by Brenda Novak
Bobby Knox didn’t require that much security, so she met him in one of the three small rooms that had no plexiglass, only a desk between them. He wasn’t a killer; he was a con man. He’d bilked several hundred people out of millions by claiming he was going to build a boys ranch. He’d said that once the land was purchased and the school built, the state he was living in at the time would pay a certain amount for each child who attended, which was how his investors would receive their money back, with interest.
Some boys ranches were supported the way he’d described, so that part was plausible—except Bobby had no contract with the state and never planned to build anything. What he showed his investors was a forged document that, to the unsuspecting, looked pretty authentic.
Old ladies were particularly susceptible to his pitch. At forty-six, with light brown hair and dark brown eyes, he was fairly attractive and seemed trustworthy. They loved the idea of helping troubled teens while growing their retirement funds. But none of that ever happened. Bobby would string them along for three or four years with excuse after excuse as to why the building was delayed. Said he couldn’t get this or that permit. That he needed more money, since one of his contractors had run off with a large sum. That he had to find a new site because toxic waste studies indicated the place he’d shown them wouldn’t be suitable, after all. He said whatever he could to keep his investors patient or willing to write him another check. Then, when a vocal few began to get suspicious, he’d move on, only to run the same scam in a different state.
According to his file, he’d started running his scams about five years after dropping out of college with only a semester to go and stolen $5 million, mostly from people who were too old to continue earning, by the time law enforcement caught up with him.
“It says here that you were raised by your grandmother.” Evelyn had met with Bobby once before but barely long enough to introduce herself and welcome him to Hanover House. He’d arrived a week ago, transferred from a federal correctional institution in California, which was where he’d run his last scam.
“Seriously?” he said. “Is that why I’m here? You want to go over everything in my file?”
“Do you have a problem with starting there?” she asked.
“No. Except I didn’t need to come all the way to Alaska to confirm I was raised by my grandmother. We could’ve handled that over the phone.”
She set her pen beside the pad of paper she’d been planning to use for notes. All she’d really intended to do was begin a conversation with him, and it appeared she’d done that. Today her goal was simply to gain some idea about the way he thought, so she could determine where he might fit best in her studies. “You don’t believe you belong here?”
“You’re kidding, right? I’m nothing like the crazy fuckers you’ve got locked up here. So why would I be of any interest to you?”
Because he was more like those “crazy fuckers” than he realized. What he’d left behind was a different kind of carnage, but he’d scored almost as high on the Hare Psychopathy Checklist as another inmate Evelyn worked with who was convicted of killing twenty-five prostitutes. That was what had attracted her interest. When Janice at the Bureau of Prisons brought his name to her attention and mentioned his outlandish score—36 out of 40—Evelyn had immediately requested he be transferred.
“How familiar are you with me and my work?” she asked instead of answering.
“I know you were attacked by an old boyfriend eons ago and won’t let it go.”
“Is that how you interpret my situation?”
“Pretty much.”
He was being a smartass, purposely trying to upset her. But she merely smiled. “Then I think you’ve answered your own question.”
His belly chain rattled as he jumped to his feet. “Don’t give me that bullshit! I don’t deserve this.”
Evelyn clasped her hands in front of her. “What do you deserve, Mr. Knox?”
Seeming surprised by the question, he stepped closer to the desk between them. “Not twenty years! That’s more than the typical rapist gets! And I shouldn’t have to do my time in this godforsaken place.”
“This is a brand-new, state-of-the-art facility where you don’t have to deal with the overcrowding issues of so many other places.”
“So? How many of my friends and family do you think will visit me here?”
She set the glasses she sometimes used to avoid eyestrain to one side. “How many visited you in California?” He was a user, someone who took advantage of other people. She couldn’t imagine that evoked much loyalty among his friends, but perhaps his family was supportive. Or he had a girlfriend.
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
That meant he didn’t get many visitors even when he was in California, but he was the one who’d brought it up. “Why don’t we start with this, then. When’s the last time you saw your parents?”
“I don’t have any parents. You just asked me if my grandmother raised me, didn’t you?”
“There could be a lot of reasons for that. It doesn’t necessarily mean your mother was entirely out of the picture.”
He dropped back in his seat. “Yeah, well, as it turns out, she wasn’t. My mother lived with us.”
“So why did your grandmother raise you?”
“That’s not in my file? I’m surprised. They got everything else in there. My mother had Down syndrome, okay? Couldn’t even take care of herself. Happy now?”
“What about your father?”
“Who knows where he is?” he said with an agitated shrug. “Or who he is. She was raped. My grandmother thought it was the weird, quiet dude who lived down the street. But the cops could never prove it.”
Evelyn couldn’t help feeling some empathy for him. As heinous as the actions of the men she studied were, they often had tragic stories themselves. “How old was she when this happened?” she asked gently.
“Sixteen.”
“So … your mother was more like a sibling.”
“Yes.”
“Does she still live with your grandmother?”
