Denial (30 page)
"Somewhere on the harbor, I think. The fire department found her when they finally got inside the building. Our man probably got tired of burying body parts."
I felt as if I was going to pass out. I sat down on the floor, leaning against the bed. "You have a name?"
"Lloyd."
"Rachel."
"Yeah, right, Rachel Lloyd. What, do you know every stripper at the place?"
"I was..."
"A big tipper. I'm sure. Now listen, here's another thing: The weapon wasn't the same. This blade was long by comparison."
"Why do you say that?" I managed.
"I don't see any layering of flesh, like I found on the other two females. What I've got are sweeping, five-to-six-inch lacerations. And there doesn't seem to be any fibrotic tissue at the wound margins, although I'm working around a good deal of secondary pathology — liquefaction from the heat. Still, I'd say if this one had implants, she got them quite recently." He paused. "You there?"
"She didn't have implants."
"Oh. I forgot. You've got that pornographic memory. Was she shaved?"
"Not completely."
"What sort of outfits did she wear?"
"Why?"
"I found a few brittle hairs on the skin near the wounds. Animal hairs. Light brown. Did she wear a fur coat or something?"
I pictured the handle of my hunting knife. "I don't remember."
"I should have known. You only remember what things look like
after
the outfits come off."
"What was Hancock's reaction?"
"Ms. Mayor maintains that this one's unrelated. Too many inconsistencies, she says. The fire. The knife. And Malloy already checked Lucas’ files; Lloyd wasn't a patient of his. All of which, of course, fits nicely into Hancock's political plans. The election's not far off, and she can claim she caught the Lynn psycho. She doesn't need votes from Chelsea."
"What do you think?"
"I think it's the same guy. All four bodies are characterized by mutilation of the sex organs. Three were Lucas’ patients, and one worked with a prior victim. That's a pretty tightly knit group, if you ask me." He took a deep breath. "It's also possible —
remotely possible
— that Lucas did the first two, and some inspired lunatic picked up from there. That would explain why we're getting variations on the original theme."
"OK."
"OK what?"
I was having trouble focusing. "I'll call you if I find out anything." I heard my words as if someone else was speaking them.
"You don't sound good. Are you alright? You're not back on that shit again, are you? This is no time to cloud your thinking."
"No. No, I'm thinking clearly." I hung up.
I sat there, rocking slowly back and forth. I wanted to cry but couldn’t, which made me feel even more empty inside. Dead. This, I thought, is the feeling that drives people to slash their own flesh — to channel a black vacuum of the soul into something that flows thick and red. I walked over to the wet bar, grabbed a chrome bottle and poured a good triple of what turned out to be bourbon down my throat. Then, disgusted with myself for dousing my grief, I hurled the bottle against the wall. That didn't make me feel any better, so I gripped the bar with both hands and threw the whole thing over. The bottles and tumblers crashed to the floor. A half-dozen rivers of booze ran into each other, until they disappeared in the deep hues of my oriental carpet. My gut revolted against the bourbon, and I crouched down and heaved it up. I let myself fall onto my side, my face against wetness that smelled like a foul physic. A curved shard of glass lay within reach. I thought fleetingly of using it, but let the thought go as Rachel's image came involuntarily to me, lying in bed so peacefully just that morning.
I held her in my mind and tried to imagine telling her that I loved her.
Cold sweat, too subtle to feel with my fingers, covered my face and neck. The smell of bourbon and vomit had filled the den. I held the phone to my ear, waiting for Kathy to answer her page at Stonehill Hospital. I knew she could ask the operator for the name of the person on hold, then refuse the call, but my gut told me she wanted to hear from me,
needed
to hear from me. A few minutes later the operator got back on the line.
"She's not answering, Doctor Clevenger, would you like to continue to... Oh, there we go. One moment, please."
Real beads of sweat formed on my brow. I wiped the wetness away with my sleeve. My heart was overfilled with grief and hatred and pity. I didn't know if I would be able to speak in measured tones. But I knew that I had to.
"Transferring," the operator sang.
