by Brenda Novak
“The blind love of a parent…”
“Not many parents could be that blind.”
Amarok stared into his beer. “If he’s still in contact with them, they could be the key to unraveling the whole thing.”
“They’re the ones who helped him escape when it happened.”
“Sometimes people change their minds. Time can be a cop’s best friend. I wish the police were watching their house.”
“So do I, but it’s Boston’s case, and they don’t have jurisdiction.”
“San Diego should be helping.”
“I’m sure if we had some specific request, they’d help if they could. But they’re not willing to spend the kind of money twenty-four-hour surveillance would require, not when catching Jasper that way is such a long shot. No one knows for sure that he’s retained contact. Even if he has, he could go years without seeing his folks. The police can’t spare the manpower to watch the Moores day in and day out, year in and year out.”
Amarok tipped his beer at someone who brushed past and said hello. “You were going to ask San Diego PD to check the Moores’ phone records again. Have you heard back on that?”
She took a sip of her wine. “I have. I just haven’t mentioned it because it’s so discouraging. The judge refused to grant us another warrant. He said we can’t continue to invade their privacy.”
A muscle moved in Amarok’s cheek. “Jasper’s smart. But he’s no smarter than we are.”
Jasper had outwitted her so far—her and the army of detectives and private eyes she’d worked with over the years. He’d escaped capture as recently as a year ago last summer. Before she left Boston to open Hanover House, he’d rammed into her car in the middle of the night while she was on her way home and dragged her from behind the wheel to his own car.
If only he hadn’t been wearing a mask when he did that. If only she’d gotten a glimpse of his face before she escaped. A fresh composite would’ve given police something new they could publicize, since the photographs they had now were so outdated.
“Maybe I should go with you,” she said.
“No. You’re busy here, and I’d like a shot at this myself.”
She turned her glass on the varnished wood. “I’m not sure I want you getting that involved.”
His eyebrows shot up. “You’re kidding, right?”
“There’s no telling what he might do if we draw his attention your way.”
“Stop it, Evelyn. We’ve gone over this before. I can take care of myself.”
It would only take a moment of surprise. One moment when Amarok was caught off guard—
“Hey.” He lifted her chin and looked into her eyes. “Quit worrying. Battles require some risk, right? Isn’t that what you always tell me?”
“Yes, but I’m not willing to risk you.”
“This is my decision.”
She sighed. She’d already lost Marissa, Jessie and Agatha to Jasper. He might’ve killed Mandy, too.
“I’m not one of your girlfriends. I’m a cop,” he said as if he could read her mind.
Forcing a smile, she nodded. “So will you see your father before you go?”
“If I can.”
“How’s he doing?”
“Last I heard he’d stopped throwing up. They think it’s a bad case of food poisoning, that he should be fine.”
With Bishop arriving in Alaska at virtually the same time, it’d been a relief that they could trust Amarok’s stepmother to look after Hank this past week. “I’m glad to hear that.”
Evelyn nibbled at her bottom lip.
“What is it?” he asked.
“How long will you be gone?”
“Only as long as I have to be. I’ll keep in touch.”
“Why don’t I take you to the airport?”
“There’s no need. You have to work.”
She did have that appointment in the morning. “I guess you’re right. I have to let Jennifer speak to Bishop before she’ll leave.”
“What does she have to say to him?”
“I have no idea. Maybe she merely needs to vent her rage. Their meeting should prove interesting. I only hope she doesn’t get too riled up. That wouldn’t be good for a woman in her condition.”
“You’re willing to take that chance?”
“I’m tired of everyone deciding what’s best for victims except the victims themselves. She’s come all the way to Alaska. As long as Bishop will agree to see her, I’m going to give her the audience she’s requested—and hope I don’t live to regret it.”
Shorty came by to ask Amarok if he’d like a refill on his beer, but he didn’t answer. Something else had caught his attention. He lifted his hand in a “hold on” gesture as he stared up at the television affixed to the wall over the bar.
“What is it?” Evelyn murmured. Then she saw for herself. A banner crossing the screen read: Tainted evidence throws conviction of “Zombie Maker” into question.
Her eyes riveted on the screen and her ears strained to pick up the anchorman’s voice, but they caught only the tail end of the story. The image and topic changed before she could hear any of the details.
“Isn’t that what they called Bishop?” Amarok asked. “The Zombie Maker?”
Evelyn felt slightly nauseous. “Yes.”
* * *
“What are you learning?”
Evelyn glanced up to find Amarok standing behind her. As soon as they’d walked in, he’d greeted his dog while she made a beeline for the desk, where she could open her laptop. “That news report we saw was about Bishop.”
Nudging Makita aside, Amarok dragged over another chair and sat next to her. “What’d the detectives do wrong?”
“The story’s just breaking, so there’s not a lot of information out there. From what I can tell, the lead detective, a Detective Gustavson, fabricated the most damning evidence.”
“Which was…”
“The panties. In court, he testified that the search of Bishop’s house produced the panties of various victims. Eight in all. Apparently, that’s been called into question.”
“By whom?” He scratched Makita’s head. “Who or what brought this to light?”
