“Have a seat, Detective…?”
“Augustino. Sergeant Augustino.”
As he sat on her tiny couch and took out a pen, Lisl tried to pin down his accent. Something strange about the way he talked.
“Now, about that phone call—” he began.
“Why are the police involved? I reported it to the phone company.”
“Yes, but there’s been more than one incident like yours. Southern Bell felt it was serious enough to refer it to the State Police.”
Lisl remembered the terror in that child’s voice.
“It was a prank?”
“We hope so.” But something in his eyes said he didn’t think so.
“I’m glad the police are involved then. It was awful.”
“I’m sure it was. Could you describe to me exactly what happened, including the surrounding events? In detail?”
“I already gave that information to the phone company.”
“I know, but their report is vague. I need your firsthand account to be sure this is the same. Start at the beginning, please.”
Lisl shrank from the thought of reliving that call, but if it would help track down the twisted mind that would pull such a sick stunt, she was all for it.
She told Augustino about the party at Rafe’s place, the crowded living room, about the strange, endless ring that had set everyone’s teeth on edge. She watched him leaning farther and farther forward as she spoke. He was so intent that he wasn’t taking any notes.
“And since no one else seemed to want to do it,” she said, “I picked up the phone. And that’s when I heard that voice.” She paused, shivering. “How can I describe the terror in that child’s voice?”
Lisl glanced at Sergeant Augustino and knew immediately that she didn’t have to describe the voice to him. She saw it in his eyes—the look. Almost like the look she caught in Will Ryerson’s eyes every so often.
She said, “You’ve heard it too, haven’t you?”
2
The woman’s words jolted Renny.
How the hell did she know? How could she tell?
Shit, yes, he’d heard that voice. He’d had the unnerving experience all those years ago—Christ, it was almost to the freaking day!—of lifting the receiver on one of those drawn-out rings. He’d heard it. And he’d never forget it. How could he? The voice replayed night after night in his sleep.
He studied Lisl Whitman with renewed respect. This was one sharp gal. Good-looking too.
Looks and smarts—a deadly combination. She could put him off his guard enough to tip his hand. He’d have to watch himself. Not only did he lack any official capacity here in North Carolina, he was impersonating a state cop. And that was molto illegal.
“No, not really,” he lied—not well, he knew. “But I’ve heard the description so many times I almost feel like I have.”
She nodded absently. He could tell she didn’t believe him.
“Who’s behind this?”
“A very sick man. We’re trying to track him down.”
She looked him squarely in the eyes and said, “Was that a … a real child on the phone?”
“No.” Renny hoped his eyes didn’t betray him. “That was a recording.”
Has to be. What else could it be? He’d always followed the old Sherlock Holmes dictum to eliminate the impossible. Well, the real Danny picking up the phone and wailing those words was impossible, so …
He shook his head and changed the subject.
“But this was not the address at which the incident occurred, am I correct?”
Renny congratulated himself on how official that sounded.
“No. It was at Rafe Losmara’s. That should be in the report too.”
“It is. But every time I call Mr. Losmara or stop by his place, there’s no one home.”
“That’s strange…”
“How long have you known Mr. Losmara?”
“Only a few months.”
“Only a few months.” Renny sensed he was getting warm. He could feel the excitement building. “So you don’t know him that well.”
He saw her back stiffen.
“I know him very well.”
“Could you describe him to me?”
He’d been looking for an answer to that question for nearly two weeks now.
She described Losmara in glowing terms. Obviously these two had a thing going. Lucky Losmara. But Renny found his hot trail cooling rapidly. The man she described was too short, too dark, too small, and way too young.
Not Ryan. No way.
So much for that theory. But that didn’t mean that Ryan hadn’t been there. Maybe he didn’t own the place, but he’d been at that party. No question. Renny would stake his life on it.
“Could I have a guest list?”
“You can’t think that anyone at the party—?”
“Of course not. But it’s all we have to go on for now. It might be useful.”
She rose and went to a small desk in the corner of the living room and began rummaging through the papers that cluttered its surface. Abruptly she held up a sheet of paper.
“Got it! I always knew there was a reason never to throw anything away. Do you have a suspect?”
Renny chewed the inside of his lip. He’d have to be real careful here.
“We don’t have a name, but we do have an old photo.”
She handed back the list, then took her seat again.
“Well…?”
Renny pulled the photo out of his breast pocket and placed it on the coffee table between them. He wished he could have arranged for one of those computer-generated drawings that aged a suspect’s face.
“A priest?”
Anxiously, Renny watched her face, searching for some hint of recognition as she picked it up and studied it.
“A Jesuit. As I said, this is an old picture. No doubt he looks a lot different now. Give it a good look. He might have a beard or a mustache these days.” He thought he saw her stiffen. “Remind you of anyone?”
She shook her head quickly. “No. No one.”
A thrill shot through Renny as he realized she might be lying. Those last two words, the extra, unnecessary emphasis, gave her away. What was that look in her eyes now? Uncertainty? He caught her quick glance at the list in his hand. The photo must remind her of someone at her party.
