Her Darkest Nightmare (11 page)

She hoped someone at Hanover House had heard from Danielle. Maybe Danielle was safe. She could've come by the money she needed and left for the Lower 48 without giving notice.

But, in her heart, Evelyn believed otherwise.

By the time she pulled into the parking lot, it was already dark. Earlier the temperature had warmed a few degrees, but the wind had kicked up again since, adding a chill factor that made it colder by the second—so cold that the air itself felt like a thousand needles pricking her eyes, her nostrils, her lips.

At least it wasn't snowing. Evelyn didn't think she could take another storm on the heels of the last one—not while knowing how much it would hinder Amarok's ability to figure out what'd happened to Lorraine and catch her killer.

“You bastards.” She glared through her windshield at the giant stone edifice that housed so many remorseless killers. “I will figure out why you do what you do and how to stop you if it kills me.” And she knew that someday it might. She'd had a few close calls over the years. Nothing on the scale of what'd happened with Jasper the first time, but there'd been his second abduction as well as other incidents. Like that one at San Quentin with Hugo. She'd also had a felon she'd given a psych evaluation to show up at her house in the middle of the night once. Her neighbors heard the commotion and called the police before anything could happen, but she still didn't know how he'd found her. When asked, he told the police and media that she'd slipped him her address.

She switched off her headlights and, with a sigh, carried her coffee inside. She'd call a meeting with the mental health team before alerting the rest of the staff. Given the fear this would cause in the community, they should develop a unified approach to answering the questions that would arise, maybe put out a press release stating their profound sadness, their support of local law enforcement and their belief in the security of the institution. Also, while she had so many behavioral experts in the same room she planned to discuss the type of killer who could have done this, in case they could come up with some detail or tip that would help Amarok, if not a full psychological profile.

But she couldn't get even a few of her fellow doctors together. Of the six who'd started with her at HH in November, only five remained—four registered forensic psychologists and Dr. Tim Fitzpatrick, who was a psychiatrist like her. Stacy Wilheim, the only other woman on the team, was out sick and probably would be for some time, given how long it took to get over the shingles. Preston Schmidt had called to say he wasn't coming in because of the storm. And Dr. Fitzpatrick, Greg Peters and Russell Jones were conducting an experiment together that tried to determine whether male psychopaths were aroused to a greater or lesser degree by the same stimuli as other men.

Finding the offices deserted reminded Evelyn that she'd broken her own appointments. Storm or no storm, some of her patients would be upset. For the most part, therapy sessions were their only break from the tedium of prison life. But working in corrections meant they simply stayed in their cells instead of meeting with her. No harm done. She'd get back into her routine tomorrow—not that it would ever be the same without Lorraine coming in with lunch or some other snack.

Since there was no possibility of gathering the mental health team for an advance meeting and it was Glenn's day off, Evelyn decided she'd call Glenn, then go ahead and make a general announcement of Lorraine's death.

Should she send a mass e-mail? Or use the PA? She couldn't put it off. If she did, word would spread before she could say anything.

She decided to use the PA, then follow up with an e-mail for those who weren't at the prison. She grabbed the phone to call Glenn but never got the chance to dial. Dr. Fitzpatrick barged into her office, followed closely by Penny, who'd been trying to intercept him.

Evelyn hung up the handset and stood. “It's okay, Penny,” she said. “You can shut the door.”

Obviously put out that Fitzpatrick hadn't bothered to let her announce him, Penny shot him a sullen glance but did as she was told.

Assuming he'd come to talk about the murder, Evelyn squared her shoulders. She hoped she could tell him what she'd seen and what it might mean without tears. But it wasn't the sergeant's visit he had on his mind.

“I can't believe you!” he railed. “What were you thinking when you arranged to have Anthony Garza transferred here?”

She wasn't prepared to defend herself on this. Not right now. She'd been second-guessing that decision ever since Garza had hurt one of the COs. But she couldn't let the dominating Fitzpatrick know she had doubts. She'd lose the power she worked so hard to protect, which would seriously limit her ability to be effective in this environment. “I was thinking he'd be beneficial to our research. What else?”

