Her Darkest Nightmare (44 page)

Soon there was nothing left in her stomach to throw up, so she wiped her mouth, closed the toilet lid and gingerly lifted herself onto it. But as she sat there, struggling to regain her equilibrium, she happened to notice that the shower curtain was pulled back just enough to reveal part of a curious blob-like object in the tub.

What was
that
?

Sliding off the toilet seat and onto her knees, she pulled the shower curtain back even farther and bent close. Then she nearly screamed and fell back.

It was a clear plastic bag filled with frozen body parts.

 

29

I have no desire whatever to reform myself. My only desire is to reform other people who try to reform me. And I believe that the only way to reform people is to kill 'em. My motto is, Rob 'em all, Rape 'em all and Kill 'em all.

—CARL PANZRAM, SERIAL KILLER, ARSONIST, THIEF, BURGLAR AND RAPIST

Her gun! Fitzpatrick had taken it. Why hadn't she refused to let him, insisted on keeping it with her?

Because, at that point, she hadn't been prepared to shoot anyone and her revulsion and sickness were getting the best of her.

Maybe it wasn't too late to reclaim it.…

Reaching for the wall, she braced herself to stand. She had to find out where Fitzpatrick had put her GLOCK. But Russ came to check on her before she could even climb to her feet. And he could tell instantly that something was wrong. She saw it in his face, in the way his eyes moved from her to the tub and back again.

She scrambled to get as far away from him as possible, which wasn't easy in such a small bathroom. She couldn't dart out the door. Even if she'd had the strength and agility, he was blocking it.

“Did you know?” She could hardly get the words out for the terror building inside her.

He wiped more tears from his face. He didn't look dangerous; he looked rattled. But that didn't necessarily mean anything. Was he in on the murders? Or had he not seen—or understood—what was in the tub? “Know what?”

“That Tim killed Lorraine and Danielle.” Her hand was shaking when she gestured. “That's got to be the legs of one or both of them right there—or another victim. Can't you see the foot? The painted toenails?”

The thought of another victim caused goose bumps. Had Tim been killing for a while? Since before he'd come to Alaska? Maybe he'd only helped her get Hanover House off the ground because he craved the freedom he'd have here. Alaska wasn't just a good hunting ground for moose, caribou and other animals. There were a lot of people who went out alone. Most of those who didn't come back were presumed to be killed by wildlife, the weather or a fall. That file of information Tim had collected on her, and those pictures he'd shown Hugo, could be some type of ritual he performed in advance. Maybe he'd been putting special effort into re-creating what Jasper had done by killing her friends. Lorraine, at least, had been close to her.…

“Wait—you … you're … getting the wrong idea,” Russ said.

Was she? Suddenly it all seemed so clear.

Fitzpatrick came up behind his former grad student. “She still thinks I killed Lorraine and Danielle? Is
that
what she said?”

Russ lifted his hands to calm them all. “She found what I … what I brought over and it has her a little spooked. That's all.”

“
You
brought that bag over?” Evelyn cried.

Fitzpatrick seemed bewildered when he looked at it. “What is it?”

With his forearm, Russ mopped the sweat glistening on his face. “I think it's the … it's the rest of Lorraine and Danielle.”

“What are you talking about?” Fitzpatrick asked.

He hurried to explain. “That's why I came tonight. I-I was getting ready for bed when I realized I was low on wood. So I decided to-to go out to the woodshed and stock up before the storm could get any worse. And when I went out there, I found that bag. Can you imagine what a shock stumbling across that would be?”

Since she'd just stumbled across it herself, Evelyn could relate.

“I dropped the wood I'd picked up and-and almost smashed my toe.”

It was hard to care about his near miss on the foot injury when she couldn't figure out if he was telling the truth. Was it all an act? Could he be murdering people with Tim? Or helping hide the evidence?

It wouldn't be the first time two friends teamed up in crime. Charles Ng and Leonard Lake were one example of a killing duo. Nathan Leopold and Richard Loeb were another, arguably the most famous. But there were others. Those relationships seemed to crop up mostly when one friend dominated the other to an extreme degree, which was exactly how she perceived Tim's control of Russ.

