by Brenda Novak
With a curse, he crumpled the note, tossed it into the garbage and put on some coffee. It was two hours later in Arizona, nearly nine, so he felt comfortable calling Detective Sims in Peoria. Amarok had just been there on Friday, so Sims hadn’t had a lot of time to make progress on that multiple homicide Amarok believed to be Jasper’s work, but now, with the possible exception of the attack on Vanessa Lopez in Casa Grande, those killings might be all he had left with which to fulfill the promises he’d made to Evelyn. After how Maureen had reacted when he mentioned where those women were murdered, Amarok was more convinced than ever that Jasper was responsible for those deaths. The fact that he’d gone on such a rampage seemed to confirm it. By contacting the Moores and asking about those women in Peoria, Amarok had rattled Jasper’s cage. He’d been getting close, and Jasper hadn’t been happy about it.
“Detective Sims here.”
He’d gotten out the milk and cold cereal, so Amarok went to the cupboard for a bowl. “Sims, it’s Sergeant Murphy. I realize it hasn’t been—”
“Amarok!” he broke in. “Glad you called. I have good news for you, was just looking for your card.”
Amarok had taken a spoon from the drawer and started across the kitchen. At this, he froze. He could use some good news. “I can’t tell you how glad I am to hear that. What’s up?”
“The pathologist who did the autopsies on the victims here in Peoria sent their fingernail clippings to the lab, and one victim provided a small amount of genetic material that was not her own. They’re working on developing a DNA profile.”
“Wow. That is hopeful.” Except Boston PD didn’t have Jasper’s DNA. There’d been a screwup at the lab that was processing Evelyn’s rape kit and, somehow, the evidence had been lost. Evelyn believed Jasper’s father paid someone to destroy it, but that had never been proven. The loss had been credited to an “accident.” “That’ll be helpful—if we can ever catch him.”
“It might tell us if the same person who killed my five victims attacked Vanessa Lopez. She fought when he grabbed her, and managed to scratch his arm. Casa Grande PD is trying to get a DNA profile from what was under her nails, too.”
“A match would be great.” Then at least they’d know they were chasing the same guy. “Did the lab give you any idea when they might have a profile?”
“Usually takes thirty to sixty days, but they’re rushing this one,” Sims said. “They understand that we need to stop this guy before he kills again. They told me they should be able to finish the test in a couple of weeks.”
“The sooner the better.”
“Do you know if your man smokes?” Sims asked.
“I have no clue.” According to Evelyn, Jasper hadn’t in high school, but that was over twenty years ago. “Why?”
“We also recovered some cigarette butts not far from the burned-out building. Most have been too damaged by weather to even bother trying to get DNA. But one was knocked under a plastic tarp that was out there along with some other junk, so it’s in fairly good shape. We’re thinking we might be able to glean some DNA from that, as well. If it matches what we find under those fingernails, we’ll not only know that our perp smokes, we’ll know the brand. I realize that’s not a lot, but every little bit helps.”
“I agree.” Amarok finished crossing over to the table. “Thanks. I needed to hear this.”
“There should be more,” he said. “I’ll keep you informed.”
Amarok hung up and tried calling Evelyn. No doubt she could use some good news this morning, too. But she didn’t pick up. He figured she was in a session or busy with a study. “Call me when you can,” he said, leaving her a message.
He’d finished eating and was getting up to rinse his dishes when Makita dashed over to the door and began to bark.
“Whoa, settle down,” he told his dog, but he knew someone—or maybe an animal—had to be approaching the house.
A knock confirmed it wasn’t an animal.
Although he was surprised to have company so early, he was the only police officer in town, so he was the go-to guy if anything went wrong, from a serious car accident, to a caribou carcass on the road, to someone who couldn’t get his or her car out of the snow. But when he swung the door open, he knew this wasn’t police business. Samantha stood there.
“Hi.” Wearing a heavy coat, boots and a knit cap, she smiled brightly at him.