“Oh, come on,” he said with a sneer. “If that were true, you would've put him forward in our last meeting. Why did we discuss Pop Humphries and Saul Weber and all the others but not Anthony Garza?”

Closing her eyes, she rubbed her temples, then dropped her hands and looked at him again. “Because I didn't want to be shot down.”

“Exactly! You knew what we'd say! You knew we'd reject him—”

“He scored a perfect forty on the Hare, Tim.”

This was significant, and she knew he'd have to view it as such. Most people with no criminal background scored a 5 or a 6. Inmates who weren't psychopaths usually scored in the early twenties. Anyone who scored over 30 was officially diagnosed a psychopath. But a perfect 40? That was rare.

Unfortunately, her announcement only set Fitzpatrick back for a moment. “I don't give a shit if he got a perfect score! You had him transferred here without disclosing everything about him. That isn't our policy, Dr. Talbot.”

“You would have done the same if there was a certain subject you were looking to study,” she said. They each had some discretion—or, at least, that was what she had intended when she initially formed the team. The Bureau of Prisons hadn't created any restrictions.

“No.” He shook his head. “I wouldn't have broken the rules.”

Because he was the one making them! He'd been busy creating as many policies and procedures as possible. He claimed he wanted the power at HH to be vested in the entire mental health team, but he had so much influence over the other doctors, he was essentially taking control.

“We can learn a lot from him,” she insisted.

“Have you heard what he's been doing all day?” he countered.

Did it really matter? At
this
moment? She had to call Glenn, break the news to him, then tell everyone else that Lorraine was dead. With the intensity of the emotions that were flying around, she preferred to fight one battle at a time. “How could I have heard?” she said. “I've been gone.”

He was more than happy to inform her. “He's been carving your name in his arm with a sharpened toothbrush. Said he wouldn't quit until you agreed to see him. But you weren't here to take care of the problem you invited into our facility.”

“So what did you do?”

“We warned him, several times, but he kept at it until we had to send him to the infirmary. Once he was bandaged up, we put him in a straightjacket to keep him from hurting himself any worse and didn't take it off until just a few minutes before you showed up.”

You're my next victim.…
Remembering Anthony's unnerving, wild-eyed look and the way he'd focused on her, Evelyn felt behind her for her chair. He was a problem. As difficult as it was to face, he was probably a mistake. From the beginning, she'd had a strange feeling about him, a sense of having found what she'd been searching for. But she wouldn't be the first to be blinded by impatience and drive.

Either way, she didn't appreciate Fitzpatrick trying to make her out to be such a renegade when it was only
his
rules she'd flouted. Who'd put him in charge, anyway? No one. Yet he got more demanding and less easy to mollify the longer they were in Alaska.

And today she wasn't in a position to do battle with him. She was more worried about Glenn and how he was going to take the news of Lorraine's death, and Hugo and what he'd tried to tell her yesterday.

“We've had other inmates do similar things,” she said. “Nearly forty of our patients are serial killers. They often fixate on us.”

“He shouldn't even be here! He could skewer our findings.”

“He's a psychopath like the others.” She'd had HH built so they could study any psychopath they pleased.…

“He has a whole host of other personality disorders, too. You create too complex a cocktail and there's no way to tell which disorder is causing which behavior. We've been over this. I haven't evaluated him, but from what I've seen today, he could even be a little psychotic.”

The coffee she'd drunk to keep her going was making her jittery. Breakfast at Amarok's now seemed like a long way off. “He's
not
psychotic. His file intrigued me, okay? I've added him to
my
roster; he shouldn't affect you at all.”

He pointed a finger at her. “We're not working in isolation here. We're compiling data on similar subjects, and he's too different.”

“Says you! You don't even know that he's too different.”

“It's obvious! He has to go back.”