“No. She died several years ago. In case you haven’t heard, people with Down syndrome don’t have a long life-span.”
Evelyn ignored his condescending tone. She’d known that people with Down syndrome didn’t live as long as most others, but their life-spans still varied. “Do you miss her?”
“No. It was a relief. She was an embarrassment to me.”
“That’s brutally honest…”
He grinned. “Not bad for a natural-born liar, huh?”
She picked up her pen again. “What do you call your grandmother?”
The smile slid from his face. “My grandmother’s dead, too.”
“Then what did you call her?”
“What does it matter?”
He’d defrauded people who were probably a great deal like his grandmother. Did he do it in spite of loving her? Or did he do it because he hated her? If he’d used her name, they probably weren’t close. If he’d called her Grandma or used a nickname, chances were greater that they’d shared a real bond. The nature-versus-nurture battle still waged when it came to human behavior, so it was important to gain an accurate picture of what his early development had been like. “You’re new here, and I’m trying to get to know you. Why? Is that question out-of-bounds?”
He hesitated but couldn’t seem to figure out how answering her question would hurt him. “I called her Mom. What does that tell you? Nothing.” He rolled his eyes. “You don’t really care about me.”
No, she cared about the innocent victims who constantly fell prey to people like him. She was working for their benefit, not his. But he saw the world only from his own perspective. That was the one thing that remained consistent, no matter which inmate she was studying—their absolute narcissism. “Is there something else you’d rather be doing than talking to me?”
“Maybe. I was watching TV.”
She closed his file and stood. “The
n I’ll let you return to it.” With enough time, he’d probably be eager to talk. At the very least, their sessions would give him an opportunity to get out of his cell. Most of the inmates were anxious to relieve the tedium. So she didn’t feel the need to push him. She’d simply wait until he was ready.
He seemed taken aback that she’d give up so easily. “That’s it?”
“That’s it. We don’t coerce anyone here, Mr. Knox. We try to keep things as pleasant as possible.”
“Pleasant?” he echoed. “You call having my cell searched in the first week and some douchebag guard tearing up my grandmother’s picture pleasant?”
She felt her eyebrows draw together. “What are you talking about? The correctional officers have no business destroying your personal property.”
“Do they know that?”
“They most certainly do. Which guard are you talking about?”
“It’s not like I know anyone here, but the tag on his uniform read: ‘A. Smith.’”
“Andy.” The CO she’d just seen in the elevator, the one who’d acted so quickly to save her life last winter. “Why’d he do that?” she asked. “Were you talking back, resisting the search, causing problems?”
“No! I was sketching a picture from that photograph. When he took it, I tried to get it back, but he tore it to bits. Just to spite me. Just to show me he could.”
“Was anyone else there to see this?”
“Another guard. He didn’t seem happy about it. I heard him mutter something that sounded like he was angry. But it was too late.”
“Who was the second guard?”
“Guy in the next cell called him Tex, but that wasn’t what was on his uniform. It was a long last name, one I couldn’t even begin to pronounce.”
“Tex Wojciechowski.”
“Yeah. That must be it. I doubt there could be two guys named Tex in this place.”
“And you’re saying you did nothing to provoke Officer Smith…”
“Nothing. Ask Tex.”
“I plan to.” She pushed the button that would signal to the COs that it was time to escort Knox back to his cell. They came and got him, but she remained, sitting at that desk, staring off into space.
She’d never been able to decide why she didn’t particularly like Officer Smith. He’d been friendly from the start, always eager to please. She’d never heard anyone else speak ill of him. And she owed him her life! Who could say what might’ve happened if he hadn’t arrived at Amarok’s house when he did?
Bishop would’ve completed the frontal lobotomy he’d been about to start, so she wouldn’t be sitting here today. She’d be like Beth, his sister. In an institution. Unable to care for herself. Or worse. She could be somewhere with Bishop, a constant but helpless victim. That was why she’d never allowed herself to mention her distrust of Andy Smith to Amarok or anyone else. She never allowed herself to think about it, either. She had nothing concrete on which to pin such negative emotions. She just knew he made her uncomfortable. But that seemed so unfair, so ungrateful.
She told herself that after all the good he’d done she should ignore the incident with Bobby Knox. Bobby was no saint, or he wouldn’t be in here. But that photograph probably meant a great deal to him. Maybe his grandmother was the only person he’d ever cared about. Maybe she was the only one who’d ever cared about him. It was callous, even cruel, of Smith to destroy it. What would make him do that?
She needed to find out. So when she went back to her office, she asked Penny to summon Tex Wojciechowski. If the situation was really as Knox had presented it, Smith had to be warned that if he wanted to keep his job he’d better not act that way in her prison again.
* * *
Amarok dreaded going over to the motel. Leland’s friends had left him a message saying they’d finally given Leland a sleeping pill to get him to settle down after being up all night. But Amarok knew he’d be demanding answers again soon and didn’t have a whole lot to tell him. Investigations took time, and Amarok was just getting started. But, thanks to Loni, he had a couple of hopeful leads, and he had to confront Sierra’s brother at some point.
