Hello Again Page 5

  Amarok touched her arm. “You okay?”

  She nodded.

  He drew her attention to the pictures of the victims as they’d been in life, photographs the police had added to the file after the bodies had been identified. “To a greater or lesser degree, they all look like you, right?”

  He hadn’t mentioned the other similarities—with the structure and the fire. Jasper loved finding an old building he could use to torture his victims. When he was done with it, he burned it down. He’d tried to burn down the shack in which he’d tortured Evelyn all those years ago—while she was still in it. To this day, she didn’t know why the fire went out instead of killing her and destroying all the evidence.

  “Evelyn?”

  She felt a tear roll down her cheek. She wasn’t crying for herself and what’d happened to her in the past but for these women and what they’d suffered more recently. “God, I hate him,” she whispered, covering her mouth.

  He put a comforting hand at the small of her back. “Can you see the resemblance?”

  She nodded. “Yes. This one…” She pointed to the third picture from the left. “It’s almost like looking in a mirror.”

  4

  Amarok had found Jasper’s “signature.” Evelyn was sure of it. Over the past year he’d mentioned several unsolved murders where the victims looked like her, but with only one body here and one body there, sometimes states apart, it was difficult to determine if the physical similarities were merely a coincidence. Having five women discovered at a single kill site made it obvious they were all murdered by the same perpetrator. And learning that every one of them had the same hair and eye color Evelyn did made her confident Amarok had, at the very least, pinpointed a specific time and place where Jasper had lived for several years—long enough for one body to have turned to bones. This might be what the detective in Boston, who’d inherited her case since the original detective retired, needed in order to find Jasper.

  Evelyn was so excited she couldn’t sleep that night, and she knew Amarok could tell. He pulled her to him to get her to stop tossing and turning, but that did little good. After only a few hours, she slipped out of bed and went to the kitchen to work.

  When he got up at six and found her at the table on her computer, he frowned as if to say he’d known better than to share the news about those victims in Arizona.

  Averting her gaze, she pretended she’d only crawled out of bed a few minutes earlier. “Morning.”

  “Morning,” he grumbled.

  Silence fell as he poured himself a cup of the coffee she’d prepared a few minutes earlier. Then he said, “How are you going to get through such a busy day on no sleep?”

  She couldn’t say for sure, but she wasn’t about to add any support to his side of the argument. “I’ll manage. I’ve done it before.”

  He leaned one hip against the counter. “Evelyn, you’re running yourself ragged.”

  She pulled the sweater closed that she’d donned to help ward off the morning chill and walked over to him.

  “What?” he said when she offered him a grin.

  “I’m glad you told me about Arizona. I’m excited, not upset.”

  With a sigh, he set his coffee aside, drew her to him and rested his chin on her head. “I understand that, but we’re a long way from catching him. You can’t be up walking the floor every night until then.”

  She slid her arms around his lean waist as she settled into his embrace. “But this is it, Amarok. I feel it like I’ve never felt it before.”

  “It’s got to be Jasper,” he agreed. “But just because he was in Arizona two years ago doesn’t mean he’s there now.”

  “There’s a chance. People get comfortable. They like familiar territory, especially killers. That’s why so many take victims from the same area over and over.”

  She could feel his chest rumble as he chuckled, so she pulled away. “What are you laughing at?”

  “You,” he replied. “I guess there’s no protecting you against disappointment.”

  “I can be pessimistic about Jasper, too. No one knows that better than you. But it’s the hope that we’ll win in the end that keeps me going.”

  He sobered. “Still, you can’t keep driving yourself like you do.”

  When she pressed her lips to his, he hesitated as if he wouldn’t let her cajole him out of his concern. But then his lips parted and he met her tongue in that familiar give and take she loved, and his hands slid up her back to hold her closer.

  “God, you can kiss,” she murmured against his warm, soft mouth. “You’re pretty good at a few other things, too.”

  He leaned his forehead against hers. “Are you ever going to marry me, Evelyn?”

  Her heart nearly stopped. She wouldn’t be able to ignore this comment like she had the other one. He was waiting for a response. “I love you,” she replied. “There’s no question about that.”

  He scowled at her. “That’s not what I asked.”

  “I can’t promise anything long-term, Amarok. Committing to you means committing to Alaska, too. You’d never want to leave this place.”

  “This is where I belong.”

  “Exactly my point.” He wouldn’t be quite so at home anywhere else.

  “So where does that leave us?”

  “For right now, I’d rather not live without you. If you feel the same about me, I guess we just … go on as we are.”

  “You’re saying we wait and see.”

  “Yes.”

  He shoved a hand through his hair. “I hope this goes my way.”

  “Or…”

  “I’ll find out what it feels like to have my heart broken, something I’ve managed to avoid for thirty years.”

  Once again, she felt torn. Was she doing the right thing allowing herself to get so close to him? “I don’t want to hurt you, Amarok.”

  “It’s too late; I already care.” With that, he set her aside to get a bowl of cereal. “Have you called Lyman Bishop’s sister?”

  “Not yet.” She returned to where she’d been sitting at the kitchen table. “I was waiting for you to get up, didn’t want to wake you by blabbing on the phone.”

