Hello Again

by Brenda Novak

  Hillary slipped her hand in his. “Sometimes I get the impression that she drives you crazy. It’s comforting to know you care about her.”

  He’d learned that staying as close to the truth as possible worked better than too bold of a lie. “She does drive me crazy sometimes. But kids are kids. Of course I care. I’m her father.”

  His wife rested her head on his shoulder as she gazed lovingly at her sleeping daughter. He could tell she was assuming he felt the same emotions she did. It was a proud-parent moment, even though he didn’t feel a thing, except a mild repugnance for the very gullibility that enabled him to function as he did.

  “She’s got a big, warm heart, doesn’t she?” Hillary said. “And she’s such a good sister to Chelsea.”

  Miranda was trusting, too. He had that going for him. If he could only figure out the right kind of accident—one that had no connection to him—he’d be golden. But he wasn’t sure if or when he’d be able to come up with a viable plan. He had other, more important things to deal with and figured that was just as well. If he harmed Miranda, he’d be breaking his own rule, the one most tantamount to his success.

  “Do you have to work in the morning?” Hillary asked.

  “No.”

  “They gave you more time off?”

  He could hear the surprise in her voice. “I requested it.”

  She pulled back to look in his face. “Why?”

  He shook his head. “I can’t return to the prison. Not yet. I need more time.”

  “To…”

  “To recover!” he snapped in full voice. “What do you think?”

  When Miranda stirred, Hillary lifted her hand to get him to be quiet and pulled him from the room. “I’m not saying what you went through was easy, honey,” she said in a placating way. “I’m just … wondering what’s going on. We haven’t discussed any of this.”

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t give you any advance notice. I thought I’d be okay, but … that stabbing. It’s still screwing with my head. I need to go away again, take some more time.”

  The concern on her face made her look old in the dim light filtering into the hall from the kitchen. “Wouldn’t it be smarter to see someone who could help you through it?”

  “You mean a shrink? Hell no! I’ve explained how I feel about all that psychology mumbo jumbo.”

  She spread out her hands. “So what do you plan to do instead?”

  “What I always do when I need to come to terms with something. I’m taking off for a few days.”

  “To think.”

  “Yes!”

  “But you just got back! You’ve only worked one shift.”

  “I told you, I wasn’t off long enough.”

  She rubbed her forehead. “Where will you go this time?”

  “The Grand Canyon.”

  “It’s winter.”

  “It’s not that cold there. And even if it is, I’ve got a coat.” He’d billed himself as someone who loved nature, who used it to “find” himself, so he thought she’d buy the destination. In reality, he wasn’t going anywhere close to the Grand Canyon.

  “What if I hired someone to watch the girls, took a few days off and went with you?” Hillary asked.

  “There’s no time for that.”

  “Why not? I could make the arrangements first thing in the morning.”

  “Because I’m leaving now.” He pivoted and headed to their bedroom so he could pack his duffel bag.

  Hillary came after him. “But wouldn’t it be more fun to have a companion? Someone to travel with? I could help with the long drive, give you someone to talk to.”

  Except that he was only driving to the airport. “No. I’d rather not leave the girls with someone else. Who could say how they’d be treated? I’ve told you what my babysitter did to me.”

  “That was terrible—unthinkable.”

  It was also untrue, but the lie served his purpose. Whenever she asked to come with him, that “incident” gave him an excuse to fall back on, one that made her believe he loved the girls as much as she did and didn’t want to see them come to any harm.

  “I’ll be careful, get someone trustworthy,” she added.

  “You never know who you can trust. My parents thought the bastard who raped me was ‘a nice young man,’ didn’t they? But look what he did, and how badly it screwed me up.” The same lie excused so much—why he often grew aloof, angry, distant, or was unable to sustain an erection during regular sex. Even why he liked the violent type of pornography she’d discovered on his computer. That “rape” when he was only seven covered it all—and made her empathetic at the same time. “I’ll feel better if you’re taking care of Miranda and Chelsea and the house. That’s what I need right now, Hillary. To feel confident that you and the girls are fine while I pull myself together.”

