They Thought He was Safe

by P. D. Workman

  Dougan’s head turned toward him, but Zachary continued to look at the ceiling, not responding to Dougan’s attempt to make eye contact. Dougan shifted in his seat and looked back away from Zachary.

  “He says he didn’t have anything to do with Philippe’s disappearance, and I’m inclined to believe him. He was skilled enough that he would have been able to take Philippe without tipping the others off. But Philippe and Nando Gonzalez and all of the rest of them? He couldn’t be responsible for all of them disappearing.”

  “Unless Nando was freaked out when Philippe disappeared and got everyone out of there before the police could come looking for another missing man.”

  “Could be,” Dougan allowed, “but I’m inclined to believe what Teddy Archuro says. I think if he’d taken Philippe, he would have been happy to admit it. That seems to be his response on all of his other accomplishments.”

  Zachary breathed a sigh of relief. That was one thing, anyway. He hadn’t pushed Teddy into eliminating Philippe. He didn’t know how he would forgive himself if his investigation had caused the boy’s death.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  “I

  want to go home.”

  Mr. Peterson had been surprised to find Zachary sitting up, waiting for the clothes that he had requested, eager to get out of the hospital.

  “I don’t know if that’s a good idea. You need some recovery time.”

  “Not here. I don’t want to be here; I want to go home.”

  “Well, I suppose we can keep an eye on you there…”

  “No. Back to my apartment.”

  He saw the hurt in his former foster father’s face and knew that he’d said the wrong thing, or said it the wrong way.

  “It’s not because of you,” he assured Lorne, “I just want… the reason I was here was to find Jose, or to find out what had happened to him. I’ve done that. I need to go back to my other work. I don’t want… everything that has happened here. I don’t want to be reminded about it every time I turn around.”

  “I can understand that. But I’m concerned. You’re still hurt. A lot has happened. I think you need some support.”

  “I have a therapist and friends, and I can still call you. Pat can set up Skype and we can talk face-to-face, just like if I was still there.”

  “That would be nice. I’d like to hear from you more than I do.” Mr. Peterson’s mouth thinned into a straight line. “Zach… do you want to talk about it? I don’t think we should… pretend that nothing happened.”

  “No.”

  “You should talk to someone. It doesn’t have to be me, if that would be uncomfortable. But you need to work it out. Get some counseling, a support group.”

  “I will.”

  He saw that he had answered too quickly. Mr. Peterson didn’t believe it. Zachary motioned to Mr. Peterson’s bag.

  “I need to get changed.”

  Without a word, his old friend handed the bag over. Zachary couldn’t help flinching when Mr. Peterson’s hand moved toward him with it. An alarmed tightening of all of his muscles. He swallowed and took the bag.

  “Thanks. Be right back.”

  In the small hospital bathroom, he leaned for a minute on the sink, taking long, even breaths and pushing the panic away. There was no reason to be anxious. He was going home, where he could be alone and relax. He could catch up on the routine investigative work that he had let slide while he had been looking into Jose’s disappearance.

  Zachary made himself move. He pulled on the clothes, relieved to have his body properly covered again. The loose, thin hospital johnny had made him feel too much like he was still naked. He felt more secure dressed like a real person. Like he could go back to his former life without a hitch.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  H

  is phone was ringing yet again. Zachary had been turning it off for a couple of hours at a time in order to give himself time to focus on work, but he didn’t want to miss calls from new clients, who weren’t likely to leave messages.

  The number was unfamiliar. Not one of the reporters who had been calling him repeatedly, wheedling and cajoling for the inside story. But he was getting a lot of calls from kooks too. It was getting easier to pick up the phone and just terminate the call when it wasn’t someone he wanted to talk to. He no longer felt bad about hanging up on people. So much for the phone etiquette lessons painstakingly instilled by a series of foster mothers and group homes. They hadn’t anticipated a situation like the one Zachary was in.

  He tapped the speaker button without picking up the phone. “Goldman Investigations. Zachary.”

  A few seconds of staticky silence ticked by.

  “Hello?” Zachary prompted, finger above the red ‘end’ button.

  “Zachary?”

  It wasn’t a good line, static and background traffic noise making the voice difficult to recognize.

  “This is Zachary.”

  “It’s Philippe.”

  Zachary turned off the speaker and put the phone to his ear, relief flooding through him. “Philippe! You’re okay.”

  “Yes, I am fine.”

  “When you wouldn’t answer any calls and then disappeared… I was worried. I didn’t know if he had gotten to you.”

  “Teddy Archuro,” Philippe said in a voice that was still stunned. “I knew him.”

  “He didn’t—you didn’t date him?”

  “I hung out with him a couple of times. Not a date, just casual… getting to know him.”

  Zachary drew in his breath in a whistle. Philippe could have been Teddy’s next victim. In spite of what Zachary had been through, he could take comfort in the fact that he had prevented Philippe from being tortured and murdered.

