Her Darkest Nightmare (27 page)

“You're talking about a girl who's very likely dead, Shorty.”

He stretched his neck. “So you said. I feel terrible about that. Wish I would've stopped it now. But it didn't seem to be hurting anything or anyone at the time.”

Amarok took a sip of the coffee Shorty had poured for him when he first sat down. “Can you tell me how often this went on?”

“Whenever she came in—and she came in whenever she could.”

“Did she have regulars?”

“I don't know if you'd call them regulars, but they'd sure as hell get back in line.”

“Any strangers around when that shit was going down?”

“Of course. We always have hunters and trappers and survivalists and people filming documentaries coming through here, even in the winter. I didn't make them sign a logbook.”

Amarok slid the picture of Jasper he'd pulled off the Internet across the bar. Evelyn's attacker hadn't been seen since his murderous rampage in Boston. And she hadn't gotten a look at his face when he attempted to kidnap her last summer. So this picture was an old likeness, and no one knew how his looks might've changed. But it was all Amarok had. “What about this man? Do you recognize him? Has he been here?”

“You mean
boy
?”

“He's not a boy anymore.”

Shorty shook his head. “Naw, I don't think so.”

“That's too bad.” Reluctantly, he put it back in his coat pocket. “Did anyone ever get too possessive of Danielle—or think he had more of a right to get in her pants than the next guy?”

“No, Sarge. I swear it. It was all in good fun or I would have come to you straightaway.”

Amarok rubbed his chin. He couldn't believe this had been going on right beneath his nose. It was just too sordid. “I need you to make me a list.”

“A list?”

“Of every guy you know who touched her.”

He scowled. “You can't be serious.”

“I'm dead serious. We're talking about murder here.”

“But some of the guys, they're…”

Amarok played innocent. “What?”

“Married. If what they did with Danielle comes to light, it could break up their families.”

“Glad you pointed that out. Start with the ones who have the most to lose.” He had Danielle's little black book and planned to speak to everyone, but Shorty didn't know that. Amarok figured it wouldn't hurt to see if Shorty's list contained all the same names—or a few new ones.

“This is terrible bad.” Sorrow filled Shorty's voice as he smoothed his apron. “Terrible bad for everyone.”

“So's having a crazed psychopath running around,” Amarok told him.

“Is that what we got?”

“Until I can prove Lorraine Drummond and Danielle Connelly were murdered in a jealous rage—or come up with some other scenario—we can't rule it out.”

“Wait.” Shorty gestured toward Amarok's coat. “Now I know why you showed me that picture and said that kid was no longer a boy. He's the bastard who slaughtered Doc Talbot's friends all those years ago, right? The one who slit her throat and left her for dead when she was just a teenager? Surely you don't think
he's
come to town.”

“It's possible. He came after her again last summer, didn't he? And considering he probably no longer looks anything like this picture”—he patted his pocket—“how would we know?”

Shorty whistled as he shook his head. “Holy shit.”

*   *   *

Hugo had his eyes closed and wasn't moving. Evelyn stood by his side, feeling … she didn't know what. Confused by her own emotions, maybe even disappointed in them. She knew too much about what he'd done before being incarcerated not to despise him for it, at least to some degree. She'd been a victim of someone like him, which made it difficult to experience the compassion that would normally attend a man who'd just been stabbed. And yet she wanted to feel more than panic for how this might threaten her own situation. Praying for him to live only so that she wouldn't come under criticism and possibly lose her grip on HH made her almost as narcissistic as he was.

The nurse and doctor who bustled around the room had acknowledged her with a nod when she walked in but hadn't taken time to address her. Their daily grind consisted of handing out meds—for depression, high blood pressure, high cholesterol or other chronic ailments—and taking care of minor injuries, like the broken nose suffered by a CO thanks to Anthony Garza. This was their first major emergency, and Evelyn could tell they were feeling the seriousness of it.

“How bad is he?” She finally posed the question that was on her mind, despite her fear of their response.