  “Go ahead. You’ve got to be itching to cross that off your ‘to do’ list.”

  Evelyn didn’t pick up her phone right away. She preferred to spend a few minutes with him, since he was available. They chatted while he ate, but when he went to get a shower she called the number the Minneapolis detective had provided to her yesterday.

  The phone rang several times and never did forward to any type of voice mail. Evelyn hung up and called again, to no avail. She even tried to reach Beth periodically throughout the day. No one ever answered. It was Friday, just after breakfast, when Amarok was once again in the shower, that Evelyn finally heard a slurred, “Hello?”

  Evelyn hesitated. Had Lyman’s sister been drinking? Even three hours later, on Minnesota time, it was early for that. “Is this … Beth Bishop?”

  “Yes. Who’s this?”

  Again, Beth’s voice sounded … strange. Maybe she hadn’t been drinking. Maybe she’d been taking meds. Evelyn had no idea what illnesses she might have. “This is Dr. Evelyn Talbot calling from Hilltop, Alaska.”

  “Did you say you’re my doctor?”

  Evelyn heard relief in those words. “No,” she clarified. “Not your doctor. I’m a psychiatrist at the facility where your brother has been incarcerated.”

  “What?”

  Speaking much slower, Evelyn chose simpler words. “I’m at the prison where they put your brother.”

  “Lyman’s there? Can I talk to him?”

  “Not right now.”

  “Why not?” she demanded, her voice rising as if she was about to cry. “I’m cold. He has to come turn on the heater. It won’t work for me.”

  Evelyn curled her fingernails into her palm. Was there no one looking after this unfortunate soul? “Could a neighbor come over and check the heater?”

  “I can’t
let anyone in.” She lowered her voice, mimicking someone. “‘Never, never answer the door, Beth. Do you hear me?’”

  “That’s what Lyman told you?”

  “He said I won’t ever get another white powdered donut if I do.”

  Had Lyman taught her to refuse visitors because he had secrets he hoped to keep hidden? Or was he trying to protect his sister? And is that why Evelyn had had such difficulty reaching her? Maybe she’d been there all the time but wouldn’t pick up. “You like white powdered donuts?”

  “They’re my favorite. Lyman says they make a mess. But I always clean up. I sure wish I had a donut now. I like Oreos, too. We need to get more Oreos. Lyman won’t be happy when he gets home. He’ll say I ate the whole package—”

  “Beth?” Evelyn had to raise her voice in order to be heard.

  “Can I talk to Lyman?” she said instead of answering.

  “He’s not here right now. Listen to me. Have you had breakfast?”

  “There’re no more cookies. No more donuts, either.”

  “That’s not breakfast. What do you have?”

  “Oatmeal. But I hate oatmeal.”

  “That’s what you had this morning?”

  “Yes. Tell Lyman I ate it like a good girl. Maybe then he’ll come home. And buy more donuts.”

  “I’ll let him know if you’ll tell me what you had for dinner last night. Can you remember?”

  “Oatmeal.”

  Evelyn rose to her feet. “Again?”

  “That’s all that’s left.”

  “You don’t have any milk or bread or meat?”

  “I should hang up. Lyman wouldn’t want me talking to you. I don’t even know you.”

  Evelyn spoke quickly in an effort to stop her. “I’m your brother’s doctor, remember? He asked me to call. He’s checking to see what food you have.”

  “Can I talk to him?”

  “I might be able to have him call you later. For now, just look through the cupboards.”

  After several minutes of hearing Beth mumble and then sing to herself somewhere away from the phone, Evelyn almost hung up. She didn’t think Lyman’s sister was coming back. But then Beth picked up the phone. “Oil.”

  Evelyn was mildly surprised she’d remembered her task. “You have some oil in the cupboard?”

  “Yes.”

  “Anything else?”

  “That’s all.”

  “What about the fridge?”

  “Nothing.”

  “No eggs? No milk? No bread?”

  “I love bread,” she said. “I like it when Lyman makes toast. With strawberry jelly. When he comes home he’s going to bring some bread and make toast with strawberry jelly. All I can eat of it. And he’ll turn on the heat.”

  “What is it?” Amarok asked.

  Evelyn jumped at the sound of his voice. She hadn’t heard him come into the room. She held up a finger to let him know she’d answer in a moment. “Beth, stay by the phone, okay? Your brother will call you in an hour or so. Do you know what an hour is?”

  She didn’t answer the question. “Lyman’s going to call me?”

  At least she understood that part. “Yes.”

  “Now?”

  “In a little bit.”

  “Can he hurry?” she pleaded. “Will you tell him to hurry?”

  What was going on here? Had this woman been left to her own devices? Because it didn’t sound as if she was capable of taking care of herself. “Yes. I’ll tell him to hurry,” she promised, and disconnected.

  Amarok was waiting for an explanation. “What’d she say?”

  “We never got around to talking about Jan Hall. Beth’s more disabled than I thought. I’m fairly certain she’s sitting in Minneapolis with hardly any food in a freezing house.”

  “Why didn’t Bishop tell anyone that she might be in dire straits?”