They weren't being aggressive with her, though. Was it because they weren't sure who she'd told that she was coming out here? Were they waiting to see what they could get away with?

“How-how'd it get in your shed?” She hated that her teeth were chattering. Her past created such a handicap despite her determination to overcome it. A full-scale panic attack seemed to be hovering just below her skin. But she couldn't let it break free and overtake her. Then she wouldn't be able to think clearly, and if she couldn't think clearly she couldn't defend herself.

“That's what
I'd
like to know,” he replied. “I tried calling the-the trooper post to tell Sergeant Amarok what I found, but I didn't have a working phone. So I jumped on my snowmobile and brought that bag over here to show Tim. Except when I arrived, I saw the b-broken window and heard the shouting, so I just … dropped it in the living room.”

“You dropped it,” she repeated.

“I never wanted to touch it in the first place!”

“When did you put it in the tub?”

He blinked at her as if he thought that question was irrelevant, and then he seemed to catch on to why she'd ask. “Fitzpatrick was so shocked to see me I wanted to tell him why I'd come—but we were both in such a state. I couldn't even form complete sentences. So I carried it into the bathroom before it could thaw on the rug. I don't know why I thought of that. It was just … what my mother would have me do, I guess. I didn't want him to get angry with me for being thoughtless. And when … when I came back out, there
you
were, peering around the corner at him.”

“You didn't”—she curled her fingernails into her palms—“think to mention it to me right away?”

“Who would? I was completely freaked out!” he said. “Not only had I just found body parts in my shed, I'd helped kill a man! And I wasn't expecting you, so that added even more surprise.”

Was he responsible for putting those body parts in his shed? Had he killed Lorraine and Danielle as well as contributing to Hugo's death? She said nothing, just stared at them both. She had no weapon, was completely defenseless. They could do whatever they chose to do to her.

“Are you okay?” Russ asked as if he wasn't quite sure.

She didn't bother to reassure him. She couldn't get past what she'd seen. “Who could've left that bag in your woodshed?”

He shook his head. “I told you. I don't know. It could be anyone. I'm not home very often.”

“Don't you lock it?”

Shivering and sweating at the same time, he rubbed his arms. “No. I don't like having to track down the key when
I
want to get into it.”

“Someone could steal your wood—”

“If they need it that badly, I'll replace it. It's not as if I'm leaving thousands of dollars lying around. We're talking a few hundred, and even then any would-be thief would have to get his pickup back there to haul it away, which isn't likely to happen in winter. I don't care if someone runs off with a couple of sticks. But”—he scratched his head—“why are we talking about firewood? Am I dreaming? Is this just a terrible nightmare?”

Fitzpatrick spoke up. “I feel devastated, physically weak.” He studied his hands as if they no longer belonged to him. “I have to shower, have to get this blood off me. It's everywhere.”

He was going to
shower
?

When Evelyn's eyes cut to that bag in the tub/shower next to her, he shook his head. “Not in this bathroom. I'll never be able to use this bathroom again.”

Russ came in and slid the curtain closed. “That might help. I'm sorry it scared you. It scared me, too.”

“The person who left it has to be a friend or … or associate of yours,” she insisted.

“Not necessarily,” he said. “Come on, let's get you out of here. You'll be more comfortable on the sofa.”

“Next to
Hugo
?” She shrank away when he tried to touch her.

“That's the study.”

Determined to stand on her own power, she used the vanity for support. “I'm going home.”

“Not right now you're not,” he said, growing adamant. “You're in no shape to battle that storm. Look at you. You're nearly hyperventilating.”

And she'd thought having a headache was bad. Right now, she couldn't even feel the pain. “I
can't
stay here.”

He scowled at her. “Then I'll take you back to my place, but I'm
not
going to let you leave.”

