Hello Again

by Brenda Novak

  Now that I’m not actively involved in … in anything productive, I’m lost, Evelyn … I have to be part of something that matters or my life has no meaning. “I would believe it’s Jasper long before I’d believe it was a fellow psychiatrist.”

  “That doesn’t really answer my question.” Schultz was after a better quote for whatever piece he was writing, but he wasn’t going to get it from her.

  “I’m afraid I have to go. I have other commitments. Have a good day,” she said, and disconnected.

  “What is it?”

  Startled from her thoughts, Evelyn glanced up. She hadn’t heard Penny come into the room. “Nothing. Is there … something you need?” She hoped nothing else was seriously wrong. She had enough to contend with.

  “I’ve seen that worried look before.…” Penny gave a remonstrative shake of her head, but she didn’t push the issue. The phone was ringing out front, as it had been ringing for most of the day. “You never picked up that call from your sister. She’s on the line again, and she’s growing frustrated.”

  For good reason. They hadn’t been able to connect all day. “Right. I’ll grab it now,” Evelyn said, and Penny hurried back to her own desk.

  Being careful to push the right button this time, Evelyn got her sister on the phone. “Brianne?”

  “Jeez, what does it take to get hold of you these days?”

  “I’m sorry. I was … interrupted before. What’s going on?”

  “What do you mean—what’s going on? Mom and Dad are freaking out. Everyone’s freaking out. There’s been another murder here in Boston.”

  “I know. It’s terrible, upsetting. I’ve tried calming Mom and Dad down, but…”

  “There’s no way. I’ve tried, too. Do you really think we aren’t safe here? That we should move? Because that’s what they’re telling me.”

  “I don’t have a crystal ball, Brianne. I have no idea what might be best. I just don’t want anything to happen to any of you.” And, since their parents hadn’t moved since Evelyn dated Jasper in high school, Jasper knew where they lived. For that matter, so did Fitzpatrick. Brianne had relocated recently enough that it was possible she wouldn’t be quite so easy to find, but she hadn’t done anything to conceal her whereabouts, so a simple forwarding address could provide that information.

  “What started this up again?” Brianne asked. “It’s been eighteen months since Jasper tried to abduct you the last time—and twenty-one years since he did what he did before that. Why would he suddenly start murdering your high school friends?”

  Evelyn didn’t know—unless it was Fitzpatrick, growing desperate over his failed career and his inability to recover from what he’d done last year. Fitzpatrick had to know that “resurrecting” Jasper was the one way he could get her attention and possibly tempt her into accepting his assistance.

  Now that she’d had a few minutes to think about it, Evelyn realized that there were differences in the methodology of Mandy’s and Charlotte’s murders, too. Jasper toyed with his victims for as long as possible before he ended their lives. She knew that from experience, and from the body of a Shelly Walsh found near the shack where he’d taken her eighteen months ago. Shelly had gone missing nearly three months before she was killed. Mandy had been tortured, but she’d been killed quickly. Charlotte had died a violent but quick death also. Neither had been taken to a second location. Not only that, but the houses where they’d been murdered hadn’t been burned.

  Evelyn wondered—were the Boston murders merely foreplay to Jasper, a way to scare her before he came after her again, as she’d assumed? Did that account for the change in his methodology? Or were those murders a carefully constructed ruse to make her—and everyone else—believe Jasper was hunting down her old friends so that Fitzpatrick could jump in and act like the expert with all of his insider knowledge?

  Regardless, she chose to leave Fitzpatrick out of it—for now. “There could be a lot of reasons,” she told Brianne. “Maybe he and his wife split up, so he doesn’t have the same limiting factors he’s been dealing with. Maybe it’s the first time he can move freely around Boston. Or he saw or heard something about me that brought the old desire back into sharp focus. Mom could’ve told someone that I’m finally in a relationship, and that information could’ve been relayed to him through his parents. It’s even possible he stumbled into Mandy—that the encounter was purely coincidental, but seeing her made him realize how easy it would be to upset me by killing her.”

