued by what might be behind this door. “I don’t think it’s a closet. I think it’s a basement or something.”

  “Probably. But why the lock?”

  “Maybe he cooks his own meth.”

  It took Mason only a few moments to get the door open. His hands weren’t shaking quite as badly as when they’d been standing outside in the cold and could easily have been spotted by a neighbor.

  “You’re amazing!” she exclaimed. “And I was right. This is a basement.”

  She hurried down. Mason turned on the light before she could descend into utter darkness and quickly followed.

  Instead of the damp, musty odor one might expect, she smelled fresh-cut wood. Someone had been building down here. She could see only a cement floor until she went low enough, but then a room came into view. That wasn’t so unusual for a basement, she supposed, but everything else she saw certainly was.

  She came to an abrupt stop. “Holy shit! What is this?”

  Mason was a step behind her. Because he was taller, it took longer for him to be able to see the room, but he ducked down when she spoke—and froze, too. “It looks like a fucking torture chamber!”

  “It is a torture chamber. What else could it be?” Bambi gazed in shock at the whips on the wall, the chains coming out of the floor, the bondage bed, the many different kinds of restraints—and the knives. There were all kinds of implements designed to inflict pain and suffering. “I knew he was into S and M, but this is way over-the-top.”

  “He didn’t bring you down here, did he?”

  “Of course not. I would’ve known about it then, wouldn’t I? What’s this?” She picked up a metal hook-like object dangling from a chain.

  “It’s a pussy hook,” he said. “A friend of mine showed me one once.” He started to retrace his steps. “I’m getting out before he comes back and locks us in.”

  “Wait! What’s this?”

  As she crossed over to what she’d found, he turned. “What’s what?”

  “It’s a shrine or something.”

  Although he hesitated, he eventually approached the far corner area where she was standing and gaping at the pictures and newspaper articles affixed to the wall.

  “There have to be fifty photographs here,” he said, marveling at the display.

  Some candles and flowers, even jewelry, were stacked on a small stand beneath the photos, but it was the photos that drew Bambi’s attention. “They’re all of the same woman.”

  Mason smoothed out a newspaper article that still had the headline attached. “Evelyn Talbot.”

  “Dr. Evelyn Talbot,” she corrected, reading from a different newspaper clipping. “She’s the psychiatrist who started the prison where Andy works.”

  “Hanover House. In Hilltop.”

  “Yeah, the one with all the psychopaths and serial killers.”

  “That gives me chills.” He took her arm, but she pulled away so she could smooth out the other clippings that were beginning to curl at the edges. Someone—presumably Andy—had circled certain phrases. “Renowned psychiatrist,” “determined to unlock the secrets of the psychopathic mind,” “these men feel no conscience, no need to restrain their baser desires.” He’d also scribbled out one particular name wherever it appeared—Sergeant Benjamin Murphy.

  Some articles hadn’t come from a regular newspaper. They’d been taken from the Internet. A lot of the pictures had, too. There was even a Wikipedia entry giving information on Evelyn Talbot, where she was born, what she’d experienced and the path of her career. “Why would Andy have collected all of these?” she asked. “And why would he care enough to display them—as if … as if she’s all he can think about?”

  “You said he works at the prison, so he knows her,” Mason responded. “He’s obviously obsessed with her.”

  “Look. Here’s a clipping about Kat’s body being found.”

  Mason hadn’t worked with Kat. He didn’t know her like Bambi did, but he knew of her, since the police had questioned all the bartenders, too. “Why would he keep that?”

  “Maybe he’s the one who killed her—”

  “That’s it.” He started to drag her away. “We’re out of here.”

  “Oh my God! Did I sleep with a murderer? Kat’s murderer?” she cried, sickened by the thought that the hands that had touched her had also taken a life.

  “I don’t care.”

  “How can you not care?” she asked as he yanked her across the floor. “He’s got a lot of weapons. He’s dangerous. Someone should know.”

  “Yeah, someone should know, but we’re not going to be the ones to say anything. Do you want to get busted for breaking and entering?”

  “No…”

  He gestured with his free hand. “Then you’ll forget all of this.”

  Once he got her as far as the stairs, he didn’t need to prod her anymore. What she’d seen terrified her. Sweat rolled down her back even though the place wasn’t even close to being warm. “He’s a serial killer!

