Her Darkest Nightmare (39 page)

“What a dumbass.” He clicked his tongue. “I can only imagine what that must've looked like—him trying to run away with his bare ass hanging out his hospital gown.”

“He's putting up a good fight—on every front. I thought if anyone could admire his determination, you could.”

“I don't admire anything about him. The fact that he's still breathing ruins a perfectly nice morning.”

She grinned at Garza.

“What?”

“I'm afraid I'm about to ruin far more than that.”

“Oh yeah?” He leaned close, his eyes more watchful than before. “What else can you do to me?”

She yawned, as if she was no longer impressed with his “tough guy” routine, and opened the folder she'd brought in with her. “Does the name Elaine Morrison ring any bells?”

“None,” he said with an indifferent shrug.

He lied so quickly, so effortlessly—with none of the nervous habits that gave away most other people. Evelyn might have been tempted to believe him.

Except she knew better.

She took out the picture Green had faxed over while she was meeting with the warden and held it to the glass. “Elaine was one of the victims of the Porn Poser. She was a pretty lady, wouldn't you say? A schoolteacher, only twenty-eight.”

He gave the photograph a cursory glance. He didn't care what he'd done, felt no regret, no remorse. “So?” he said. “Why would I give a shit about any of that?”

“Because you're about to be charged for her murder, and maybe several others.”

Making an exaggerated show of it by slapping his leg, he laughed, then abruptly stopped. “No, I'm not. They can't connect me to her murder, or they would've charged me before.”

“Here's the thing,” Evelyn said. “I've managed to come across an important piece of evidence.”

“
You
managed to find this evidence?” He was still skeptical.

“Yes.”

“Way the hell up here?”

She shrugged. “All it took was a phone call—and the right sort of appeal.”

His hesitation suggested he was getting worried. “Who'd you talk to?”

“I could say, but … I'd rather let you sweat it out.” She put the picture away and got up.

“You're lying,” he said. “They have nothing on me.”

“We'll see, won't we?”

He jumped to his feet. “Where are you going?”

“I'm done here.”

“
I'm
not!
What do they have?
”

“Maybe if you give me the name of whoever told you to stab Hugo Evanski”—she covered another yawn as if she didn't much care either way—“I'll share, too.”

“You can go to hell!”

She feigned surprise. “You'd rather protect whoever it was out of spite? You
can't
care about them. You just arrived here.”

“Maybe I like having something you want.”

Leaning forward, she planted a kiss on the glass, leaving a perfect imprint with her lipstick. “And maybe I like having something
you
want,” she said, and headed for the door.

“I'll find out eventually,” he called after her.

“True, but the way these things go, it could take months to get the information from whatever public defender they wind up assigning to your case,” she said as she moved.

“I'll be in here forever, anyway. What does time matter?”

“It
doesn't
matter—not to me.” She made a careless gesture with one hand. “Forget I said anything. The COs will be here to take you back to your cell in a few hours.”

“What are you talking about,
hours
?” he cried. “You can't leave me in here that long. There isn't even a bed.”

She paused with her hand on the knob. “There's a chair. Use that.”

“This ain't right!”

“Consider it part of your therapy.”

“The cruel and unusual punishment part?”

She laughed as if he were being silly. “This hardly qualifies. Anyway, who's going to care? There isn't a person in this world who gives a damn about you.”

“My parents do!” he insisted.

“Too bad they'll never hear about it, then.”

“I'll write them!”

“Don't waste your time. That letter will never leave the premises.”

“You bitch!” he screamed, kicking the plexiglass. “Someday I'm gonna slit your throat and drink your blood.”

“Now stop.” She added a laugh. “You're getting me excited and I have to work.”

“Wait!”

Halfway out the door, she froze—then turned slowly back to face him. “Yes?”

His expression changed, grew indifferent. “You're right. I don't give a shit about anyone here.”

Or anywhere else,
she thought. She could've added that but felt she'd antagonized him enough. “So…”

He used his hands—both, since they were shackled—to rub his shaved head. “It was that dickhead Kush.”

She caught her breath but refused to let her surprise register on her face. “You expect me to believe it was a
CO
?”

“If you think COs never do anything wrong you're even more naïve than I thought,” he said.

“Was it
just
Kush? Or was there someone else who encouraged you to stab Hugo?”
Maybe someone like Petrowski? Or Fitzpatrick?
She wanted to know but didn't want to suggest any names.

“Someone else? Like who?”

“I'm asking
you
.”

“No. And if there was, I'd say. What do I care if Kush loses his job and goes to prison? Maybe it'll do him some good to be on the other side, for a change. Maybe it'll imbue him with a little
empathy
.”

An ironic statement, coming from a man for whom empathy was a complete mystery.

Adopting a neutral expression, Evelyn went back inside and allowed the door to close. “Or you could be looking for some sort of revenge.”

“You're the only one I'm dying to hurt.”

She believed that. “Fine. But there must've been
something
in it for you.”

“Why? I like to kill. I did it for the fun of it.”

She didn't believe him. “Okay”—she tapped a finger against her lip—“I'll have your cell tossed, see what we can come up with—”

He called her a bitch again. But when she started to go as if she really was done with him this time, he hurried to catch her. “Drugs, okay? Kush said he'd get me an eight ball of coke and a few explicit pictures of the girl who was killed screwing the guy I was supposed to shank.”

Kush again. God, how could he be
that
depraved?

No doubt he'd loved showing Anthony what he could get away with at Hanover House, who held the real power in this prison.

“Did you make the weapon?”

“There was no time for that. He provided it. Then he pointed out the guy who needed to dance on the blacktop.”