  She fell silent as she watched him pack. When he finished and closed the zipper, she said, “Do you have any idea how long you’ll be gone this time?”

  “A few days.”

  “I really wish you’d try seeing a psychologist instead.”

  He lifted a hand. “Don’t start. Don’t make this any harder on me than it is already.”

  She fell silent. When he glanced up, he found her staring dejectedly at the floor, but he didn’t have it in him to mollify her. The revulsion he felt when he touched her was growing worse by the day.

  “I’m sorry. I agree that this isn’t fair to you,” he said. “But I’ll make it up to you when I get back, okay?”

  She didn’t answer, and he didn’t bother trying to convince her. He couldn’t even bring himself to kiss her good-bye. “See you soon,” he said as he threw his duffel bag over his shoulder and brushed past. His flight didn’t leave until morning, but he had somewhere he had to go before he left—or Christina Whoever She Was would be dead in that RV when he returned. As weak as he’d left her, she couldn’t last much longer. If he waited until after he got home, he’d have to deal with the stench of her decomposing body. It was hard enough to keep that RV smelling decent, what with all the body fluids he dealt with.

  Besides, he didn’t see any reason to miss the grand finale.

  Don’t worry, Christina. It’s all going to be over with soon.…

  * * *

  According to what Evelyn found on Facebook, Charlotte Zimmerman worked as a paralegal for one of the bigger law firms in Boston. Although she now went by her married name of Pine, Evelyn had been able to confirm that she was the right Charlotte from her picture and because she was connected to so many other people who’d gone to their high school. Evelyn left a message before going to bed and checked first thing in the morning, as soon as she arrived at work. But she didn’t receive a response until mid-morning.

  Thanks for reaching out. How are you, Evelyn? It’s been so long since we’ve talked. I’m sad that we didn’t stay in touch, but I’ve seen you on the news and read various articles in the paper about what you’re doing. You’re an inspiration to victims everywhere. It’s nuts to think I know someone who’s been through what you went through—and that I know others who’ve been killed. But the craziest thing of all, at least to me, is that I know the person who’s responsible for those crimes. I guess I can admit to you now that I had a crush on Jasper, for years. I was so jealous of you—that you were the one he wanted. I’m ashamed of it now. But he was so handsome, so smart and popular. It’s hard to believe someone like that could be any different from what he appears to be on the outside. I wondered when Mandy died if there could be any connection. I’ve had a few people from high school contact me about it. Anyway, I appreciate the warning, even though it terrifies me. Should I contact the police or what do I do next?

  Evelyn wasn’t sure what advice to offer. She wanted to tell Charlotte to leave town and tell no one where she was going until the person who killed Mandy was caught, but what if that never happened? Charlotte had a family. She couldn’t disrupt her life, and her husband’s and children’s lives, forever.

/>   It’s great to connect with you, too, she wrote back. I’ve been so obsessed with my work finding out why people like Jasper do what they do I haven’t stayed in touch with anyone, and that’s a sad thing. She’d actually withdrawn from those she’d known in high school to avoid the memories, and the sense of loss she felt that none of them could replace her best friends, but she didn’t go into that. As far as what you should do, I wish I had a great answer for you, a way that you could stay safe without leaving Boston. But I don’t. Moving would be your safest bet, because I doubt the police can or will be able to help you. They have no idea whether you will really be targeted, or if Mandy’s death was merely a terrible coincidence. This is all me. I just saw that picture of us making the Homecoming sign last night and felt a chill go through me. It’s possible I’m being paranoid and there’s no danger. Just keep an eye out. Don’t go anywhere alone. Don’t leave your kids alone. Put an alarm system on your house today, if possible. Carry pepper spray and know how to use it. Make sure your number is unlisted. Get rid of any and all personal information on your Facebook page and alert everyone you know not to tell anyone anything about you.