  “Which gave him the idea to continue.”

  “Yes.”

  “What are the police saying?” Brianne asked. “Can we expect any help from them?”

  “They haven’t said anything yet. They’re at the start of this thing.”

  “It seems they never have anything to say,” Brianne grumbled.

  “Trust me. I’m as frustrated as you are.”

  “I know. I’m sorry. Don’t listen to me. And don’t worry about Mom and Dad. I’ll talk them into going out of town for a couple of weeks, if I can. Then we’ll decide what to do from there.”

  “Sounds great. But what will you do? You’ll go with them, won’t you?”

  “No. I’m seeing someone. I’ll move in with him for the next little bit.”

  Evelyn came to her feet. “Whoa! This is a new development. When were you going to tell me you had a boyfriend?”

  “I didn’t see any point in telling anyone. I wasn’t sure it was going anywhere.”

  “And now?”

  “It’s actually moving quite fast.”

  Evelyn couldn’t help smiling at the pleasure in her voice. “Could he be ‘the one,’ Bri?”

  “It’s possible.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Jeff Creery.”

  “Jeff. Wow! Does Mom know?”

  “Yes. I just told her.”

  “She’s got to be thrilled by the prospect of a possible wedding.”

  “The news brought a ray of sunshine into her day. But we’re not making wedding plans yet. Please don’t mention the w word to her. I’d rather not get her going.”

  “I won’t. But this is good, for all of us. It gives us something to think about besides the past, our fear, the murders.”

  “When you put it that way, I’m not sure I can conscionably let Jeff join this family.”

  She was mostly joking, but that was how Evelyn felt about Amarok. “I’m so happy for you, Bri.”

  “I knew you would be.”

  Penny knocked on the wall, since the door was open. “Dr. Ricardo called. He says you were supposed to meet him in Lab #8 ten minutes ago.”

  Evelyn checked her watch. Damn. He was right; she was late. “Listen, I’ve got to go,” she told Brianne. “It’s a crazy day here.”

  “You’re always so busy.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I understand. I miss you. I wish Alaska wasn’t so far away. You’d be closer if you lived in Europe!”

  Evelyn experienced a wave of homesickness. “Not by much, but Europe sounds appealing. There’s no way it could be as cold as it is here.”

  “Can you come visit this spring?”

  “Yes. Definitely.” She said good-bye and hurried to meet Dr. Ricardo so she wouldn’t draw any more fire from him for slowing down the empathy study, but she had a difficult time concentrating on something she normally found fascinating. Her sister was falling in love. Somehow that made everything Evelyn was dealing with so much easier to bear. She hoped it had the same effect on their mother. Because if their mother couldn’t cope, if things got any worse, Evelyn would almost have to go back to Boston.

  * * *

  When Jasper got home, it was late. He peered through the swish of his windshield wipers, which were working hard to keep up with the thunderstorm, to see that Hillary’s car wasn’t in the garage. That surprised him. He couldn’t imagine where she might go this time of night, not with him gone and the kids having school in the morning.

  After p
arking in his usual spot, he grabbed his duffel bag from the backseat, tore off the baggage ticket that gave away the fact that he’d been on a plane—God, he was getting sloppy—and braced against the rain to throw the ticket in the trash can out back before proceeding into the house.

  The lights were off, even the kitchen light Hillary usually left on in case one of the girls got up in the night. The heat was off, too. Arizona didn’t get all that cold, not compared to most places, but they were in the middle of some bad weather, so it was chilly tonight. He’d expected a blast of warm air to hit him the moment he walked inside, but the change in temperature hadn’t been all that noticeable.

  What was going on? Hillary never kept the house this cold.…

  The wind rattled the windows as Jasper turned on a light and started down the hall. Both Miranda’s and Chelsea’s bedroom doors stood open. He poked his head into Miranda’s room, since he came to that first, but he couldn’t see his stepdaughter—or anything else. It seemed …

  He snapped on the light. Sure enough, she was gone. So was all of her furniture. He found Chelsea’s room the same way.