Was this true? She'd hoped Kush's crimes stopped at prostitution. But if he'd go
that
far, maybe he'd go even further. “Did he deliver on his promises when it came to the dope?”

“It's all in my cell if you don't believe me. Are you going after it?” he added as if that would be highly unfair.

“Of course.” Those pictures were evidence. “But … if you're cooperative, I'll make you a deal.”

He glared at her. “I don't like dealing with you.”

“Even if it's in your best interest?”

He idly kicked his chains around. “What do you want?”

“If we go back to your cell together, right now, and you turn over those illicit pictures, I'll wait to order the search.”

“Until…”

“Next week.” By then, the drugs would be gone—they'd probably be gone if she gave him any time at all—but the eight ball was the least of her problems. The pictures were what mattered. She couldn't risk not being able to find them or having them destroyed. “You know how busy it can get around here.”

“Maybe you're not a
total
bitch,” he said. “I'll take that deal. But now it's your turn to give me the information
I
want.”

She'd made the only concession she could make today, which was partly why she'd offered it—to be as fair as possible. “I will as soon as I can confirm that what you've told me is true.” She didn't see how Anthony could ever hurt Courtney or her son, but she preferred to wait until Detective Green had Elaine Morrison's credit card so that harming Courtney wouldn't benefit him, anyway. “I'll meet with you again when I have what I need.”

“Hell no!” he cried. “Tell me now!”

“Waiting a few days is still better than waiting months to hear from your lawyer,” she pointed out.

“I swear to God I'm going to kill you!”

She tilted her head. “If that's the way you're going to be, I guess I'll have the COs toss your cell right now, find the pictures, remove the drugs and use the fact that we discovered contraband to order a body cavity search—which will need to be repeated twice daily
indefinitely
to make sure you're clean.”

He banged his head on the glass so hard it started bleeding. But she didn't react, didn't jump back in fear or rush to get him help. This time, she'd been prepared for his temper.

They both stood their ground, glaring at each other.

“What's it going to be?” she asked calmly. “And if you think knocking yourself silly might help you decide, feel free to bash your head all you like. It doesn't hurt
me
.”

“You're no kind of shrink.”

“Because I won't allow you to manipulate me through my humanity? I guess that's too damn bad.”

His nostrils flared as he continued to try to intimidate her. But then, when he realized he wasn't going to get the upper hand, not today, he said, “Fine. I'll give you the damn pictures. But you'd better hope you
never
find yourself alone with me.”

She wrinkled her nose as she looked him up and down. “You think that scares me? I've been attacked by much bigger and stronger men than you.”

*   *   *

Evelyn marched along with the pictures from Garza's cell tucked under her arm, so angry with Kush and Petrowski she could hardly see straight. As if two murders weren't tragic enough, she was dealing with some significant corruption and, if Hugo died, a third death.

Was Kush behind Danielle and Lorraine's murders, too?

She supposed it was possible, but she couldn't see Kush doing what had been done to Lorraine. That had been a rage-filled attack, a classic lust killing. Was he really
that
kind of man?

Although … if Garza could be believed, Kush
had
ordered Hugo shanked in the yard.

She entered the administration area intent on calling Amarok to report what she'd learned, but the moment Penny and Linda saw her they hurried over.

“Fitzpatrick's gone,” Penny announced, reaching her first.

Evelyn came to a halt and looked from one to the other. “What do you mean,
gone
?”

“He packed up his things and left while I was at lunch,” Linda said.

“
I
was here,” Penny told her. “He made several trips.”

“And he did this
with no explanation
?”

“None. He has appointments this afternoon, too. I checked the master calendar and tried to remind him that he had a busy afternoon. I even asked if I should tell Linda to cancel those appointments. But he wouldn't speak to me. The way he was rushing around, I could tell he was upset, but he wouldn't say why, where he was going or if he'd ever be back.”

Evelyn's gaze strayed to the open doorway of her office. She considered calling down and having the COs stop Tim before he could drive off the premises, but she had a sinking feeling it was too late. “When, exactly, did this happen?”

Penny checked her watch. “About an hour ago.”

“He left before I could even get back from lunch,” Linda complained.

Circumventing both women, Evelyn strode to Fitzpatrick's office. Sure enough, it was bare. Even his degrees had been removed from the wall. He wasn't just taking off early so he could enjoy a long weekend.…

The filing cabinet she'd broken into had a drawer hanging halfway out. He hadn't bothered to remove most of his files. Perhaps he figured they were so heavy they'd take too long. But the file on her was gone. She noticed that right away.

She crossed to the window and gazed out, hoping to spot his Escalade below.

Unfortunately, since most of the parking was covered, she couldn't tell if it was there or not.

“Dr. Talbot?” Linda said from behind her.

“Yes?” she replied absently, still straining to see.

“Can you tell us what's going on? Is it that Dr. Fitzpatrick and you have decided you can no longer work together, or … or what?”

What Linda really wanted to know was how this latest development would affect her job. Evelyn heard it in her voice. But she couldn't provide an answer. She didn't know. “I'm afraid I can't clarify what he's doing,” she replied. “I have no idea. He didn't say a word to me.”

Keeping the pictures she'd collected from Anthony Garza with her, she hurried to her own office. She called down to the sally port from there, but the COs told her Dr. Fitzpatrick was long gone. When she couldn't reach him at his house, either, she tried to alert Amarok by calling his trooper post.

Phil Robbins answered. “Sergeant Amarok's office.”

“Phil, this is Dr. Talbot.”

“Hello, Doc. How are you?”

God, it was hard to get by without the use of cell phones. It was hard to believe that the rest of the country used to be this way—except the rest of the country didn't get snowed in quite so often. “Fine, thank you. Listen, Amarok isn't there by any chance, is he?”