He dipped his head. “What’s up?”
She lifted a bag and a “to-go” coffee with one gloved hand. “Brought you some donuts and your favorite brew—from The Dinky Diner.”
Her breath misted in the cold air, but he was hesitant to invite her in. “I’ve had breakfast,” he said. “And coffee.”
“So?” She gave him a look of exasperation. “It won’t hurt you to take it.”
He accepted the bag and the cup. “Thanks. Is there … anything else?”
“I missed Makita while I was gone. Was hoping to see him.”
That made sense. She’d always been an animal person, had asked him for Makita when they broke up—not that his dog was something he could give up. Stepping out of the way, he motioned toward the living room. “Sure. Come on in.”
As soon as she was inside, she removed her gloves and hat, tossed them on the couch and got down on her knees to pet a tail-wagging Makita. “You missed me, didn’t you, boy? You’re a lot more excited to see me than your human is.” She tossed Amarok another meaningful glance, but he didn’t react to it. He went over and finished rinsing his dishes, giving her the chance to get all she wanted of playing with his dog.
“Looks like he’s doing great,” she said as she got to her feet.
“Good thing. I don’t know what I’d do if anything ever happened to him.”
“I know. You felt so bad when you broke up with me that you would’ve given him to me, if you could have.”
“I considered it,” he admitted.
She chuckled. “I wish you could’ve loved me that much, Amarok,” she said, sobering. “And sometimes I wonder if … if you’d ever be willing to try again.”
He closed the dishwasher, turned it on and swung around to face her. “Samantha, you know I’m with someone else.”
“I know you’re with someone who can’t be a very good match for you.”
Resting his hands on his hips, he scowled at her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Some uppity psychiatrist from the Lower 48? Come on! You’re a rugged man who likes the outdoors, who thrives on wide-open spaces and the freedom to roam. And you like women who can embrace all of that with you, someone who can handle it.”
“She’s handled more than most,” he said.
“Crime and violence, maybe. But that has to have left some scars. Those scars are apparent by the wary look in her eye whenever anyone so much as walks into the Moosehead. Besides, can she hunt? Shoot? Fish? Ride a snowmobile or a four-wheeler? Do any of the things you love?”
“Lay off it, Sam. We have plenty in common.”
“Are you sure?” She lowered her voice. “After what she’s been through, can she even make love the way you like? With any kind of abandon? Or do you have to worry about every little move you make for fear you’ll scare the hell out of her?”
“Stop it,” he said. “We aren’t having this conversation.”
“Someone needs to talk some sense into you. I admit there’s some self-interest at play here, too. I’ve missed you. I won’t lie about that. I’ve already told you that I wish things would’ve worked out between us, that I’d like to try again. You’re everything I’ve ever wanted. But even if you don’t want me, you owe it to yourself to find someone other than Dr. Talbot, someone who fits you and your lifestyle a lot better than she does.”
“She’s adjusting to Alaska. She’ll be fine here.”
“Really? Because from what I’ve heard, most of the doctors at Hanover House have signed only a five-year commitment. How long is she planning to stay?”
He refused
to admit that she hadn’t made that clear. “Her plans are none of your business.”
“It’s anyone’s business who cares about you. Trust me, I’m not the only one in town who feels this way. I’m just the only one bold enough to say it. She’s not for you, Amarok. She’s a cheechako.”
“That’s ridiculous!”
She threw up her hands. “No, it’s not. That type of thing makes a difference. You know what happened with your mother, how miserable she was here. Do you want the same thing to happen with your wife?”
“You’re out of line. I can run my own life,” he said, but she wouldn’t back off.
“How old is she, anyway?” she asked.
“Doesn’t matter,” he growled, but as Samantha came closer he couldn’t help remembering how much simpler everything had been with her. Was he making a mistake devoting his life to someone as complicated as Evelyn? Would she ever be as committed to him, and to Alaska, as he needed her to be?