“Because I didn't get
your
permission?”

“The team's permission.”

“That's bullshit. Anyway, it's not possible for him to go back. Maybe several months down the road, but not now. Transfers cost a fortune, especially a transfer way up here.” Even after several months, she doubted ADX Florence would be happy to have him returned. He was so difficult, so disruptive, they'd been eager to let someone else worry about him for a change. The warden had told her he frightened the nurses, the medical staff, even some of the COs.

She could see why. He frightened her, too. Of all the inmates she'd dealt with, Garza was the one who reminded her most of Jasper. Physically, they were opposites—one dark and threatening, the other a preppy all-American boy. But inside …

Fitzpatrick shot her a snide look. “That's what you were counting on.”

“I never guessed I'd have to rely on it, Tim—never dreamed you'd act as you're acting now.”

“You knew I'd reject him. You were trying to force my hand.”

“Fine. If that's the way you view it, yes. I have a subject you don't want at HH. So what?”

“You wouldn't even have HH if not for me!”

“I've been very aware of that, which is why you've gotten away with so much. I've been careful not to pull rank on you—out of respect for what you've achieved professionally and out of the gratitude I feel for your support—but I
am
in charge here.”

Now that she'd come out swinging, he stepped back and seemed to reconsider pushing her up against that metaphorical wall. “Why is this particular inmate so important you'd risk everything we've accomplished?”

She wasn't risking anything. She was trying to shed more light on the psychopathy problem and that meant studying as many killers as she could.

She located Garza's file in the stack on her desk and handed it over. “See for yourself.”

He flipped through the pages but was still frowning when he looked up. “He killed three of his wives to collect on their life insurance policy. What's so damn intriguing about that? In the context of what we deal with, that's nothing. Maybe if he'd skinned them or eaten their eyes for breakfast or—”

“Keep reading,” she broke in. “It's the cases he
hasn't
been convicted for that piqued my interest.”

He folded his tall, bony frame into a chair and, this time, he read for several long minutes. Then he said, “Detectives in Utah believe he might be the Porn Poser?”

“Yes. You've heard of those crimes?”

“Of course. They received a great deal of media attention five or six years ago.”

“There were six deaths in all. The killer has never been caught.”

He slid the file onto the corner of her desk. He was calming down, but his anger had only disappeared beneath the surface—since she wouldn't allow him to harangue her without fighting back. “What makes you believe it's Garza?”

“He lived in the area, no more than an hour from each of the victims. He worked at the ski resort where one of the bodies was found. And the killings stopped once he went to prison.”

“That's it?” Sitting forward, his sharp chin jutting out, he slapped his leg for effect. “That could all be coincidence! A lot of people go skiing in the Salt Lake area. What about forensic proof?”

She propped her elbows on the desk and watched him over the steeple of her fingers. “If there was any forensic proof he would've been charged. The lead detective's the one who tipped me off.”

“And how did that happen?”

“I called to see if those cases had ever been solved.”

Fitzpatrick tapped his foot as he considered her response. “Nothing escapes you.”

By the sarcastic way he said that, she decided it wasn't a compliment. “I've dedicated my life to this cause. Why would I be less than thorough?”

“There are other ways to describe your behavior.”

“If you're suggesting I'm obsessed, I admit it.”

He shook his head as if he was stymied and had nowhere to go with that statement, which had been her intent. “Fine,” he retorted. “You suspect Garza's the Porn Poser. What does that mean? Why are you hung up on some unsolved murders in Utah? You're trying to solve murders now in addition to studying psychopaths?”

His smug expression was difficult to tolerate. She clenched her jaw. “It was the way the killer positioned his victims that drew my attention, Tim. Although I've followed this case from the beginning, I was an outsider looking in. It wasn't until recently that the detective gave me any details.” Once she'd built up a little bit of credibility. When she'd first contacted Green, she'd been working at her own small treatment center in Boston eight years ago, where she'd gotten her start, and had yet to make a name for herself in psychiatry.