Touching Evil

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

It didn't take Scott and Jennifer more than half an hour to find Brady Oliver at the address provided and bring him in for questioning. He turned out to be a small-time crook with delusions of grandeur and crumbled almost before Andy could even begin to get hard-nosed about the probable legal consequences of passing oneself off as a kidnapper.

"I never took her, I swear! I just found her is all, and why shouldn't I try to make a few bucks on a lucky chance? Her old man would never miss it, and she don't care no more, right?"

Andy stared at him, thinking once again that it was a helluva world they lived in. And feeling a chill. From the sound of it, Samantha Mitchell was already dead. "Where is she, Brady?"

Bloodshot eyes shifted nervously. "First, we gotta talk about this kidnapping rap. 'Cause I never took her, I just found her."

Andy leaned toward him and said gently, "Well, I'll tell you what, Brady. What say I invite Samantha Mitchell's husband in here to meet you? And you can explain it all to him."

"Oh, hell, no, don't do that!"

"Where is she?"

"I just wanted to-"

"Where is she?"

"Alls I'm asking is-"

Andy rose to his feet.

"Okay, okay! There's a dump not too far from my place, an old abandoned building. City wants to tear it down, but there's no money to rebuild, something like that. I go there sometimes and look for stuff I can sell." He rattled off the address, looking acutely unhappy. "First floor, back room."

"She's dead, isn't she, Brady?"

"I didn't do her, I swear!"

Andy felt very tired. He said, "My people are going to go check out the address. You'll wait right here."

"I want a lawyer," Brady whined.

"You haven't been charged with anything. Yet."

"Oh. Well, then, I want a Coke."

Andy left the interview room without responding and before he gave in to the temptation to rid the human gene pool of one extremely stupid and vicious little possible breeder.

As soon as he shut the door behind him, Jennifer came out of the observation room and said, "We heard, Andy. Scott's rounding up the rest and putting forensics on alert. Do you think that piece of scum in there really just found her?"

Nodding, Andy said, "If Brady had killed her, he would have been hiding in the deepest hole he could find and wouldn't have opened his trap, except to ask for a lawyer. Since he just found her, he figures he's safe. Stupid bastard."

"So she's dead?"

"Yeah, she's dead. Come on-let's go. You and Scott can ride with me."

They collected the others from the bullpen and went out to their cars. On the point of getting into his own car, Andy noticed Jennifer still on the sidewalk; she was looking around with a frown, obviously disturbed.

"What?" he asked.

"Did you hear something?"

"I heard a lot. Traffic, voices, a horn blowing a couple of blocks away."

She shook her head, moving toward the passenger side finally but still frowning. "No, something else."

Scott said, "I didn't hear anything weird, Jenn. What'd it sound like?"

"Just… I could have sworn somebody said my name, that's all. My imagination, I guess." She shivered visibly and got into the car.

Andy paused a moment to look around carefully, but he didn't see or hear anything unusual. Even so, he didn't dismiss Jennifer's uneasiness, especially added to the fact that someone had apparently gotten into her locked car not so long ago.

He looked around a final time, then got into the car, making a mental note to do something about security around the station. But that resolution was pushed to the back of his mind by the time they reached the address Brady Oliver had given them.

Loath to disturb any evidence, Andy stationed most of his people around the building with instructions to tape off the entire thing for forensics, while he went in with only Scott and Jennifer as backup.

Their flashlights showed them a dirty, ramshackle place that had long ago been stripped to its bare bones. The floor creaked underfoot, and as they entered they could all hear faint scratchy whisperings and scurryings.

"What the hell's that?" Scott demanded, jumpy and not apologetic about it.

"Rats," Andy told him. "You two stay behind me. We'll check out the room Brady said he found her in first."

With sudden realization, Scott said, "Rats… If the lady's here and she's been dead very long-"

"Don't think about it," Jennifer urged him, her own voice a bit thickened.

Andy hesitated, wondering if he should have left the two of them outside. Both had witnessed scenes of homicide before, but he knew they were very involved in this case and that their emotions were heightened because of that. Still, even that was part of being a cop. He moved on, slow and careful.