“Why take on all of those problems?” Samantha asked. “Why get involved with someone who will only break your heart?”
“She didn’t ask for what happened to her.”
“No. And I feel bad for what she’s been through. Don’t get me wrong. That kind of violence is sick, not fair to anyone. But she’s an attractive woman. I’m sure there are plenty of men who would love to be with her. Let her find someone else—in Boston.” She unzipped her coat and lifted his hand to her breast. “Remember what I feel like? You liked me well enough at one time.”
For a moment his libido flared and he was tempted to curl his fingers around that soft mound. She was sexually familiar and acting as if he still had the right to touch her wherever he wanted. But he set her away from him. “You need to go,” he told her. “Now.”
Frowning in disappointment, she zipped her coat. “Fine. I’m going. Just know that … I still love you.” Standing on tiptoe, she tried to brush her lips across his.
Gently but firmly, he set her aside again, this time before she could make contact. But she lifted her chin to show him she wasn’t put off. “You belong with me,” she said, and gathered her hat and gloves before walking out the door.
“Shit,” he muttered once she was gone. Without a doubt, he knew he wanted Evelyn. But could he ever really have her?
21
After her encounter with Lyman Bishop, Evelyn had tried to chase away her demons by throwing herself into work. She’d finished some reports that needed to be written for her boss at the Bureau of Prisons. She’d called to find out who was working the Zombie Maker killings now that Detective Gustavson was gone and told his replacement, a Detective Lewis, what Bishop had revealed after he’d pulled off the polygraph equipment. She’d checked in with the social worker about Beth only to learn that Louise Belgrath hadn’t had time to get back out to Beth’s house quite yet. And, besides holding a staff meeting over lunch where she went over the various studies they were involved in and the progress being made, she’d met with her regular subjects.
But news of Charlotte’s death, the fact that Charlotte had also been a friend of Evelyn’s in high school, was beginning to spread in Boston. Amidst everything else that was going on, Evelyn was bombarded with calls—some she was able to accept and some she wasn’t, depending on what she was doing at the time. She’d spoken to Boston PD. Since she’d told them she’d been on the phone, briefly, with the killer the night Charlotte was murdered, they were very interested in hearing what she had to say. She’d spoken to various friends she hadn’t heard from in years, all of whom were horrified for Charlotte and her family, if not downright frightened for their own safety. And she’d spent a few minutes on the phone with her father, not that it had gone any smoother than when she’d spoken to her mother the night before. They both insisted they couldn’t leave the area, which left them vulnerable and frightened Evelyn.
Although she’d managed to dodge most calls from the media, that didn’t last. At three ten, right when her lack of sleep was beginning to catch up with her, her assistant buzzed her office to say that Brianne was on the phone. Since her sister’s call was one of the many she’d been unable to take earlier and she didn’t want to put her off any longer, Evelyn tried to pick up, but accidentally answered the wrong line. She found herself on a call with Sebring Schultz from The Star Tribune—the same reporter who’d reached out to her about the planted panty evidence in Lyman Bishop’s attic and not someone she particularly cared for since he sympathized with Lyman Bishop and not Detective Gustavson, putting them on opposite sides of that issue.
“Dr. Talbot, are you aware that Charlotte Zimmerman Pine has been murdered?” he asked as soon as she said hello.
“I am,” she replied. “It’s a tragedy—like Mandy’s death was a tragedy. But I’m very busy, Mr. Schultz—”
“Do you think Jasper is on the hunt again? That he’s behind these killings?” he interrupted instead of letting her beg off.
Torn as to whether or not she would allow this interview, Evelyn stared at the blinking light on the line she should’ve picked up. “I absolutely do, especially now that there has been a second victim. Both were schoolmates of mine—as well as his. He would’ve known them, too.”
“So you believe he’s now living in the Boston area? That he’s come back—if he ever truly left?”