“Sure?”
“Positive.”
If he’d been on his home turf, Renny would have jumped all over her, maybe even gone so far as to bring her down to the station. But he was in a legally precarious position here. If the department got even a whiff of what he was up to, he’d be in big trouble. So he stood and stuffed the guest list in his pocket. He reached across and took the photo from her.
“Thank you, Miss Whitman. You’ve been a big help. Maybe we’ll finally track down this pervo.”
She was staring at him.
“Your accent … you sound like a New Yorker now.”
Damn! Time to beat it.
“Yes, well, I spent part of my youth in Queens. Hard to kick some things, don’t you think?”
She said nothing.
“Okay, well, I’ve got to get back to Raleigh. Thanks again.”
He hurried out the door and fairly danced down the steps after it closed behind him. Somewhere on that list in his pocket was the new identity of Father Bill Ryan. He was closing in. He could taste it.
And when he found him, he’d drag him back for trial. But not before he’d extracted down payment on years of rage from his worthless hide.
Wouldn’t be long now.
3
Rafe showed up only moments after the detective had departed. Lisl told him about the encounter but didn’t mention how the photo of the priest had reminded her vaguely of Will. So hard to tell. The priest in the photo had been young and fresh-faced, with a straight nose and unscarred forehead, so different from Will. But still, something was there. Plus the fact that a beard was a good disguise if you were on the run …
She shook off the apprehensions. Groundless. Silly. Will was the gentlest of men. She couldn’t imagine him hurting anyone, especially a child. And besides, Will had been nowhere near the phone when it rang. She distinctly remembered seeing him standing in the middle of the room.
But why had Will disappeared immediately after?
No matter. She was sure he’d have a good explanation the next time they talked. And she didn’t have to worry about the cop bothering him—Will had been so adamant about not coming, she hadn’t bothered to put his name on the guest list.
Rafe brushed off her puzzlement as to why the State Police were getting involved, saying it had nothing to do with them, that they had more important things to concern them.
But she noticed that he was unusually quiet and pensive as they drove through town on their way to his mystery destination
They wound up sitting at the curb near the rear parking lot of County Medical Center for a good twenty minutes or more. With Rafe so quiet she found herself thinking about Will again. Why had he disappeared from her party like that? Right when that awful phone call had come through. She could have used a little comfort from him then.
She wished she could find him and talk to him but she hadn’t seen him since the party. Christmas break had a lot to do with that. The students were gone and campus routine was on hold until the second week in January. The few times she’d been back to her office she’d checked the old elm tree but he’d been nowhere in sight.
And she couldn’t call him because he had no phone …
Phone … she wondered if there was any connection between his aversion to phones and the call at the party. But how could there be?
The only way to find out would be to ask him, and that would have to wait until she saw him again. Right now she was chilly and bored.
“What are we waiting for?” she asked Rafe for the fourth time.
“A face. The face we will be targeting. Just watch that Porsche over there.”
“Which one is that?”
“That little black one, third from the right in the lot over there.”
Lisl spotted the car he meant. A sleek, sporty-looking two-seater. It looked built for speed.
“That’s the doctor’s parking lot.”
“Yes. I know.”
Lisl was just beginning to get an inkling of why they might be here when she saw him. A tall, dark-haired man in brushed wool slacks and a camel hair overcoat.
“Oh, God! It’s Brian!”
“Yes. Doctor Brian Callahan. Your ex-husband. Very good-looking. I compliment you on your taste. Reminds me a little of Ryan Reynolds. I suspect he tries to emphasize the resemblance.”
Lisl felt something akin to panic gripping her throat.
“Get me out of here.”
“Why? Does he frighten you?”
“No. I just don’t want to have anything to do with him.”
“Why not?”
Lisl didn’t answer. How could she? She wasn’t sure herself. She hadn’t seen Brian for years, and hadn’t thought of him much at all since she’d met Rafe. But the sight of him now brought back that awful, searing moment outside the attorney’s office. The look on his face, the contempt in his voice, the words … I never loved you …
And with the memory came the pain.
She couldn’t face him again, couldn’t bear to have those hard, cold eyes pierce her again. She had come so far since that day. She couldn’t risk letting him drag her down again. And he could do it. She knew he could look at her with that face and make her feel like nothing. Lisl never wanted to feel like nothing again.
So, yes. She was afraid of Brian. He had never struck her, never harmed her physically. She almost wished he had. That would have been easier to deal with than the punishment he had meted out at the end of their marriage.
“Why not?” Rafe repeated.
“He’s simply not worth the time.”
“Oh, but he is. You helped put him where he is. You worked to pay the rent, you cooked his meals, you made it possible for him to get through medical school while he was sticking it to anything in a skirt.”
“Drop it, Rafe. It’s yesterday’s news.”
“And then when he was ready for his residency and could start making money on his own, he dumped you.”
“Enough.”