*   *   *

Amarok never did find Evelyn's BMW. He discovered a truck parked at the bottom of Fitzpatrick's drive with the Hanover House logo on it, however, and figured out that she wasn't driving her car.
Thank God.
He didn't know where the Beamer was, but he was grateful she'd abandoned it in favor of more reliable transportation.

Or maybe he wasn't so glad. He didn't want her to be
here
.

After parking in the driveway, he grabbed his rifle, just in case, and hurried to the house. He couldn't see through the windows, couldn't hear anything, either. Was she safe?

He'd never been more frightened to find out the answer to a particular question in his life.

“Fitzpatrick?” He banged on the door. “Open up! Police!”

It was a testament to the fact that he didn't really expect a response that he was moving along the side of the house, intent on going around, when the door opened and Russell Jones poked his head out. “Sergeant Amarok? Am I glad to see you! You're never going to believe what's happened here tonight.”

Seeing the blood on Russ's shirt caused Amarok's breath to shorten. “Where's Evelyn?”

“She's here. Come on in.”

Amarok didn't move, and he didn't lower his weapon. “Bring her to the door.”

Tears welled up in Russ's eyes. “But it's freezing out, and I just … I just got her calmed down—”

“Now!”

Russ's eyes flared wide, but he seemed to understand that Amarok would shoot him if he didn't do exactly what he'd been told. “Okay,” he said. “But … don't worry. She's fine. Just a little rattled, so I made her lie down. We're all traumatized and upset and not thinking straight.”

“You'd better not have been traumatized and upset enough to harm her,” Amarok ground out.

Russ's cheeks flushed and grew mottled, but when he followed Amarok's gaze he realized what was on his shirt. “Oh! This isn't
her
blood. It's
Hugo's
.”

“Let me see her.” Only if she was really okay would he be willing to hear about Hugo. She was all that mattered to him at the moment.

Russ started to close the door, but Amarok stopped him. “Leave it open.…”

Russ's Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed, but then he lifted his hands to show submission and lumbered away. A minute or two later, he returned—with Evelyn.

“Amarok!”

The relief that washed over him was so powerful it sapped some of his strength. “Thank God.” He held his gun away while she hugged him. Then he fisted his hand in her long hair so that he could look down into her face. “Are you hurt?”

“No.”

Tears were filling her eyes, so he pulled her even closer. “It's going to be okay. I've got you.”

As she pressed her face into his coat, he breathed in the scent of her. He'd been so sure he wouldn't make it in time.… But here she was.
Here
she was. “I won't let anyone hurt you,” he murmured.

“I know,” she said, and yet she clung to him as if she couldn't bear the thought of letting go.

“Everything will be fine. We'll get you home soon. But … what happened tonight?”

After another moment she lifted her head. Then she turned to look at Russ. “Hugo tried to kill Fitzpatrick,” she said dully.

Amarok scowled at them. “Why?”

“Revenge,” Russ volunteered. “And he was convinced that Fitzpatrick was a danger to Evelyn.”

“Are we sure he's not?” Amarok had to ask; he still didn't trust Tim.

“Of course not,” Russ said, but Evelyn spoke at the same time.

“We can't rule anything out. We were never alone tonight, so that could've changed what might've happened otherwise.”

“Where's Fitzpatrick now?” Amarok asked.

“In the shower,” she replied.

“And where's Hugo? Has he been subdued?”

She wiped the tears from her cheeks. “He's dead.”

*   *   *

It had been one fucking cold night and Anthony was
not
in a good mood. He'd been released, as promised, but he hadn't been provided with much to help him survive. If he got the chance, he'd kill the bastard who'd left him so vulnerable. He should've done it not long after he'd been marched through the front doors of Hanover House as if he were a guard. That was one ballsy plan, though, man. It had his adrenaline pumping, was terrifying and exhilarating at the same time. He'd never dreamed it could be that easy, but the sheer audacity of what he'd done was probably why it worked. Who'd ever think he'd put on a guard's uniform, pull his hat down over his eyes and walk out with someone who was so well-known that no one would pay him a speck of attention?