Dr. Bernstein glanced over. Originally from Seattle, he'd accepted the position as head of their medical staff because he loved the wilderness and wanted to hunt and fish in Alaska. He'd once told her it was like getting invited to work where he most wanted to play. Almost all the management and medical staff came from the Lower 48, or Anchorage, including the warden. For the most part, Hilltop had only provided employees who could be trained on-site: some of the COs, administrative assistants, kitchen help, janitorial and maintenance crews.

“He's sustained two stab wounds,” he replied. “One in the upper right quadrant of the heart, the other in the lower sternum. The blade's lodged in there, possibly causing a tamponade.”

Evelyn had been to med school. Although she'd never practiced as a medical doctor, and definitely wasn't a surgeon, she understood how serious a cardiac tamponade could be. Hugo needed to have his chest opened, his aorta cross-clamped and, if necessary, his pericardium opened to relieve the fluid gathering in the sac around his heart. “You've removed the shank?”

“No, I don't dare. Not here. I'm afraid it would do more harm than good.”

“So … where's the handle?” They'd covered Hugo with a blanket to keep him warm, but she would've expected to see some evidence of the knife protruding from his chest.

Bernstein maneuvered around the nurse. “Gone. Broken off.”

Another one of the many downsides to homemade weapons.

Evelyn tightened her grip on the railing of Hugo's gurney. “Is there any danger of him bleeding out?”

“We're doing our best to make sure that doesn't happen. I've already given him six liters.”

Shit.
That was all a human body typically contained.

With a sigh, Evelyn read the chart the nurse had left on the table:
Pt verbally responsive, HR 82, RR 28, AE clear bilaterally, HS1
+
11 clear, no neck vein distention, ECG Lead QQ NSR, SPOO2 96% on Fi02 1.0.
“Will he be able to hang on until he arrives at Alaska Regional?” she asked.

Bernstein had been too busy preparing Hugo for transport to stop working while they talked. But at this, he paused. “Maybe.”

“Did he tell you anything about the incident?”

“No.”

“Did he speak to
you
?” She turned to the nurse, since it was the nurse who'd noted that the patient had been verbally responsive when he arrived.

“He told us who did it,” she replied as she added more tape to Hugo's hand to prevent his IV from coming out should the tube get snagged.

“Let me guess—Anthony Garza,” Evelyn said. “Is that what he said?”

“If that's ‘the new bastard.'”

“That's him.” But what she wanted to find out was …
why?
And how did the stabbing come about? She could see Anthony shanking someone in the yard, but it was too coincidental that the victim of that attack would be Hugo. What connection did they have?

None that she knew of. She could only guess, as she'd just said in her office, that Fitzpatrick had put him up to it. Or maybe it was Dean Snowden or Steve Dugall, one of the COs on Danielle's list who would lose his job for allowing the inmates to have sex with her. That there were other possibilities made her regret accusing the one person who'd helped her bring Hanover House into existence. She couldn't really believe he'd do such a thing, and yet … someone had signed that transfer order. Would Dean or Steve dare be so bold?

Tough to guess. She didn't know them that well, but they both had families, so it said something about them that they'd have sex with Danielle.

“It doesn't make sense,” she mumbled.

The nurse was too busy to comment. Evelyn was talking to herself, anyway.

“Evelyn.”

That wasn't the doctor's voice. Hugo was looking at her with those strange, flat eyes of his. Even while he was fighting to survive she could find no real warmth in them. In her mind, that was probably the most distinguishing characteristic of psychopaths. Not only had she noticed that commonality herself, she'd heard about it many times from other victims:
There was something with his eyes. They were so devoid of emotion.

“How are you?” she asked.

“Not so … good.” He groaned. “Did you … did you get my letters?”

She hadn't technically received them, but, thanks to nosey Russ, she knew the gist of what he'd written.

“Yes.”

“Will you … will you forgive me?”