The long hallway led to the back of the building, where there were half a dozen rooms, their doors long gone, and empty doorways with broken casings leaned drunkenly open. Andy wondered why the whole building hadn't collapsed long ago. He paused, shining his light around, then moved suddenly toward the doorway to the room on the far left corner.

He could smell the blood.

There was no need to go more than a step into the room. His flashlight found her immediately.

"Oh, Christ," Scott muttered.

Andy said nothing, but he heard Jennifer give a little sigh and didn't have to ask to know what both of them were feeling. Because he felt the same. Horror. Revulsion. Pain. And an overwhelming sadness.

Samantha Mitchell lay spread-eagled on a bloodstained mattress in the far corner. Her naked body was bruised and battered. Her eyes were gone, and her throat was cut almost ear to ear. The rats had indeed gotten to her body.

Even more horribly, a deep slash opened the lower curve of her rounded belly.

And between her thighs lay the pitifully small, curled body of her dead child.

Still connected to her body by the umbilical cord.

"From the moment we met, there was an unusual bond between Christina and me," Maggie said. "Maybe it was because she was the first of his victims to survive the attack, I don't know. Whatever the reason, we both felt it, that closeness."

"She mentioned your name a couple of times when I flew up to visit her," John said, keeping his eyes on the road as he drove. "Didn't say much, just that you were the police sketch artist and that you'd been kind to her. That's one reason I asked Andy about you after she died. And I saw you at the funeral."

Maggie was a little surprised by that; she had made a point of keeping back and being unobtrusive. "I didn't know you saw me then."

"I just caught a glimpse near the end. Didn't know who you were until I recognized you last week in that interview room." He didn't add that something about her had stuck in his mind so that all these weeks later he had remembered her the instant he had seen her at the police station.

"I didn't get to spend much time with Christina," she said. "Just a couple of visits in the hospital, then three or four more after she went home. So much of her energy was just taken up with healing and with getting ready for all the surgeries she knew would follow."

John glanced at Maggie quickly, but he couldn't see her face clearly in the now-and-then glare of passing streetlights. "She talked about the plastic surgery?"

"Yes. She was realistic about it; she knew nothing would make her look the way she did before. But the acid had done so much damage, and she just wanted to look as normal as possible. She said… she didn't want to frighten children when she went out in public."

John was silent for a moment, then said, "That's one of the reasons I've been so sure she didn't kill herself. She wanted to live, Maggie, I know she did. She wanted to heal and go on with her life. She was strong."

"Yes, she was. Stronger than you know."

"What do you mean?"

Maggie drew a breath. "Once she got home, she had that elaborate computer system her husband had set up, and that new voice-recognition and reading program you arranged since she couldn't see the screen."

"Yes. I didn't want her to feel cut off from everything even if she wasn't ready to go out in public yet. Are you saying she used it for something else?"

"It probably shouldn't surprise you," Maggie said. "She was your sister, after all. She wanted answers, John."

"Answers? Are you saying she tried to find the man who attacked her?"

"She had all the information she'd been able to find on Laura Hughes, and of course she knew her own situation and background better than anyone else. She was convinced there was a connection somewhere, that the rest of us had been-blinded-by so many of the details that we couldn't see what was actually there."

"And she believed she could? Blind and virtually alone in that apartment, she believed she could find something everyone else had missed?"

"She did have a unique perspective. And she'd spent hours on end thinking about it. There really wasn't much else she could think about." Maggie sighed. "Please believe me, if I'd had even the slightest suspicion that what she was doing could have put her in danger-"

John abruptly pulled the car to the curb and stopped. He turned in the seat to stare at her. "Are you saying it did? Maggie-did Christina kill herself?" "

"No."

"No? Why the hell didn't you tell me this before? Christ, tell somebody-"

"Because I can't prove it, John." She kept her voice level. "Every speck of evidence in that apartment proves that she did kill herself. Andy and his people went over it with a fine-tooth comb, you know that. They even went over it twice, because you asked them to. You yourself went through her computer files, according to Andy; did you find anything?"