  The door opened as Russell Jones poked his head into her office. “What are you doing?”

  She looked up. “I’m working. What are you doing?”

  “I was just on the prison side, meeting with the warden about one of my patients who’s been acting up. While I was there, Bishop’s attorney called and told him he’ll be released soon.”

  She grimaced as she scratched her arm. “I was fairly certain it would come to that.”

  “I heard him asking the guards if he could speak with you.”

  Why did he want to talk to her? So he could rub it in her face that he was going to walk free despite the fact that she believed he was guilty? “What could that be about?”

  “I have no idea. I asked, but he clammed up when I came onto the scene.”

  “I have no incentive for getting him to participate in any of the studies while he’s here, so at this point we’ll just let him sit in his cell until the order arrives to release him.”

  “The order will take a few days, at least. Maybe you could continue to evaluate him. Give him a rating on the PCL-R.”

  “What good would that do?”

  “It would be something you could put in his file, in case it comes out in the future that he is dangerous. You believe he killed those women, don’t you? That’s what I read in an article I found online this morning.”

  Sebring Schultz’s article was out? She wondered how he’d portrayed her—and planned to look it up as soon as she could get rid of Russ. “How’d you find that?”

  “I have a Google alert on our names, the name of the institution and several other key words, like ‘serial killer.’ It came up.”

  She’d had that service once, too, but turned it off when things got ugly last winter and there was bad press popping up all over the place. “I’d love to evaluate Bishop, but I don’t see why he’d agree.”

  “He’s feeling pretty smug at the moment. Thinks he beat the system. I bet if you play him right his arrogance will tempt him to try to prove that he can outsmart you and any test you give him. That could be valuable for our research, if nothing else.”

  For once, Evelyn agreed with Russ. “Okay. I’ll send for him. See what I might be able to glean from his brief stay.”

  “There you go.”

  She smiled at him. “Thanks, Russ.”

  “You bet.” He went out but came right back in. “Even though I know I shouldn’t bring this up, I got another call from Fitzpatrick last night. He’s certain that whoever killed Mandy Walker will strike again, and soon. Are you sure you won’t call him?”

  She sent the message she’d typed for Charlotte Zimmerman Pine. “I’m sure. Tell him he doesn’t have anything to worry about. It’s all handled.”

  * * *

  Whether Vanessa Lopez, the woman lying in the hospital bed in Casa Grande, Arizona, looked like Evelyn was hard to tell. Her eyes were so swollen she could barely open them, and she was bruised and scraped all over. According to Mike Sims, the detective from Peoria who’d brought Amarok down to interview her, she had a broken collarbone, her leg was fractured in three places and she’d all but pulverized her wrist reaching out to brace her fall when she jumped from the vehicle of the man who tried to abduct her four days ago.

  “I’m sorry to bother you.” Catching her eye, Amarok left Sims at the entrance of the room, speaking to her doctor, and walked over to the bedside. “This can’t be an easy time,” he said, and handed her his card. “I’m Sergeant Murphy.”

  She gave him what was obviously the best smile she could muster. “Detective Sims told me you were coming, but I never dreamed you’d be so handsome. I doubt I could look any worse.”

  He chuckled. “You’re a brave woman to have done what you did.”

  “Not brave at all. I knew it would only get worse if I let him take me wherever he was taking me. He was so … angry and violent. Have you ever seen I Survived?”

  “I’ve seen an episode here and there.”

  “Then you understand what I’m talking about. I kept remembering what some of those women have been through and decided that wouldn’t be me. If I was going to be hurt or killed, it was going to happen while I was trying to escape.”

  Finished with the doctor, Detective Sims came to stand on the opposite side of the bed. “Vanessa, I’m Detective Sims from Peoria, the one who spoke with you on the phone two days ago and again this morning.”

  “You’re investigating those murders outside of Phoenix.”

  “Yes. How are you feeling?”

  “Better now. All the broken bones have been set, and the doctors have disinfected my wounds. I’m hoping the worst is over.”