“The detective’s ex-girlfriend started it. I guess they’ve broken up since the trial. She called the press to say he placed that evidence in Bishop’s attic so it would be found by the search team.”
Forgetting about his dog, who was resting his muzzle adoringly on Amarok’s thigh, he gripped his own forehead. “Holy shit!”
“No kidding.”
“I bet he regrets the breakup now, even if he didn’t before.”
The wry note in Amarok’s voice indicated he was teasing, but he had a point. “The timing is certainly suspect,” she said. “Maybe it’s not true. Maybe it’s just sour grapes and she’s after revenge.”
“Does she say why she came forward?”
“Claims it’s because of Mandy Walker’s murder.” She scrolled through the article until she found the section where that was addressed. “See? Right here.” She pointed at the screen as she read aloud, “‘I couldn’t live with myself, knowing what I knew. I was afraid Detective Gustavson was wrong about Bishop, and I didn’t want to see an innocent man spend the rest of his life behind bars.’”
“Whether the evidence is good or not doesn’t necessarily have any bearing on his guilt,” Amarok said.
“True, but it will have significant bearing on his conviction.”
“Surely Gustavson can prove these allegations false. Has there been any rebuttal from him?”
“Not yet. This will launch an internal investigation if it hasn’t already. He’ll probably have to keep mum until it’s over, and that could take some time.”
“If she’s telling the truth, he’ll lose his job.”
“Without question,” she agreed.
“That’s a lot to put on the line. So, if he did cheat, why’d he do it?” Makita whined and then barked, and Amarok started petting him aga
in.
“She says he was determined to impress his superiors and the community by solving ‘the big case.’ That he was hoping to be promoted, had his sights set on becoming chief of police someday.”
Amarok leaned forward to read over her shoulder. “That isn’t good.”
“No. If Gustavson planted the evidence, they’ll release Bishop. They’ll have to.”
“Maybe they should release Bishop,” Amarok said. “Maybe he didn’t do it. Then he can go home and continue his cancer research and take care of his sister.”
Evelyn had turned what she’d learned about Beth over to the Minnesota Department of Human Services, which had brought in the correct county’s Adult Protective Services to investigate. She’d been playing phone tag with Louise Belgrath, the person who’d been assigned the case, had been assured they were doing everything possible, but she hadn’t heard exactly what that entailed. “I wouldn’t be happy to see him released.”
Amarok adjusted Makita’s collar. “Why not?”
Evelyn closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose.
“Evelyn?” he prompted.
Dropping her hand, she lifted her head to look at him. “I think he’s guilty, Amarok. I think he’s one of the craftiest killers I’ve ever met, one that will continue to take lives as long as he can.”
“What makes you believe that? You’ve only been meeting with him for a week. And you told me yourself he doesn’t fit the mold.”
“I can’t explain it,” she said. “It’s just … gut instinct. Whenever I meet with him, my ‘bullshit’ meter goes crazy.”
He got down on his knees and slipped his arms around her waist. “Are you sure it’s not that you’ve become jaded? That you’re now seeing every inmate as a conscienceless monster? Once they go into that orange jumpsuit, it’d be easy to lump them all together—especially after working with such people as intently and as long as you have.”
She stared down at him. “It’s possible.”
“So let the system do whatever it’s going to do.”
“Meaning…”
“Keep your mouth shut,” he said with a grin.
“You’re suggesting I don’t state my opinion?”
“For a change. Yes.” He was chuckling when he said that, but he sobered quickly. “If you publicly oppose his release and he’s innocent—or everyone else grows convinced he’s innocent, thanks to the way the investigation was handled—you could lose a lot of credibility.”
“That’s true. But what happens if I say nothing, Amarok?” She combed her fingers through his thick dark hair. “What if he goes free, and another unsuspecting woman loses her life? I’m afraid I’ll feel responsible.”
“Why? You’re not the one making the decision.”
“I’ll be a party to it if I don’t fight his release.”
“So that’s what you’re going to do?”
She backed off. She didn’t want to upset him and couldn’t say yet, anyway. “I’ll do some testing and hope I know what to say if it ever comes to that.”
8
As Evelyn drove through the foggy darkness to Hanover House early the following morning, she felt a little sad. The weather here could cause some depression. A lot of people complained of the “winter blues.” But that wasn’t her problem. She was so caught up in her work the world could come tumbling down around her and she wouldn’t notice, unless someone pointed it out to her. That news piece about the tainted evidence in Bishop’s investigation had her on edge. Mandy Walker’s death made that uneasy feeling worse, and so did hearing from Fitzpatrick again.
“‘Nothing is so terrifying as this monologue of the storm,’” she mumbled. That sense of impending doom was back. It didn’t feel like a good time to have Amarok gone. She’d grown accustomed to riding home with him if it was storming, having dinner with him if they both got off early enough and snuggling up to him in bed. Sleeping in an empty house would feel strange—lonely. She was afraid the next few days might teach her just how much she’d come to rely on having him in her life, and she wasn’t sure she cared to know. The more he meant, the more she stood to lose—and, after losing her best friends in such a horrible way in high school, she never wanted to feel such pain again.