"No," he replied slowly. "At least, nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing unexpected. There was nothing about the investigation, the other victim. No hint at all that she was trying to investigate on her own."

"That's what Andy said. He even had the department computer expert check it out when I asked him to, but there was nothing. If there was any evidence before she died, it was certainly gone afterward. Nobody found anything to point to an intruder or even a visitor. Security records for that night show no one entering the apartment, and even the fact that she'd given the nurse the day and night off seems to point toward suicide. The medical examiner was absolutely positive it was suicide, no reservations at all. I read his report. You read his report. According to everything they found, Christina wrote that suicide note on her computer, then put a gun to her head and pulled the trigger."

John drew a breath. "I hadn't even known she had that gun until afterward."

"Not surprising, since according to the registration, she'd bought it years ago, when she first lived alone in L.A., for protection. And since it hadn't been registered here in Seattle, none of us knew about it beforehand. But if you've been blaming yourself for not knowing, don't. If there hadn't been a gun, he would have done it another way."

"How the hell do you know that, Maggie? With all the evidence pointing the other way, how do you know Christina didn't kill herself?"

"I told you we had a connection, a bond." Maggie turned her gaze to the windshield, still working on holding her voice level and calm. "The night she died, I woke up… hearing her scream in my mind. Feeling her pain. It was just a flashing instant, but clear. So clear I'll never forget it. And what she was screaming was terror-and protest. She didn't want to die. The gun in her hand, pressed to her temple, wasn't under her control."

Jennifer was alone in the conference room, looking over the arrest report she'd requested from the Central precinct on David Robson, when Andy came in, looking harried and tired.

"Sanctuary," he muttered. "My kingdom for an hour or two of sanctuary."

"I'd grant it if I could," she said sympathetically. "But you know the minute the switchboard doesn't find you at your desk, the phones in here will start ringing."

"Yeah, I know." He sat down with a sigh. "You should be gone. How many hours have you put in today?"

"I'm off the clock."

"That's not what I asked you."

Jennifer shrugged. "Look, I didn't want to go home and figured I might as well be busy."

"Doing what?"

She tapped the report with a finger. "Following a very unlikely lead, trying to track down a transient who might have seen something helpful."

Andy grunted. "Where's Scott?"

"Gone for a pizza. We were hungry and he wanted some fresh air." She watched him, worried by the circles under his eyes and the tense line of his jaw. "I guess you haven't heard anything from Maggie? I mean, about her talking to Hollis Templeton?"

"No, nothing yet. And whatever she's got to say might not be relevant anyway."

"Do you really believe that?"

"Hell, no."

"Yeah. Our entire world does seem to have narrowed down just to this investigation, doesn't it?"

"You'd think." He sighed again. "The M.E. has promised to work on Samantha Mitchell ASAP, but neither one of us thinks he'll find anything new. One glance told him what it told the rest of us: She was alive when her throat was cut, and died from blood loss."

"Then that with the baby was done… after?"

Andy's jaw tightened even more. "A minute or two after, the M.E. thinks. The baby was probably still alive."

Jennifer hadn't expected that-or the jolt she felt hearing it. "Christ."

"Needless to say, we're going to try to keep that fact out of the media's hands."

"Does Mitchell know?"

"No, and if I have my way he never will."

She stared down at the arrest report. "Andy, is there something we're missing? Something we should have done and didn't?"

"Nothing I can think of. Don't beat yourself up about it, Jenn. We've had virtually no evidence, no witnesses able to give us a description, and no predictable pattern to the attacks-so far, at least. The closest we've come to a lead of any kind is thanks to you and Scott."

"Some lead," she said, sounding as discouraged as she felt. "We have a few sketches and photos of victims from a string of murders in 1934, and maybe our guy somehow got access to them, but so far the only thing we can be reasonably sure of is that he's going after look-alikes."

Before Andy could respond, the phone rang, and he picked up the receiver with a resigned grimace.

"Yeah?" He listened for a minute, absently watching Jennifer continue going through the file in front of her, then said, "Okay. Tell him I'm on my way."