  What the hell?

  Jasper strode through the rest of the house. Everything that belonged to Hillary or the girls was gone. She’d even taken the new king-sized bed he’d been looking forward to sleeping on after the nights he’d just spent on cheap motel mattresses.

  “What a bitch!” he growled, and hurried to the garage to make sure she hadn’t taken the box where he’d stuffed his phone.

  Fortunately, that box was still there. She’d left most of the garage items, as well as a few pieces of old furniture she probably didn’t want, anyway—like the dining table they’d been meaning to replace, a twin bed they’d stuck in the office as an extra when her mother gave it away last year, the desk that was also in the office and his clothes.

  Flinging his wet hair out of his eyes, he sat at the desk and called his wife’s cell. Frustrated when he got her voice mail and couldn’t vent his rage, he hung up and called back.

  You’ve reached the voice mail for Hillary Smith. I’m afraid I’m unable to come to the phone right now. Please leave a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as possible.

  This time, he waited for the recording to start instead of disconnecting. “Answer, damn it. You’ll have to talk to me at some point. What the hell’s wrong with you? You can’t wait until I’m home to leave me? How can you walk out on a man who’s going through what I’m going through? I witnessed an inmate being stabbed, for God’s sake—for the third time. Where’s your compassion? What kind of woman abandons her husband when he’s down-and-out?”

  He hit the end button, almost called her back to rail some more, but wound up throwing his phone across the room instead. How dare she do this to him! He was tempted to go after her, to show her what standing up to him meant. He knew where to find her—she’d be back home with her parents. Where else would she go? He’d known for some time that they weren’t fans of his, but he hadn’t cared. He didn’t like them, either. As long as he had control of Hillary, he didn’t think it mattered what they thought.

  But it mattered now. He could only imagine what they were telling her. He barely talks to us when he comes here—if he comes in the first place.… How can he leave you with the kids, disappear for days and not even stay in touch?… He must be seeing another woman, or he’d keep his cell phone charged so you could reach him. What if something happened to one of the girls while he was gone?… Let’s be honest, you’re not losing much. Until the past year, you basically supported him, and he rarely does anything with the girls. So what has he brought to the table?

  Visions of entering his in-laws’ house and killing every single occupant danced in his head. He even went to the kitchen to see if Hillary had left any knives in the drawer. She had—but deep down he knew he couldn’t touch her or the kids. That would only attract attention to him—as the spurned lover—and he’d be a fool to make himself the subject of a police investigation right now. He was trying to get on at Hanover House—if they’d ever fucking call him. Why hadn’t they responded? He had the perfect résumé, had spent over a year crafting it. True, he hadn’t been in corrections for very long, but he couldn’t imagine they had people standing in line to work in such a remote place.

  Impotent rage welled up at the thought that he might not get on. He’d based all of his plans on that one piece.…

  So he’d quit his job and go to Alaska, anyway, he decided. Get work in Anchorage. Try to hire on at Hanover House from there. They had to accept him eventually. They had no reason not to.

  There. Hillary had done him a favor. She’d left him, so he was out of the relationship cleanly. She and her parents wouldn’t be looking for him, wouldn’t be blaming him for anything beyond being a bad husband and father. Basically, they’d be glad he was gone.

  He was feeling better, so much that he almost started to whistle as he viewed the many empty spots where there had once been furniture. “Good riddance. I should thank you,” he said aloud, and chuckled as he opened his laptop. He needed to turn in his notice—something he’d been looking forward to ever since the day he’d started.

  He took great pleasure in crafting his resignation—great care, too, since he could still need a recommendation letter if he was ever lucky enough to get an interview at Evelyn’s institution. But once he sent it off and was sifting through all the spam he’d received since he last checked his in-box this morning, he found something that made his breath catch in his throat: it was a message from Hanover House.

  “Here we go,” he mumbled, and licked his lips before opening that e-mail.