  “The news reports said that the police were looking for remains. Do you know…?”

  “They haven’t released anything official, but they have recovered some… I think they probably found Jose, but the medical examiner hasn’t confirmed identities yet.”

  “Where?”

  “He was using Honore Santiago’s cemetery some of the time. And there are graves out at his property in the woods, where he had a cabin. I don’t know if there was anywhere else; they’re not giving me much information.”

  “Honore was not involved, though…?”

  Zachary’s heart gave an extra beat. Was Philippe involved with Santiago too? “No, I don’t think so. If they have found any connection other than the cemetery, they haven’t told me. But please… be careful.”

  “Honore is a nice man. Very generous.”

  “I’m sure he is. But he still had connections with a lot of the missing men. I just want you to be careful. Teddy wasn’t the only predator out there.”

  At the knock on the door, Zachary got up and walked through the kitchen to look through the wide-view peephole. He opened the door, giving Kenzie a forced smile. “Hi, Kenz.”

  “How’s it going, Zachary? I’m hoping you don’t have too much going on tonight…”

  “Come on in.” He opened the door wider.

  She walked in and looked around. Zachary gave the apartment a quick scan. He had been hard at work and hadn’t had much time for cleaning or other chores. But he had picked up groceries and there wasn’t a sink full of dirty dishes. He didn’t think Kenzie would find anything of concern.

  “I’m glad to have you home,” she remarked. “Though you look like hell.”

  “No worse than most of the stiffs you work with,” he teased.

  “Actually, most of the remains look better than you do,” Kenzie countered, hands on hips. “You could give most zombies a run for their money.”

  “That’s just because it’s healing. Bruises always look worse as they get older and change color.”

  Kenzie gave a nod of agreement. She opened the fridge and helped herself to a soft drink. “You want anything?”

  “I’m good.”

  They both drifted into the living room. Zachary straightened up the papers he had been working o
n and piled them carefully in his tray. He closed his computer lid and sat down on the couch next to Kenzie. She looked at him for a minute, then leaned back and took a sip of her drink.

  “I missed you.”

  “I was only gone for a few days.”

  She stretched her arm behind him. “But I still missed you. You hardly even called.” She stroked the back of his neck.

  Zachary jolted at her touch. He pulled back from her, feeling suddenly crowded.

  “Wow.” Kenzie stared at him. “What was that? I didn’t hurt you…”

  Zachary took several deep breaths. “No. Sorry. You just startled me.”

  She shifted her body a little closer to him, watching his face. Zachary couldn’t help squirming, overwhelmed by her closeness.

  “Seriously, are you okay?” Kenzie persisted.

  “Yeah, fine.”

  She withdrew slightly and took several swallows of her soft drink. Zachary tried to calm down and relax his muscles.

  “There weren’t a lot of details in the news stories about how this Teddy guy was arrested,” she observed.

  “It was a good arrest. He’s talking. He’s never going to be out on the street again.” He said it as much for his own sake as much as for hers. Reminding himself that Teddy would never be able to hurt anyone ever again.

  “That’s not what I meant,” Kenzie said. “I’m not worried about whether it was a good arrest. I’m just wondering… about your part in it. They kind of glossed over the part about you being ‘briefly captured’ by this guy. Like it was just a few minutes… a standoff or something like that.”

  Zachary nodded.

  “Is that what it was?”

  He swallowed. “No.”

  “What happened?”

  Zachary shook his head emphatically. “I’m not ready to talk about it.”

  “Okay…”

  But he could see she was not ready to let it go. She was still looking at him analytically, trying to think of another way to get the story from him. Zachary picked up the TV remote and turned on the television. Not only did he not want to talk to her about it, he didn’t even want to think about it. “You want to watch a movie?”

  “If you want,” Kenzie said. “I thought we’d visit.”

  “I just need time to unwind.”

  “Sure. You’ve had quite a week. Your body obviously needs healing time. Maybe your mind too.”

  He nodded. “It’s been pretty taxing.”

  “I’m here. Whenever you’re ready to talk…”

  He nodded. “I know. But… I might not want to talk about it.”

  “I guess that’s up to you.”

  He switched channels on the TV. Kenzie reached out, and he steeled himself not to react. She put her hand on his knee and he jerked it away. It was beyond his control, a reflex. His heart raced and he felt like he wasn’t getting enough air.

  “It’s okay, Zachary.”

  “I’m fine,” he assured her, even though it took everything he had to talk in a calm, even voice.

  She offered her hand to him. Zachary took it in his. He held it between the two of them as he flipped channels with the other hand to find a movie they would both enjoy. He didn’t cuddle up to her.

  And he didn’t pick a romance.

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  Author’s Note

  Serial killers are a fascinating subject. Despite their proliferation in fiction, both literary and TV/movies, they are a very small fraction of the criminal population. Of the US population of 327 million, with a prison population of 2.3 million, the number of serial killers in prison appears to be around 30 people. It is estimated that the number of serial killers operating in the US is between 25 and 50 people. As DNA testing continues to grow, I expect those numbers will change as serial killings which would previously have gone unrealized are identified, as has been the case with identifying serial rapists while processing cold case rape kits.