When he hung up the phone, Jennifer said, "Our Luke again?"

Andy used the table for leverage to push himself to his feet. "Yeah, dammit."

"He's still refusing to ask the FBI for help?"

"He'd refuse to yell help if his pants were on fire, Jenn, you know that." He sighed. "But I think we need to bring John's friends in, and I mean officially. I'm about a breath away from calling the chief directly myself."

She shook her head. "Don't do that. We both know Drummond would never forgive or forget, and he could do your career a lot of damage."

"And maybe I don't give a shit."

This time, Jennifer smiled. "Yes, you do. And so do the rest of us, in case you didn't know that. We need you right where you are, Andy. But I agree it's time something drastic was done. I don't have to hear a shrink explain it to know that now that he's started killing his victims outright, this bastard is only going to get more vicious with every day that passes. We have to stop him, and we have to stop him soon. Is there another way around Drummond? A way to bring pressure to bear on him without any of us sticking our necks out?"

"Maybe. I hate not being able to handle this ourselves, though."

"Um… isn't that sort of the way our Luke is thinking?"

He stared at her. "Christ, you're right. You'd think I'd have learned by now to yell for help when I need it."

"John could help, I'll bet," she suggested. "I think Maggie could as well, the way the chief feels about her. And you know both of them would in a heartbeat if it means we'd have a better chance of stopping this monster. I'll bet neither one has yet only because they don't want to step on your toes."

"Yeah, probably."

"I don't know if these agents can help us," Jennifer said steadily. "But from all John said, they have a hell of a lot of experience in tracking monsters, and both of them are profilers. They may be able to tell us something we'd never come up with ourselves. I think we need to hear whatever they've got to say."

"I think you're right." Andy nodded and turned away from the conference table, adding, "I might try Maggie first, mostly because I think both the chief and Drummond would take that a bit better. But we'll see."

Jennifer didn't want to admit either to him or to herself how relieved she felt. It wasn't that she didn't feel herself or her coworkers capable of solving a string of brutal attacks, it was just that she was afraid that without help the solution might well come at a very high price.

And with six women attacked so far, three of them dead, the price was already too high.

Maggie knew she had no business talking to Hollis, not tonight. The previous day had been an emotional ordeal, and today had not been much better; discussing the unbelievable, even the unthinkable, with John had demanded such absolute mastery of her own emotions that the aftermath left her feeling drained and incredibly weary.

So she was feeling more than a little vulnerable when she knocked, pushed open Hollis's door, and went into the hospital room where the other woman was sitting as usual in one of the two chairs near the window.

As soon as Maggie came in, Hollis said, "The nurses are pissed at me. They want me in bed, or at least ready to be there. Can't understand why I won't at least get undressed."

"Why won't you?" Maggie asked, sitting down and absently opening her sketch pad to a clean page.

"Because I don't feel so defenseless, I suppose." Her hands were gripping the arms of her chair, knuckles whitened tensely. "Or maybe just because I'm sick of that damned bed."

"I can't say I blame you for that. You must be sick of being here at all. Will your doctors let you go home after the bandages come off on Thursday?"

"They aren't saying, but I gather it depends on how the operation turned out. If I can see, I'll be ready to go home. If I can't…"

Maggie didn't need to hear the rest. If she remained blind, then Hollis would need further medical help to adjust to that fact, especially after having her hopes raised by the operation. She hesitated, then said, "I don't know how you feel about the so-called paranormal-"

Hollis gave a peculiar little laugh. "Funny you should say that."

"Why?"

"I'll… explain later. I feel fairly open-minded about it, all things considered. Why?"

"Because someone I trust, someone who happens to have the ability to see the future, told me that whether you see again is entirely up to you."

"That sounds fairly enigmatic." Hollis didn't sound either convinced or unconvinced, merely neutral.

"I know. I didn't understand it myself, but the more I think about it, the more I'm convinced he meant that while the operation could be an unqualified success, there's a lot the mind has to accept before everything works as it should."

"These borrowed eyes in my head, you mean?"

"Not borrowed. Gifted."

"The eyes of a dead woman."

