Darkling I Listen (48 page)

"Carlyle used his services. William is a damn good masseur. Or was.
Haven't a clue
what he's doing now. God knows."

"Then you're saying that William no longer lives here—"

"Rent's paid up until the end of the year. Again, what's this about?"

"Would you mind giving me a little background information on William? How long he worked for Carlyle—"

"Billy moved in with me eight years ago. We met at a support group—hit it off. At the time, he was working as a nurse's aide at St. Mary's Hospital. He did the Heavenly Hands thing part-time—on his days off. We became fast friends, at least for a while. The dear just came with too much emotional baggage. After a while, things just got too heavy."

"Were you lovers?"

She tipped her head to one side and smiled. Her gaze wandered his face,
then
she laughed throatily. "Hardly, Mr. Peterson."

"Would you mind explaining what you mean by his coming 'with too much emotional baggage'?"

"Billy had issues." She shrugged. "I mean, we all have issues, right? But give me a break. There's more screwed up in Billy Boyd's head than just the obvious—which was why he was eventually asked to leave our support group."

"Please elaborate."

"Billy had family problems. Frankly, his father was a nut. I'm all for religion, okay? I occasionally attend the church of my choice. But from the sounds of it, this man was over the top, even drove his wife to suicide with his fire-and-brimstone damnations. The man formed his own denomination. Took his kids out of school, declaring the only book God deemed worthy of their studying was the Bible. They were allowed three hours of sleep a night. The remaining twenty-one hours were spent reading the Bible and praying. The old man was convinced that anyone could achieve perfection in mind, soul, and body if they were in total harmony with God. Just as convinced that if a human showed mental or physical flaws, or even illness, that was caused by spiritual weakness and work of Satan. Once he became aware of Billy's
…
physical defects, for lack of a better description, the old man became obsessed with saving him. Billy was beaten, starved, and prayed over virtually twenty-four hours a day."

She looked away. Her chin quivered, and she shrugged. "I did what I could to support the poor dear. But there comes a time when we must accept our limitations and gracefully bow out. The last year or two that Billy lived here, I rarely saw him. We spoke in passing. When he was home, he stayed closed up in his room. I could often hear him
…
praying."

"Is he still in touch with his father?" Alyson asked softly.

For the first time, Thomasina looked directly at Alyson. There was a shadow of envy in her expression. She fingered her jaw-length brown hair self-consciously and took a shaky breath. "He's dead. He was found a few years ago with a crucifix driven through his heart and the word
imposter
scrawled in his blood on the walls. You might recall the story. It was featured on
Unsolved Mysteries."

Alyson sank deeper into the sofa, a wave of cold dread rushing through her. Alan wrapped warm fingers around her wrist and gently squeezed.

"When did you last speak to William?" Ron asked. There was an edge to his voice that hadn't been there before.

"He left here in January, I believe. Said he intended to travel. In March, he called to tell me there had been a death in the family, and that he wouldn't be coming back for a while. He sent me a check to cover the rent for the rest of the year."

"Do you know where he was calling from?"

"Yes.
Kansas City
."

Alyson sat forward. Alan drew her back.

Ron stood. "Would you mind if we take a look at William's room?"

Thomasina frowned. "It's locked—"

"Get the key."

"I don't have the key. He didn't leave it—"

Ron left the room. Alyson, followed by Alan, ran after him, Thomasina in pursuit.

"Just one moment," she cried. "You can't simply come into my house—"

"Which room is it, Miss Peacock?" Ron stopped at a closed door and rattled the knob.

"I demand to know what this is about."

Ron drove his shoulder into the door, once, twice; it exploded inward. Alyson shoved past him, swept her hands over the wall until locating the light switch.

"Oh,
my God," Alyson whispered.

The walls were covered with crucifixes and papered with photographs of
Brandon
—only not just any photographs, Alyson noted with escalating horror. All depicted
Brandon
as Jesus Christ from
The Resurrection,
including a life-size theater display of
Brandon
nailed to the cross.

"Oh, boy," Alan said softly, adjusting the glasses on his nose. "We do
got
a problem here, folks."

Ron walked to the double closet and threw open the doors. The shelves were lined with wigs on foam forms. Women's clothes were on hangers, women's shoes were lined across the closet floor like soldiers in formation. There were photographs of a severe woman with a mass of red hair. Alyson took it from Ron and tilted it toward the light.

"Who's this?" Ron asked.

"That's Billy's sister, Betty," Thomasina explained as, with a flush of irritation coloring her face, she regarded the damage Ron had inflicted on her door. "You'll pay me for this damage, or I'll sue you. Do you hear me?"

Alyson shook her head. "This isn't
our
Betty."

"Of course it's Betty." Thomasina snatched the photograph from her. "Or
was
Betty. Betty was killed in a car accident. It was the reason Billy went to
Kansas City
. To bury her. He was his only surviving family member."

Alyson slowly raised her gaze to Alan, who stared hard at Thomasina before looking over at Ron.

"Whose clothes are these?" Ron thumbed toward the closet, his eyes narrowing as he focused harder on Thomasina's face.

She briefly averted her eyes,
then
gave him a thin smile. "Billy's, of course." Lifting her eyebrows, she said, "We're transsexuals, Mr. Peterson."

*

"I want you to sit on the sofa and keep your mouth closed,
A.J. Not a peep out of you. Understand?"

Alyson looked across the room at Thomasina Peabody, then back at Alan.

"I sense there's more going on here than meets the eye," Alan told her. "If you want to help
Brandon
, we have to know exactly what we're dealing with."