“Look at him, Lisl. Tall, handsome, prosperous—only a couple of years into private practice and already he’s driving an expensive sports car, wearing Armani clothes. And he owes much of it to you.”
“I don’t want anything from him!”
“Yes, you do.” Rafe’s eyes were fierce. “You want to be free of him.”
“I am free of him.”
“Legally, yes. But are you?”
Lisl heard Brian’s car start, saw him back out of his space, then race to the lot exit. When the gate rose to let him out, he roared away with squealing, smoking tires.
“Let’s follow Doctor Callahan, shall we?”
Lisl said nothing. She felt cold and sick as she sat with her arms folded across her chest while Rafe followed Brian through town.
“Doctor Callahan has a heavy foot,” Rafe said.
Lisl remembered Brian’s love of fast driving. A trip across town with him was an invitation to whiplash.
“You’re not exactly a turtle yourself.”
“Just trying to keep up with the good doctor.”
They followed him through the black section at the southern end of town—“Downtown Browntown” as the students called it—and then into a development of luxury custom homes. The sign at the entrance read Rolling Oaks.
“What on earth is a Rolling Oak?” Rafe said.
Brian’s car zipped into a short asphalt driveway and screeched to a halt before a two-car garage attached to a new two-story colonial. The garage door opened automatically and he eased the car inside.
“Nice house,” Rafe said. “A ‘starter home,’ if you plan to be wealthy. Could have been yours.”
“I don’t want anything of his. I told you that.”
“He’s got a custom home, you’ve got a garden apartment.”
Lisl realized she was angry—very angry. But somehow admitting that would allow Brian another victory. So she said nothing.
Rafe looked at her a long time, then said, “Doesn’t seem fair, does it?”
“Life isn’t fair, Rafe. If you expect fairness from life you’ll go crazy long before you die.”
He clapped his hands. “Excellent! Couldn’t have said it better myself! Fairness is a human construct. Life doesn’t supply it—we do. That’s why I brought you here. Now that we know where Doctor Brian Callahan lives, we are going to create a little fairness in his neck of the woods.”
Rafe’s smile frightened Lisl as he chirped the tires and roared past Brian’s closing garage door.
4
They had a light dinner, and Rafe asked her to stay over. They had just removed the last of their clothing when Rafe pulled a black leather belt out of the drawer and handed it to her.
“What’s this for?” Lisl asked.
She uncoiled it in her hands—long, close to four feet in length, and two inches wide.
“I want you to use it on me.”
Lisl felt a sudden tightening inside.
“What do you mean, ‘use it’?”
“I want you to hit me with it.”
Her stomach turned. “This is sick.”
“What’s sick?”
“Look, I love you, Rafe, but I can’t get with this masochism thing of yours.”
His eyes suddenly blazed.
“My masochism thing? Lisl, you are the masochist! You’ve let people put you down, grind you down, chain you down until you’ve come to accept it as your state of being, your lot in life. Day to day life is a masochistic event for you, Lisl. You should be on top of the world yet you’re content to live under its heel!”
“I don’t want to hurt anyone, Rafe.”
He st
epped up and gently slipped his arms around her.
“I know you don’t, Lisl. That’s because you’re a good person. But there’s so much anger in you it’s frightening. You seethe with it.”
She knew he was right. She’d never been aware of her anger before. But she could not deny its existence now. She had discovered it since meeting Rafe—a boiling rage deep down inside her. And with each passing week she could feel it bubbling closer to the surface.
“I can’t help that.”
“Oh, but you can. And you will. You’ve got to let that anger go before you can be the new Lisl.”
“I don’t know if I want to be the new Lisl.”
“Do you like the old Lisl?”
“No.”
God, no.
“Then don’t be afraid to change.”
His words were so soft, so soothing, the touch of his bare skin against hers was so warm. She floated on the sound of his voice.
“That’s why I’ve led you through these little faceless crimes. They’re symbolic. They let you bleed off the anger in tiny, harmless doses, and that brings you closer to the new Lisl. The same is true with the belt.”
“No, I—”
“Listen to me, listen to me,” he said softly, almost cooing in her ear. “It’s a symbolic act. I don’t want you to really hurt me. Believe me, I’m into pleasure, not pain. Just think of it as comparable to our little thefts—no one was really hurt. This will be much the same. You won’t strike me with any force. You’ll just lay the strap across my back and pretend I’m Brian.”
“Rafe, please…” She was beginning to feel sick.
“Where’s the harm? You won’t be hurting me and you won’t be hurting Brian. You’ll only be helping yourself. This is symbolic, remember? Symbolic.”
“Okay,” she said finally. “Symbolic.”
She didn’t want to do this, but if Rafe thought it was so important, she’d give it a try. And if it did release some of this anger in her—although she didn’t see how it could—that would be to the good. And if nothing else, once she got through it they could make love. That was what she really wanted to do.
Rafe lay across the bed, facedown, the smooth skin of his bare back awaiting the belt.
“All right,” he said. “Twenty strokes. Just think of me as Brian and slap it across my back.”
Reprisal Page 13