"The eyes of a woman who wanted someone else to see if she couldn't."

Hollis drew a breath and let it out slowly. "Yeah, I keep telling myself that. But I wonder what it'll feel like if the eyes do work-and when I look into a mirror a stranger looks back at me."

"Still your face. Still you."

"But I'm not who I was the last time I looked into a mirror. I've changed-so much. With all that and someone else's eyes as well, how will I even know me?"

Hearing and responding to the lost note of pain in the other woman's voice, Maggie leaned forward and put her hand over Hollis's tense one. "You'll know who you are, Hollis. Your mind will look through those eyes."

"Will it?"

"Yes." Maggie almost withdrew her hand, but then something flashed into her own mind, a quick, sharp image that caused a strange jolt of pain and even an aching sadness. The image was gone before Maggie could identify it, but she was left with the odd and inexplicable feeling that there was someone else here in the room.

"I hope you're right," Hollis murmured.

Maggie looked around quickly, uneasy, then said, "Hollis, why did you want me to come here tonight?" She felt the hand beneath hers tense even more.

"What you said about the paranormal sort of touched a nerve," Hollis said slowly. "I've been more open-minded about it lately because of something that's been happening to me ever since the attack."

"What?" Again, Maggie felt that flash of something, so vivid that it was almost as though for a split second she caught a glimpse of someone standing just behind Hollis. It was eerie and definitely not anything she had experienced before, yet somehow not really frightening.

"I thought it was my imagination at first." Hollis laughed under her breath. "Hell, maybe it is. It started when I was-it started right after the attack. A voice in my mind urging me to keep trying to pull myself out of that building where he'd left me. It knew my name, that voice. It helped give me the will to live, might even have saved my life. They told me afterward that if I hadn't pulled myself out of the building just then, it probably would have been hours before anyone found me. And I would have been dead."

"That doesn't sound like your imagination."

"No. I don't think I ever believed that, not really. She has such a distinctive voice, it's easy to feel she's a separate and distinct personality."

"Does she have a name?"

"Her name is Annie. Annie Graham."

It didn't sound familiar to Maggie-and yet it did somehow. Again, she caught that flash of an image, a slight figure standing behind Hollis, and this time thought to herself, Dark hair, sad face. But then it was gone.

"Maggie?"

"Sorry. I was… thinking."

"Thinking I'm out of my mind?"

"No-far from it. Do you know who she is, Hollis? Or-who she was?"

After a moment, Hollis said, "You figured it out more quickly than I did. I guess it's not easy to accept the fact that a ghost is talking to you."

"I would imagine not. I've never had any mediumistic abilities, so I don't know how it feels." Except that she could feel it now. She could feel Hollis's uneasiness and doubt, feel the slight chill of being touched by something inexplicable, the peculiar sensation of gazing into an open corridor linking the living and the dead.

"Mediumistic? The ability to talk to the dead, I suppose. Odd, somehow, that it has a name." She barely paused before saying, "But you do have paranormal abilities, don't you, Maggie?"

Maggie hesitated, then said, "They call what I can do an empathic sense."

"Empathy. You feel the pain of others. And, sometimes, you blunt the edges of the hurt or even take some of it away, don't you?"

"If I can."

Hollis's hand turned suddenly and gripped Maggie's. "If I'd known that, I never would have talked to you. Never would have forced you to feel so much of what I felt."

"I know. That's why I didn't tell you."

"I'm sorry, Maggie."

"Don't be. You didn't force me to feel anything. It's what I do, Hollis. What I'm… meant to do."

"Suffer?"

"Understand suffering." Maggie sighed. "It's all right, really. Right now I'm more interested in Annie and what she said to you. Is that why I'm here?"

"Yes. There are… things she wants me to tell you. She was the one who told me to ask for you in the first place. She didn't say why, just that I needed to talk to you."

"I had wondered how you knew my name. The police usually keep that quiet."

"Annie told me. And a few hours ago she… she pleaded with me to help her."

"Help her do what? Contact me?"

"Bring you here. Tell you."

"Tell me what?"

"Tell you about the next victim."