"I'll tell you what we're dealing with," she said under her breath. "A lunatic. While you're exercising your shrink muscles, God only knows what could be happening to
Brandon
. We have to call Deputy Greene. Now, Alan."

Ron moved up behind Alyson, put his hands on her shoulders, and said softly, "Let the man do his job, A.J. From a cop's standpoint, the better we understand the criminal's mind, the better we're prepared to cope with any eventuality. Besides, we still have no hard evidence that this character is Anticipating. And even if he is, we don't know that he's capable of murder."

She glared into Alan's steady eyes while her frustration and fear mounted. Forcing herself to take a deep breath, she dropped onto the sofa, ignoring Ron as he sat down beside her and reached for her hand.

Thomasina sat nervously on the edge of her chair, her gaze locking on Alan as he dragged a chair over and sat down before her. Smiling, he reached for her hands, squeezed them reassuringly.

"Relax," he told her. "You haven't done anything wrong. Just tell us everything you know about William Boyd."

She nodded, glanced toward Alyson, and frowned. "What's he done?" she asked softly.

"We don't know that he's done anything. You say you met Betty eight years ago at a support group for transsexuals." She nodded. "Nice person?" he asked.

"Oh, yes. Very nice. One of the sweetest, kindest individuals I've ever had the pleasure of knowing."

"Was she working for Carlyle at that time?"

"Yes. As Billy, of course. That was before she decided to go through with the gender change. At that point we were still in the closet, so to speak." She smiled and blushed.

"Was she a tremendous fan of Carlyle's?"

She chewed her lip,
then
gave a hesitant nod. "She was quite enamored of him. I'm sorry to say it became an extreme source of frustration and discontent for her, as you can well imagine."

"She was in love with him, I take it."

"Very much."

"Obsessively?"

"…
Yes. After a while, it seemed her entire existence revolved around him. I tried to reason with her many times; after all, there was no hope for her, so why continue to put herself through it? But the obsession grew. Eventually, she quit her job at the hospital so she could focus on him."

"In what way?"

She averted her eyes, and her cheeks flushed with color.

"Did she write him letters?"

"Yes."

"Did she watch his house?"

"Yes. Once she even moved into his house when he was away. I told her she was going to get in trouble. Big trouble. That if she was found out, she'd go to jail. But he'd become like a drug to her. She couldn't get enough of him. She began making plans for her surgery, convinced that if she became a woman, she'd stand a chance with him."

"Did she ever give you any indication that she might harm him?"

Her eyes widened; she shook her head, looking at Alyson, then Ron, then back at Alan. "She would never have harmed him. Ever. At least…" Sighing, she sank back in the chair, closed her eyes. "I don't know what happened. She began
…
changing. I didn't know her any longer. She became more and more reclusive. Depressed. She cried a lot. Around that time she became involved again in the church. Frankly, I was surprised. I'd gotten the impression over the last years that her experience with her father had so frightened her that she'd never step foot in a church again."

"About how long ago was this?"

She thought, frowning. "Four years, perhaps."

Alyson sat forward. "About the time that
Resurrection
was released?"

"Yes, I suppose so."

"How did she react to the Emerald Marcella incident?" Alan asked.

"Hard to say. As I mentioned, the behavior had become so odd. So unpredictable. I never knew what to expect. One day she'd be the sweet, considerate, timid individual that I adored. The next…" She shrugged. "A disturbing stranger."

"In what way disturbing?"

She shuddered. "Very
…
intense. Focused. Domineering. Judgmental. Often cruel."

Alan smiled and regarded her thoughtfully. "He ridiculed you?"

"Yes, he. That was certainly no female, Dr. Rodgers. Everything about that dreadful individual was masculine—not like my Betty at all. The way he dressed. Walked. Talked. It was as if there were two personalities, and Billy was taking over. I saw less and less of Betty, my friend. She was so very sad. She broke my heart. I was afraid she'd take her own life. I often heard her talking to herself, carrying on complete conversations, back and forth. Arguing with
herself
. Once…
"

She looked away. Her hands clasped together in her lap, and her face drained of color. "She had bruises over her arms, her throat,
her
chest. When I asked her how she got them, she whispered, 'He did it.' I thought she'd become involved with someone—you know, in an abusive relationship. Then one night, I heard her crying, and there was that voice again. Not hers, his. I crept to her window and peeked in. She was pinching herself, hitting herself, saying horrible, hurtful things—"

"Such as?"

"'Vile creature of perversion. Satan's seed.' It was as if her father was there, trying to drive demons from her, as if she'd become possessed by his spirit. After that, I often got the horrifying impression that I was looking straight into the Reverend Boyd's eyes."

*

"Beware of Billy Boy." Alyson watched traffic streak by them as they drove back to Ron's apartment as fast as the law
would allow. She felt numb, although the first quivers of hysteria were beginning to rouse. "She was right again. Only she wasn't hearing it exactly right, was she? Not Billy Boy. Beware of Billy Boyd."

"Who?" Ron asked. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Nora. She…" Alyson laughed wearily and shook her head. "Never mind. You wouldn't believe me anyway."

"A.J., after today I'd believe anything."

"It's all so obvious now. Charlotte Minger—of course. Billy, not Betty, attacked her. She smelled infant formula, only it wasn't baby's milk. It was Ensure. That nutritional drink she feeds Bernie. And she made the call to Henry that morning. She might have walked to the barn—or to the bathroom, wherever. She removed his medicine from the truck, perhaps hid the other bottle so he couldn't find it. We'll never know for sure, of course. She took a chance he'd have an attack, and he did." Covering her face with her hands, she added, "Merciful God, what is she doing to
Brandon
?"