  “Mason?” she said when he didn’t respond. But he continued to ignore her. He was too intent on making sure they got out of there to bother with anything else.

  * * *

  Jasper pulled right into Evelyn’s drive and got out. After all, he’d been invited to the house by none other than Amarok. Amarok had even taken Makita with him. That left only Evelyn’s cat to defend her, and the cat wasn’t going to do anything.

  Everything was proceeding according to plan, except that Amarok already had the damn airline manifests. Jasper had thought it would take longer to get hold of those and to go through the information they contained. But what Amarok had said to Phil—that Phil should stay until he was finished—indicated that they were closing in on what they were looking for.

  Jasper had to act fast, he decided, much faster than he’d planned, which made him angry. Damn it! Amarok was a constant thorn in his side, making everything more difficult.

  While he waited on the front porch, he recalled his visit to the trooper post and all the crap he’d handed Phil after Amarok had left—the fake description of the man pumping the gas, the fake description of the supposed “victim” and the vehicle itself. Phil had, no doubt, fed the same pile of horseshit to Amarok. That should’ve been funny. Amarok was so set on capturing him he’d raced off after the mysterious man driving the Ford Excursion. He’d fallen for it all, but Jasper wasn’t laughing.

  This contest between them … Jasper was no longer so convinced he’d win. He wouldn’t have nearly as much lead time as he’d imagined when he left his suitcase and computer at home. He should’ve brought them to work, so he wouldn’t need to go back to Anchorage. He’d thought of that, of course, had wanted to bring them so he’d have more time if he did get into trouble. But because of the murders, everyone was looking at everyone else so closely in Hilltop, he’d decided, at the last minute, that it wouldn’t be wise. If he had a suitcase in his truck, people would start asking if he was about to leave town. His vehicle was inspected whenever he went in and out of the prison.

  In hindsight, that would’ve been better than having to take off without his shit, but what was done was done, he told himself as he stepped out to peer down the road. He needed to get into a more positive mood. Needed to shake off his anger. Amarok had already cost him the months and months he’d planned to enjoy torturing Evelyn in his basement. Amarok woul
d not cost him the pleasure of killing her tonight.

  Closing his eyes, he imagined how it would all go. Once Evelyn arrived, he’d smile and joke with her as he followed her up the walkway. She’d welcome him; they were friends, after all. Getting in the house wouldn’t be hard. Then he’d come up behind her as she set her keys on the counter or turned away to get him a drink, and that was when she’d learn how very close he’d been for almost a year.

  He imagined her crying and whimpering for Amarok to save her, imagined telling her that Amarok would never be able to make it back in time, since that was true. And finally, after years of craving the taste of her, he’d grab her by the hair and force her to kiss him, a deep, openmouthed, messy kiss in which he bit her and licked her to his heart’s content. He’d force her to do a lot of other things, too—things she’d consider much more degrading than that. He’d fulfill all his greatest fantasies. But he’d do it in less than an hour. At the end, he’d kill her and be done with it, move on to a new life in Mexico. To hell with those manifests! He’d be gone before Phil could figure out that Andy Smith was Jasper Moore and sound the alarm.

  From force of habit, he looked at his wrist to check the time, but he’d forgotten his watch at home when he thought he was going to be late for work. He’d realized it while he was at the prison earlier—another annoyance. Fortunately, since he’d left work, he’d been able to rely on the digital clock in this truck, so it didn’t matter.

  He walked back to his vehicle and turned the key so he could see what time it was. Five thirty. Evelyn should be here any minute.

  Closing his door, he looked up and down the street again. Then he smiled.

  There she was, he thought as her headlights appeared at the corner.

  * * *

  He was too late. Jasper wasn’t anywhere along Nektoralik Road. Amarok wasn’t sure what Andy Smith had seen, but the woman Amarok found in the shack behind the Barrymore cabin wasn’t a fresh kill. She couldn’t have been the person who sat up and pressed her hands against the window of the Excursion Andy had spotted at the gas station. There was no rigor mortis. Even with the cold slowing decomposition, rigor typically eased after twenty-four hours. And something else was strange. What rigor mortis Amarok could see indicated the woman had been in an entirely different position at the time of death. According to the blood patterns on her naked body, she’d been lying on her side, not her back. That told him she’d been killed elsewhere and dumped here.