The phone clicked, the line engaged, then... silence.
"Kathy?"
"What?" she said flatly.
I couldn't get my breathing under control.
"Do you have anything to say?" She paused only a second. "Goodbye."
"Wait!" I decided to issue a disclaimer on my agitation, rather than risk her interpreting it. I didn't want her to know for sure whether I had heard about Rachel's death. "I'm having a bad time. My hands are shaking. My heart's racing like a bastard."
"Sounds like you sucked up too much coke. Have another drink."
"I haven't touched that crap."
"Maybe it's hopping from bed to bed. You've worn yourself out."
"No. I'm... scared."
"That's a new one."
"I can't stand the thought of being without you."
There was no response.
"Kathy?"
"You seemed to manage pretty well last night?"
I knew that the quickest route past Kathy's adult defenses would be directly into the primal rage and desire she had felt as a girl. Remembering what she had written in her note to her father, I answered the way she would have hoped
he
would. "I'm done sneaking around in the dark," I said. "I'm asking for another chance. It won't happen again."
"Then tell me: Why did you screw me over? She was younger than me. Was she better than me?"
"She was like a child. She didn't know what she was doing."
"Oh, yes she did. She wasn't a baby. Not any more than the others." Her voice had lost its edge and taken on a pouty, girlish quality. "They were trying to steal from me."
My eyes welled up, but I forced myself to go on. "I don't care about her. The only bed I want to share is yours."
"I ruined the house."
"You weren't thinking clearly."
"I don't even remember some of it. I was so mad." Her voice trailed off. "I've made a mess of everything."
"We'll clean it up together."
"You won't miss her?"
I couldn’t tell from Kathy's words or tone whether she was operating entirely in the present or the past, referring to Blaire or Rachel. "No," I said. "I won't miss her."
"I do."
I closed my eyes. "Listen, Kathy. Let's get out of here and head up to Plum Island, to that inn on the beach we stayed at the first night we were together. Walton's Ocean Front. Remember?" I thought I heard her sobbing. "Kathy?"
She cleared her throat. "Huh?"
"Walton's Ocean Front. Meet me there. It'll be like starting over."
"I can't. I have four deliveries. I'll be here all night. I won't get out until the end of the day tomorrow."
"Well, tomorrow, then. Meet me right after work."
"You won't stand me up?" The edge was back in her voice.
"Not a chance."
"Just don't make me sit there alone, like a fool." She hung up.
* * *
It took me most of three hours to get the house half organized. I tried not to think of Rachel, but without notice my chest would tighten, nausea would sweep over me, and I would have to sit down with the memory of her.
Just after dark the phone rang again. I ran to answer it. "Clevenger," I breathed.
"The Gestapo have allowed me one last call."
I recognized Trevor Lucas’ voice.
"Would you be good enough to come visit with me?"
"For what?"
"So I can tell you the truth."
"Whatever you have to tell me, you can say it right now."
"I think not. You would need to come to see me."
I thought of how much I hadn't been willing to see. "I'll be there," I told him.
He hung up.
I got in the car and drove to the station. Emma Hancock was out, and Tobias Lucey was on duty at the lockup, but my stock had risen with the department, and he gave me no trouble about visiting Lucas.
"Might as well say goodbye. He gets transferred to MCI Concord in the morning," Lucey said. He pulled open the steel door. "The grand jury returned the indictment. Three counts, murder one."
"Who's prosecuting?"
"The new D.A., Red Donovan, is taking it himself. Three murders is a big deal, even these days. Three murders by a
doctor
— well, that's a movie-of-the-week."
"Who'd Lucas end up hiring?"
"He represented himself, just like he said he would. Didn't call a single witness." He shook his head. "It's like he thinks he's dealing with a fender-bender."
"That, he'd care about," I said.
I started down the corridor toward Lucas. The other cells were empty, and his soft humming reached me before I saw him, sitting cross-legged on the floor again, his eyes closed in meditation. I stood there, surveying his bruised and torn face. His humming grew fainter and fainter, until he sat in silence. Then he opened his eyes and met my stare. "I'm sorry," he said.