Besides, he had to get a list of people who’d stayed at The Shady Lady over the past several days. If Allen Call or Ward Brothers had come to town, maybe he’d find some trace of them.
As he entered the front office, he eyed the SUV sitting outside the motel room where Leland and his friends were staying.
Margaret was there, as usual. Her daughter had left for college in the Lower 48 in August, so Callista was no longer around to relieve her.
“Hey, Sergeant. Hell of a storm last night, huh?”
“It was a bad one, all right. At least it blew over quickly.”
“Until the next one rolls in. Weather folks are saying it’s going to be a rough winter.”
“Winters here are always rough.”
“I guess that’s true.” She lowered her voice, even though they were the only ones in the office. “What’s going on with the men in Cabin Eight?”
Amarok lifted his eyebrows in question, but he could guess where Margaret was going.
“I saw you out in the lot with them, before they came in to book their room. They were really upset last night. I stopped by to make sure they had some food and water, and … Well, you don’t often see a grown man cry.”
Amarok hated to throw the whole town into a panic. They’d assume that Hanover House was once again to blame, and that wouldn’t do Evelyn any favors. The murder of Sandy Ledstetter eight months ago had not been forgotten and wouldn’t be for some time. There’d been other tragedies, but Sandy was the only one the community claimed as its own, and Evelyn had felt the strain on her relationships here ever since.
Amarok wanted Evelyn to be comfortable so she’d stay, but he had to talk to people, needed the extra eyes and ears. He couldn’t keep the news that a young woman had gone missing to himself. Maybe someone had seen something and mention of the missing girl would bring that person forward. That was largely how police work progressed in Alaska—by informants.
“We’ve got a problem,” he admitted.
“I gathered that much. Please tell me it’s not another murder.”
“I don’t know. Leland, the man who was probably crying last night, can’t find his sister. He left her at a cabin while he went hunting with his friends. When they returned, she was gone.”
Margaret’s eyes widened. “What could’ve happened to her?”
“Hard to say. With the storm, I couldn’t really look for her.”
“So what brings you here?”
He took a sheet of paper from his pocket. “Do you recognize either of these faces?”
She frowned as she studied the pictures he’d pulled off Facebook. “No.”
“What about their names? Allen Call or Ward Brothers? Has anyone by either name checked in over the past week?”
“I don’t think so, and I’m sure I’d remember. Until last night, business was slow. But just to be safe…” She quickly scanned her logbook, only to shake her head a few seconds later. “Nope. No one registered by either name.”
Shit. “I knew it couldn’t be that easy.” He sighed. “Can you make me a copy of your logbook? I need to see everyone who’s rented a room in the past two weeks.”
“Of course. I’ll do that right now. But who are the men you were asking about?”
“Romantic interests of the girl who’s gone missing.”
“You don’t think … I mean, I hate to suggest it, but…”
“It wasn’t her brother. He and his friends were together all day and their story’s consistent.”
“I wasn’t going to say that. I was thinking about Hanover House. Have you checked to make sure all those psychos are still locked up?”
He scowled at her. “Don’t even go there,” he said, and left the office to walk down and knock on Leland’s door.
Peter opened the door and blinked at the weak sunlight that somehow managed to pierce thro
ugh the clouds. “I’m so glad to see you. Have you found her?”
“No. And I have to ask…”
“Is that the sergeant?” A shirtless Leland jumped out of bed and grabbed the door, inserting himself between Amarok and his friend. “What have you learned?”
Amarok felt terrible—for him and his buddies. He hadn’t been able to let Leland take any of the luggage, had insisted he leave the scene exactly as it was. Assuming they’d swung by Quigley’s to pick up a toothbrush and a few other toiletries, they had only what they’d purchased and the clothes they’d been wearing to hunt. “I heard that her fiancé didn’t treat her right,” he said. “Did you know about that?”
Leland frowned as he raked a hand through his hair, which was sticking up all over the place—further evidence that he’d had a terrible night. “No. What do you mean? I like Allen. He’s cool.”
“Apparently, he wasn’t always so cool to your sister.”
He gaped at Amarok. “Who told you that?”
“The women who work with her at the salon.”
“He might have a bit of a temper. He’s no pushover. But Allen would never do this.”
“Are you sure?”
He opened his mouth as though he was about to confirm it; then he shook his head. “No. Right now, I’m not sure of anything. All I know is that she’s gone and I have to get her back. I’ve promised my parents and everyone else back home that…” His words drifted off.
That it wasn’t as dire here as it seemed. Amarok could guess how the rest of the sentence was supposed to go. “I understand.”
Leland peered up at the sky. “The storm seems to have cleared.”
“For the time being.”
“That’s good enough for me. I’ll get dressed and go back up to the cabin to look for her.”