  “I have no idea,” she said. “But as soon as I can get to Hanover House, I’m going to find out.”

  * * *

  “You’ve spoken to my sister?”

  Evelyn was so concerned about Beth Bishop she was pacing on her side of the interview room. “Yes. And she didn’t sound good.”

  He lowered his head but said nothing.

  “When’s the last time you talked to her?”

  No response.

  “Dr. Bishop?”

  “I quit calling.”

  “When?”

  “After the trial.”

  “Because…”

  “Because it was too upsetting,” he replied. “She’d cry for me to come home, and there was nothing I could do. I couldn’t even make her understand why I couldn’t.”

  Resting her hands on her hips, Evelyn paused in front of the plexiglass. “How disabled is she?”

  “Her mind is like that of a fifth-grader.”

  “A ten-year-old.”

  “Yes.”

  “Who’s taking care of her?”

  His narrow shoulders lifted in a shrug.

  “What does that mean?” Evelyn demanded.

  “Now that I’m locked up, there’s no one to take care of her!” he snapped in a sudden flare of temper. “Do you think there’s a line of people waiting and hoping for the chance?”

  Evelyn studied him, tried to imagine what was going on behind those innocent-looking brown eyes and couldn’t. “It sounds as if the heater’s broken. Or the utilities have been turned off.”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised.”

  “Aren’t you concerned, Dr. Bishop?”

  “I should’ve killed her,” he mumbled. “It would’ve been a mercy to both of us.”

  “What’d you say?”

  “Of course I’m concerned!” He lifted his gaze from the floor. “She’s my sister.”

  “So why haven’t you made it clear to anyone that she needs to be institutionalized? How is it that she’s living on her own?”

  “I tried institutionalizing her—once.” He spoke as if it was difficult for him to retain his patience, but he didn’t allow his voice to rise a second time.

  “When?” Evelyn demanded.

  “A decade ago.”

  “And?”

  “It was a mistake. When I went to visit, she had a black eye and scratch marks on her arm. The attendant told me she stumbled into the door.”

  Evelyn hated these types of stories, but, unfortunately, she heard far too many of them. “She couldn’t tell you what happened?”

  “She said the man who put her to bed ‘hurt’ her.”

  “Did you lodge a complaint?”

  “Of course. But it was her word against his, so ultimately it went nowhere. According to them, her injuries didn’t prove anything.”

  Given the amount of rage Bishop had had to cope with in his lifetime, Evelyn almost felt sorry for him.

  Actually, she did feel sorry for him. That was the problem. She hadn’t lost her empathy, even for people who typically felt none, which meant she could still get drawn into their lies and their lives—and be victimized again, even if it wasn’t in a physical sense. “So you … what? Took her home?”

  “Yes. That was when I accepted that I would likely be caring for her the rest of my life.”

  Evelyn drew in a deep breath. She’d dealt with heartbroken parents, shocked wives and children who’d suddenly been cast adrift, extended family who’d had to step up and take care of a convicted loved one’s responsibilities. But she’d never confronted a situation like this and was at a loss on the best way to handle it. “Certainly your arrest made it clear that you would no longer be able to look after her.”

  “I wasn’t willing to see her go back to such a place, not with the memories she has. I told the police I needed some time to teach her how to care for herself, but they wouldn’t listen. They thought they’d caught a serial killer, that I might escape if they didn’t lock me up without a second’s delay and throw away the key.”

  “You expected special treatment? That they’d shuttle you back and forth to your h
ouse to take care of Beth?” If he thought she’d criticize the police, he was wrong.

  “A little human kindness could’ve made all the difference,” he mumbled, now sullen.

  “You could’ve shown some human kindness yourself—to all the women you murdered.”

  “I haven’t killed anyone,” he said, but with enough defeat to tell her he didn’t expect her to take him seriously or even respond. “I thought I’d be found innocent and set free, that I’d be able to go about my business. So I hired a colleague from the college to look after my sister in the meantime—Teralynn Clark, the janitor who cleans the lab every night. Given the astronomical amount of my legal fees, I could only afford an hour or so of her time each day, but an hour was all Beth needed. Someone to make sure she had groceries, that she was taking her bath and was able to get her favorite TV programs and games on her iPad.”

  “You told me she has the mind of a ten-year-old.”

  “But she isn’t a ten-year-old. She’s only six years younger than me. And she was used to being alone while I worked. I convinced myself we’d be able to muddle through until I was released.”

  Evelyn tucked a stray wisp of hair behind her ear. “But they convicted you instead.”

  “Yes.”

  “Is Teralynn Clark the one who brought Beth to your trial each day?”

  He winced. “You know about that?”

  “Jennifer Hall told me Beth was there most days, crying in the gallery.”

  “Teralynn thought it was funny to torment me by hurting someone I care about—saw it as vengeance for my ‘victims.’”

  “Is Teralynn still taking care of her?”

  “No. There’s no money left. Once I realized I wouldn’t be going home, I started writing to various institutions, asking for help. But they all cost money, and I haven’t got any. So far, I haven’t received a response, but you understand what prison mail is like. It’s monitored. For all I know, some correctional officer threw away those letters rather than allow me to obtain the reprieve I seek.”