  “Can you tell us what happened?” Amarok asked.

  “You mean, from the beginning?” She looked to Sims.

  “Please,” Sims confirmed. “Pretend you haven’t told me anything.”

  “Okay, well, I work at a tattoo parlor.”

  That surprised Amarok. She didn’t have a single tattoo that he could see. “You do?”

  “My brother owns it. He’s the one who’s tatted up. I’ve never been interested in jabbing needles into my skin, but I can run a business, so we make a good team.”

  “I see.”

  “I might get a tattoo eventually,” she mused. “After working with him for the past six months, I’m starting to appreciate his work.”

  “Maybe he could tattoo the word ‘survivor’ on your lower back or ankle or somewhere,” Sims suggested.

  “He’d be happy to do that.”

  “So the man who tried to abduct you, was he a customer?” Amarok asked.

  “Not that I know of. I’m not sure where he came from.”

  Amarok would’ve been disappointed, but she’d already told enough to Detective Sims that he was expecting that. “Do you have any idea how or why he picked you?”

  “None. I’ve never had any trouble—not until Saturday night.”

  “What happened then?”

  “Everyone at the shop had gone home. We close at midnight, so I turned the sign around like I usually do and started to clean up. I’d just finished vacuuming and went to take the trash to the bin behind the building. That’s when he grabbed me. I didn’t hear or see anything, didn’t know I was in danger, until he came up from behind.”

  Amarok was jotting the details on his notepad so he’d have them in writing. “He had to be hiding back there, waiting for you.”

  “I guess. Once he grabbed me, he dragged me around to the side of the building, where he had a vehicle.”

  “But he was wearing a mask.”

  “Yes. It was dark anyway. I’m not sure I could’ve gotten a good look at his face even if he hadn’t been wearing a mask. It all happened too fast.”

  “What else did he have on?”

  “Nothing unusual. A sweatshirt and jeans, tennis
shoes. But he’s a white man. I can tell you that much. I could see the skin on his hands in the cabin light of the van when he stuffed me into the back and tied me to a ring on the floor. And he might be married.”

  “He was wearing a wedding ring?”

  “A plain band.”

  Too bad the ring wasn’t more distinctive. “Any tattoos, moles or birthmarks on those hands?”

  “No. But they were clean, if that tells you anything. There was no motor oil or dirt under his nails. His van was spotless, too. I pegged him as a clean freak.”

  That wasn’t good news, either. Sloppy perpetrators were so much easier to catch.

  “He actually…” Her words fell off.

  “He actually … what?” Amarok prompted.

  “Well, this is going to sound weird, but it felt like he had a nice build. And he smelled good—clean with a hint of expensive cologne. No cigar or cigarette smoke. No body odor or bad breath.”

  “How tall would you guess he was?”

  “He wasn’t short. I’d say he was about the height of my brother.”

  “And how tall is that?” Sims asked.

  “Six two. Somewhere in there.”

  Sims spoke again. “Any idea on weight?”

  “He’s thinner than my brother, so … one ninety-five? Two hundred? He was strong, I can tell you that. He threw me around like it was nothing.”

  “What about his voice?” Amarok asked, jumping back in. “Did he say much?”

  “Not a lot. He cursed when he couldn’t get the knot tied as quickly as he wanted. Hit me, too. I remember him laughing when I lifted my arms in an attempt to defend myself.”

  “Can you tell me anything about the vehicle?”

  “It was a dark-colored minivan. Clean on the inside, like I said. The seats had been removed in back. That’s all I can tell you. I wasn’t thinking straight. My mind was racing.”

  Could this be Jasper? Amarok wondered. Or was he grasping at straws? “Where’s your brother’s shop?”

  “In a little strip mall here in Casa Grande. I can give you the address.”

  Amarok wrote it down. He planned to drive by. He had the time. His plane didn’t leave until early tomorrow morning. “Did you get the impression this was something he’d done before?”