  What makes a serial killer? While it is our nature to look for patterns and to identify them as somehow “sick” or “other” than we are, there is no one diagnosis or red flag to help us to identify serial killers before they strike or to explain their actions afterward. We think of serial killers as being psychopaths (not a DSM diagnosis) or having something like Antisocial Personality Disorder, but their diagnoses, if any, range from depression, to schizophrenia, to Narcissistic Personality Disorder. While TV would have us believe that they are geniuses, they range from borderline retardation to average intelligence, with only a few with greater than average intelligence. They’re just good at not getting caught.

  Again, we have been told that they usually (but not always) come from very abusive or traumatic backgrounds; but so do millions of others who have never killed even one person. And the “red flag” of cruelty to animals? It is estimated that 44% of children will abuse animals at some point. The older they are, the more of a red flag it becomes, but we can’t use it to identify anything other than possible abuse or trauma in the home, particularly when it is part of the MacDonald Triad (animal abuse, fire setting, and bedwetting.) More resources on this and other issues mentioned in this book can be found in the Book Club Resources section for this book on my website.

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  Preview of He Was Not There

  Zachary was glad that Tyrrell had called. He had needed a reason to get away from Kenzie for a while. Their relationship, which had begun more than a year ago, had gotten more complicated since Zachary had been attacked, and he needed a reason to take a break from Kenzie’s ministrations. He didn’t want to tell her to leave him alone and give him some space, but he wasn’t sure how else to get her out of his apartment when she came over for a visit.

  But his brother Tyrrell’s call had given him an excuse to say that he was busy and needed to deal with a family emergency.

  Not that Tyrrell had said it was an emergency. He and Heather were perfectly willing to wait until a convenient time for Zachary, but for Zachary that was a good enough excuse to tell Kenzie that he needed to take care of family stuff and would have to see her later.

  “Do you want me to drive you somewhere?” Kenzie offered, still happy to do whatever he needed her to.

  “I’m fine to drive.”

  “I know, it’s just that…” she trailed off, apparently unable to find an excuse for taking care of him. He hadn’t been drinking. He hadn’t been having a particularly upsetting evening. She just wanted to know that everything was okay. She wanted to keep an eye on him. Zachary appreciated it, but he didn’t want the attention.

  “I’m fine,” he repeated, getting his jacket on to signal to her that it was time to go.

  Kenzie reluctantly got her coat on as well. She pulled the hood on over her dark, short curls and gave him a brief kiss with her bright-red-lipsticked lips, holding onto him more tightly and longer than was necessary for a goodbye. He gave her a squeeze of acknowledgement and headed to the door. Kenzie walked out ahead of him and watched as he locked up.

  “What’s going on with Tyrrell?”

  “I don’t know. I need to see him to find out.”

  “Is something wrong? Is there anything I could help with?”

  “No, I don’t think so. I’ll let you know.”

  Kenzie nodded. “Okay.”

  They took the elevator down together, and Zachary sketched a little wave as they separated in the parking lot. “We’ll talk later,” he said. “Thanks for coming by.”

  He would have suggested that the next time, he would come by her place, just so that he had some control over the timing, but she had never invited him t
o her apartment, so it was out of bounds. She needed her own space and privacy. He just wished that he could have some of his back too.

  As he headed to the meeting with Tyrrell, he thought about his relationship with Kenzie, the medical examiner’s assistant. Things had changed over the months that they had known each other, from a girl who was just interested in having some fun to a woman who was really interested in him and in taking their relationship further, to one who was in his space a little too often and felt like she needed to take care of him.

  It had never been like that with Bridget. He had always felt warm and rewarded when she wanted to do something for him or showed her concern. His ex-wife had more often been angry and critical when he went through a crisis, upset with him for taking too much from the relationship.

  He had tried to take care of Bridget too. He had tried not to let it be a one-sided relationship, to put as much into the marriage as he took out of it, but she had never seen it that way. She had only seen him sucking the energy out of her, taking time away from her parties and social events. He’d never felt smothered by Bridget. Like with his relationship with his mother before he was put into foster care, he’d felt like he had to earn every bit of attention and every smile and kindness she might bestow upon him.

  It was good that his younger brother Tyrrell was back in his life. Zachary hadn’t had any contact with biological family for thirty years and it felt good to see him again. And he was going to meet Heather. He hadn’t seen any of the others since the fire. He could remember the scrappy little blond tomboy Heather had been. His second sister, a couple of years older than he was, she had been one of his little surrogate mothers. One of the two big sisters who tried to keep the younger children out of trouble and out from underfoot to avoid any unnecessary problems with their mother or father. To him, they had seemed so much older and more mature at the time. He had only been ten and they had almost seemed like adults to him.