“Whether he’s living in Boston or not, he’s obviously visiting. He abducted me from there eighteen months ago. I’m sure you’re aware of that, since it was in the news. Anyway, I’m not trying to start a panic among all of my old friends and acquaintances. I’d merely like to take this opportunity to warn everyone to take care. There’s no telling who he’ll go after next.”
“You’re saying there will be another victim.”
“Two murders can hardly be called a pattern, Mr. Schultz. But given the situation, we have to acknowledge that it’s a possibility. There’s no telling what he might do. He’s a sadist. Everyone should remain on their guard.”
“Charlotte’s husband said you were in contact with her before she was killed. Did you know she might be a potential victim?”
Evelyn brushed some lint off her slacks. “I guessed she might be targeted, yes. That was why I reached out.”
“Why her?” he asked. “How’d you ‘guess’—accurately, I might add—that she’d be next?”
“She seemed the logical choice,” Evelyn replied, and explained about the picture in her junior yearbook.
“Are there any other photographs in that yearbook that might indicate who the next victim will be?”
“None that stood out to me, not like that one.”
“Was Charlotte able to convey anything to you that could be helpful in solving this case?”
Irritated that he seemed to feel entitled to push regardless of what she wanted, she hesitated. She was tempted to hang up simply because she didn’t care for him. But, given her situation, it was never wise to make enemies in the media. So she forced herself to answer. “No. She was nervous because Mandy had been killed—that’s all. I was trying to calm her, give her someone to talk to who understood the fear she was feeling.”
“Your interaction gleaned nothing that could be shared with police.…”
“I’ve already been in touch with the police, told them everything I know. I want Jasper to be caught more than anyone.”
“Then you don’t believe it could’ve been Tim Fitzpatrick.”
The blinking light Evelyn had been watching went dark. Her sister had hung up. But Evelyn paid that no mind. She could call Brianne back. Schultz had just said something shocking. “What do you mean?”
“Certain neighbors have reported seeing an unfamiliar blue minivan in the area. One woman, a Lulu Crouch, got the license plate number of the van while she was walking her dog. She thought it was suspicious that the driver kept going around the same block—Charlotte’s block. According to a contact I have at the DMV, who will remain nameless, that plate is registered to your former colleague.”
&
nbsp; The suspicion that’d plagued Evelyn once before where Fitzpatrick was concerned reared up again. A previous subject, who was now dead because of his hatred and suspicion of Fitzpatrick, had told her Fitzpatrick was as much a psychopath as anyone incarcerated at Hanover House. Some of Fitzpatrick’s actions and personality traits suggested that might be true—the way he’d tried to manipulate her and everyone else on the team, his need to be in control regardless of what was best for the group, the careless way he’d used her image in front of dangerous men, the stalking behavior.
He’d been going through a rough year since all of that came to light. But surely he hadn’t resorted to murder.…
“Dr. Talbot?”
Evelyn drew her attention back to the conversation. “Yes?”
“Aren’t you going to answer the question?”
Tim had been searching her yearbook. He’d admitted as much. He was almost as obsessed with her as Jasper was, but would he go to such lengths? Had he fallen that low, grown that desperate to feel important again?
“It would be a mistake to jump to any conclusions,” she said. “Whether or not Tim Fitzpatrick is involved is something the police will have to puzzle out.”
“I understand that. But you are an expert on human behavior, so your opinion should be valid here. You worked quite closely with Dr. Fitzpatrick for several years, getting the funding and support for Hanover House. Would you say he’s capable of such a heinous crime? Could this be revenge for how your relationship ended last winter?”
“Tim and I disagreed on certain policies here at the institution, and he quit. That’s hardly any reason to begin killing innocent people.”
“Except his career is now in ruins. He hasn’t been able to recover, and he could easily blame you. I have a source who tells me he’d like to get his job back, but you’ve refused to speak to him since he left.”
“That’s not entirely true. Maybe I’m not willing to have him come back to Hanover House, but I’ve spoken to him twice this week. Our relationship is amicable enough.”
“So you would or you wouldn’t be surprised?”