  Dear Mr. Smith:

  Thank you for your recent job application. We are happy you have decided to apply at the first maximum-security study facility of its kind. We are currently looking to fill five full-time positions, hopefully in the next few weeks, and would like to schedule an interview with you via Skype at your earliest convenience. If you could reply with three dates/times that you will be available, we’ll send you an appointment.

  We look forward to learning more about you, your background and your vocational goals.

  It was signed by someone named Brian Kincannon from Human Resources.

  With a loud whoop, Jasper jumped out of his chair and went racing around the house, banging on the walls. He was good at interviews; he could get this job. Even better, after making him wait nearly three weeks for a reply they sounded like they were now in a bit of a hurry. Thank God he’d been so cautious with the way he’d worded his resignation.

  “Wow,” he murmured when he’d finally siphoned off some of his excess energy and was able to calm down. He didn’t care if Hillary was gone. He’d soon be rubbing elbows with Evelyn on a daily basis—and she wouldn’t even realize who he was. Neither would Amarok. No way would either of them ever expect him to be so bold. He’d used another name when he’d bumped into the sergeant at a diner once, but how many people could remember the name of a complete stranger they met so briefly eighteen months ago?

  After twenty-one years of keeping to the shadows, he’d be hiding in plain sight.

  22

  Amarok kept a close watch on the door. He wondered if Evelyn was going to stop by the Moosehead tonight. Samantha was standing not far away. He wasn’t too excited about that, guessed Evelyn would be even less excited. That was the reason he’d left Makita home—so Samantha wouldn’t have the dog as an excuse to approach him. But it probably wouldn’t make much difference in the long run. Living in such a small town, he and Evelyn wouldn’t be able to avoid her, so there was little point in trying. His ex would hang out at the bar a lot. Samantha was single, after all, and there weren’t a lot of other things to do, especially during the winter.

  Still, he almost downed the rest of his drink and walked out. If Evelyn didn’t see his truck she’d go on home, and he was fine with meeting her there. He might as well spare her the discomfort of watching Samantha smile and preen f
or him at every opportunity.

  He picked up his mug to do exactly that—but Evelyn arrived before he could follow through. He spotted her the second she walked in. From the corner of his eye, he saw Samantha take notice, too, so he left his beer on the bar and walked over to sling an arm around Evelyn’s shoulders. He didn’t want her to feel like an outsider. She already dealt with that a lot. Although most of the townsfolk had come to accept her, even like her, Samantha was one of their own. Born and bred here, she understood the people and the area in a way an intellectual from Boston, who was so driven and focused on her own goals, probably never could.

  “How was your day?” he asked as he guided her through the crowd and back to where he’d been sitting.

  If she noticed Samantha watching them, she made no comment. “Busy,” she replied, putting her purse on the bar and sliding onto the stool next to his. “I’m exhausted. And frustrated.”

  He returned to his own seat and motioned for Shorty to bring her a glass of wine. “About what?”

  “I just talked to the social worker assigned to Beth’s case.”

  “And?”

  “She wasn’t able to get out to Beth’s house again today.”

  “She probably has a lot of cases.”

  Evelyn’s expression turned into one of exasperation. “I’d be willing to bet that none of them involve a serial killer. You’d think she could make this a priority.”

  “The evidence that convicted Lyman Bishop was planted. Most people sympathize with Bishop at this point: the scholarly cancer researcher who, as it turns out, might be innocent of the heinous crimes for which he was convicted. You know how that must be playing out in the media. Adult Protective Services are going to be very careful with this case. No one wants to risk making another mistake.”

  Evelyn picked a cashew out of the bowl of mixed nuts at her elbow. “I understand that. But Bishop’s attorney is pushing to get him released as soon as possible—and that shouldn’t be too hard. Given that Bishop has no prior arrests and was an educated man doing important work, not the typical dirtball who’s been in prison half a dozen times, the state’s embarrassed and eager to get him home so that the media circus surrounding this incident will die down.”