When he reached for her hand, she let him take it. Chances were he wouldn't make it through the night. No matter what kind of individual he was, she couldn't bring herself to treat him poorly on his deathbed, especially when she was feeling partially responsible for his plight. Maybe she hadn't put Garza in the yard, but, as Fitzpatrick had so emphatically pointed out, she was the one who'd brought him to HH.

“Of course.” She battled the despair that tugged at her like gravity. “Why did this happen, Hugo?”

He wet his lips as he gathered the strength to answer. “No clue. Don't … even know the guy.”

“There was no insult or reproach? No demand for something you wouldn't give?”

“None. He came … out of nowhere.”

“We're ready to take him up,” Bernstein announced.

Evelyn put out her free hand to hold the doctor off. The helicopter couldn't have arrived yet. They were merely making sure they had Hugo in place for when it landed. This was the first time they'd ever had to use the helipad. Just before the medevac unit was due to set down, Bernstein would push the button that would cause the cover on the roof to roll back. She hoped the groundskeepers had kept that cover clear of snow, since it was their most important responsibility.

“There has to be a reason, a trigger,” she told Hugo, trying to keep him focused.

Bernstein touched her arm. “He really shouldn't exert himself, Dr. Talbot.”

She understood the risk. But she also understood that she might never have another chance to get the answers he could give her. And she had to have them. This went far beyond her job. If they didn't figure out what was going on, even more people could die.…

Ignoring Bernstein's disapproval, she continued to cling to the bed but bent close to make it easier to hear Hugo's broken speech. “Think!” she whispered to him. “Why did he come at
you
?”

“Maybe because … I told you … about…”

“Fitzpatrick?” she prodded.

The way he gasped for breath made her fear he'd go into cardiac arrest and that would be the end of him.

“Dr. Talbot!”

The rebuke in Bernstein's voice caused fresh alarm. As intent as she was on getting answers, she didn't want to make matters worse.

“It's okay, Hugo,” she said, straightening. “Don't try to talk. We'll … we'll cover this later, when you get back.”

They both knew it was highly unlikely he'd be coming back, so he fought to speak despite her words. “It … had to be Fitzpatrick. He … he wants to destroy you. I … swear it!”

Chills rolled down Evelyn's spine. For all Hugo knew, he wouldn't live more than a few minutes. Would he confirm such an outlandish lie on his deathbed? And so emphatically—when he had nothing to gain by it?

Could he despise Fitzpatrick that much?

“How do you know?” she asked.

Bernstein had had enough. Forcing her to step back, he started rolling the gurney away. But Hugo grabbed her arm.

“You believe me … don't you? Tell me … you … believe me. You're not safe.”

She moved with them so she wouldn't slow them down. “It's not Jasper?”

“Who's Jasper?”

In Hugo's more lucid moments, he would know. He'd said it was Jasper right before the COs pulled him out of the cell after he attacked her. He'd made a study of her life, found it funny to return the scrutiny she gave him. He often told her psychiatrists were worse than psychopaths.

“Never mind,” she said. “Just … pull through, okay? Hang on. We're going to get you taken care of.”

“Evelyn?”

When he used her first name for the second time, Bernstein's scowl darkened. “That's ‘Dr. Talbot' to you,” he said, but she let it go. In light of what Hugo had suffered, what he was
still
suffering, she figured she had to put everything in its proper perspective. It was upsetting that Lorraine and another woman had been killed. It was upsetting that someone had forged her name and Hugo had been stabbed as a result. It was upsetting that a man she relied on and trusted might be to blame for all the trouble.

At the moment, having an inmate call her Evelyn didn't even rank in the top ten.

“What?” she said to Hugo.

“I know … you don't think I'm … capable of love. But…”

His eyes closed and she thought he'd stop right there. She was more than happy to let him. This sounded like further proof of his infatuation—or, rather, his
fixation
—with her. She feared what he was about to say would only make her uncomfortable. But the nurse stopped pushing the gurney to double-check the flow coming from the IV bag and that gave Hugo the chance to continue.