"Sorry for what? What are you talking about?"
"Your dancer. The one with the red hair and no tits."
My teeth ground against each other.
"The fourth victim," he urged. "In transit from court, I heard a radio report about her cremation in Chelsea." His brow furrowed. "You look awful. I hope you didn't have feelings for her."
"You had three victims," I said weakly. "Maybe you weren't listening to the grand jury."
"No. They weren't listening. I told them I wasn't guilty. I could have proven it. But there's still time."
"If you're innocent, why wait?"
"Why? Because I have been wronged, accused of monstrous acts I did not commit. The gravity of that error must be made plain."
"You think anyone rally cares if you meditate in maximum security for six months instead of tucking tummies?"
He chuckled, but tightly. "Of course not. I'm irrelevant. Sport for the tabloids. They'll care about the body count, though. I have dozens of lover left. You probably have a stable yourself. Kathy might settle on any one of them next."
I went cold. He knew.
"I told you I wasn't your problem. But you wouldn’t listen."
My stomach sank. "You can't believe Kathy would kill anyone," I managed.
"I wasn't certain about Sarah. But I knew for sure after you told me about Monique. Or thought I did. So I conducted a bit of an experiment."
"An experiment..."
"I called Kathy the monster and confessed that Wembley and I were intimate." He paused. "As it happen, we weren't, but I obviously convinced her. She knows I usually schedule my surgeries to end at 7:30
P.M.
Wembley's Rolex on the dash was her attempt to provide me with an alibi. I was touched. As I've said before, she really does love me. I'm afraid she started killing off her competition when I told her we were through."
"When was that?"
"Just before Sarah was murdered. Jealousy, it seems, is Kathy's driving passion. Probably some remnant of being seduced by her father. Jack." He smiled. "What a piece of work he must have been, huh? I mean, you have to hand it to the old man. He called her Mouse, you know. ‘Be quiet as a mouse,’ he used to tell her, just before he sent it home. Is that beautiful, or what?"
"She mentioned you told her about my dancer, too."
"That was your fault. Kathy followed you two to Chelsea. I merely confirmed your attraction to the girl. Judging from what happened to her, Kathy obviously loves you, too."
"You let her go on killing." My gut churned at the horror of it. "You set her up to kill."
"You can't blame me. No one could have resisted. Fucking her, knowing what she'd done, was... heaven." He gazed up dreamily, sighed, then looked back at me.
I wanted him dead. Right then and there. It wouldn't take much — a crushing kick to the bridge of the nose. I focused between his eyes.
He tilted his head. "Don't be unfair with me, Frank. We're a lot alike. I bet you enjoyed having her fresh from the kill, too. Even if you didn't know it at the time."
I raised my foot an inch off the floor and tensed my calf. Then I hesitated. A swift death, I thought, would be too kind. Better to let him rot. My lip curled. "No. You're wrong. We're nothing alike."
"How sad. We could have become fast friends when I'm free."
"If." I stepped back.
"Excuse me."
"
If
you're ever free. There's a murder trial between now and then. And there isn't going to be another body to bolster your defense."
He looked at me askance. "I detect a manipulation. Maybe I'll have to tell my story sooner rather than later."
"No one's gonna care about your story, you stupid fuck," I sputtered. "I think you're guilty. So does Emma Hancock, our next mayor. And this new D.A. is out to make a name for himself."
"You wouldn't sit still to see me tried for murder. It would violate your ethics. You're an honest man."
"Honest?" I grabbed the bars, my fists going white around the iron. "I honestly want to see you condemned to life at MCI Concord. I honestly want to visit you there after your sentencing, then again when your appeal fails. I want to be there the day it finally registers in your mind that you're never going to leave that hell-hole."
Lucas lost his composure. "Where's Kathy?" he growled.
"Try to focus instead on yourself. Because who knows? Maybe the parole board will be moved by your growth and let you out in thirty years." I turned and started toward the door.