But she couldn’t dwell on what-ifs, not where Bishop, Jasper, Fitzpatrick or even Amarok was concerned. She had to get over to the prison and determine whether Bishop was willing to meet with Jennifer. Jennifer was scheduled to arrive almost immediately.
Evelyn greeted the COs handling security at the entrance and, once they’d checked her in, took the elevator to the second floor of the mental health wing.
Penny wasn’t at her desk when Evelyn walked through the double glass doors that separated the offices from the labs used for brain imaging and other studies, but she knew her assistant would arrive soon. Penny wasn’t late; Evelyn was early. Before she’d moved in with Amarok, she’d often beat everyone else to work. After she’d moved in with the handsome trooper, she typically came in at eight, like the others. Some mornings she was tempted to sleep even later, if he also had the time.
She wished they’d had a quiet half hour together this morning, but they’d both been rushed.…
She buzzed the prison side of the facility as soon as she sat down and asked for two officers to bring Bishop to Interview #1. Then, because that always took some time, she picked up the phone to listen to her voice mail.
She’d received a message from her sister, Brianne, her only sibling, expressing sympathy over Mandy’s death.
Sorry it’s taken me so long to call. I was away for the weekend and Mom didn’t want to ruin my trip, so she just told me what happened to Mandy Walker Thursday night. I’m terribly sorry. Are you handling it okay? Must bring up horrible memories. It’s brought up horrible memories for me, too. Those days while you were missing … well, I try not to think about them, but I’ll never forget. Call me if you’d like to talk. You know where to find me.
Evelyn hadn’t allowed herself to grieve over Mandy’s death. She and Mandy hadn’t spoken in a number of years. As long as Evelyn was in Alaska, she felt so removed she could almost pretend that Mandy was alive and well—except for what her death might say about Bishop, of course. What was going on? Was there a copycat killer on the loose? And was that copycat killer Jasper, playing games with her as Fitzpatrick had suggested?
Her next message was from Preston Schmidt, another member of the team. He had a terrible cold, said he wouldn’t be in today. Then she received a message from Fitzpatrick. She almost deleted it as soon as she heard his voice. Hadn’t she made herself clear? She didn’t want any contact! But curiosity got the best of her.
Have you seen the news, Evelyn? They’re going to vacate Bishop’s conviction. They can’t continue to keep him behind bars, not if the detective tampered with the evidence. I hope he isn’t a serious threat to society. You and I should both test him, independently. Try to determine if this guy is really a psychopath. Call me if you’d like me to come up there.
Evelyn couldn’t believe her ears. He refused to take no for an answer! “I’m beginning to think you’re the psychopath,” she muttered, and deleted his message as she should have in the first place.
The intercom buzzed almost the second she hung up the phone.
She pressed the button. “Yes?”
“Bishop’s waiting for you in one.”
She glanced at her watch. Seven fifty. She had ten minutes before Jennifer was due to arrive. “Thank you,” she said. “I’m coming.”
* * *
Bishop looked like he hadn’t slept since he arrived at Hanover House. He stared at her from a pale face with dark rings below his eyes.
“Morning,” she said.
He didn’t answer.
“Now that you’ve had a chance to settle in a bit, how are you adjusting?”
Lowering his head, he mumbled a response she couldn’t quite make out.
“Excuse me?”
“I’m no
t adjusting,” he stated more clearly. “The food here is deplorable. I can’t eat it.”
“Most days I eat here myself. Saves me from having to bring a lunch. What’s wrong with it?”
“It’s homogenous, salt- and butter-laden garbage—an insult to the palate.”
“Trust me, it’s superior to what you’ll find in other prisons.”
Except for those in solitary confinement, most of the inmates had televisions in their cells. Many had radios, too. And they talked among themselves when they could. She wondered if he’d heard the news about the panties. Of course, if he hadn’t put them in the attic, he had to know someone else did. But, judging from his slumped shoulders and sagging jowls, he didn’t seem to be aware that the detective on his case had been called out for it. He’d be more encouraged if he were.
Evelyn hoped his ignorance would play in her favor. Maybe it was fortuitous that Jennifer had come to Alaska and Evelyn had set up this meeting, because even if Bishop hadn’t heard about the spoiled evidence, it wouldn’t be long before he did. His attorney would be calling to suggest they file one motion or another to start the process of having his case reviewed. Then the opportunity Evelyn had at this moment would be lost. If Bishop gained any hope of getting out, he’d be much less likely to meet with Jennifer—or tell them anything of value.
“Do you sleep here, too? Because the mattresses are hard as concrete.”
“I’m afraid my hands are tied there—”
“Another bad pun,” he broke in.
She didn’t remember the first one, but that wasn’t important. Sometimes he focused on the most insignificant details. “It’s true. Thick mattresses make good hiding places. And anything with springs, well … we have to be careful what we allow the inmates to have. Some can and do make weapons out of almost anything.”
“That’s right—you had a stabbing here a year ago.”
“Yes. One that was nearly fatal. We’d like to avoid that in the future, so certain things have to be the way they are.”
He gazed dismally at the painted cinder-block walls. “The injustice of what’s happened to me is almost insufferable.”
