Whisper in the Dark (A Thriller) Read online

  For that’s exactly what Dr. Michael Tolan was to him now.

  Prey.

  22

  “THIS IS HUGE,” Carmody said, after Tolan finished telling his story. Clearly excited, she leafed through the website pages for what must have been the fourth or fifth time since Blackburn had handed them to her. “We need to let Rossbach know about this.”

  A moment later she had her cell phone in hand and was punching speed dial.

  Blackburn looked annoyed. “You wanna take that somewhere else? Me and the doc need to chat.”

  Carmody shot him a look, but didn’t argue. Rising quickly from the table, she went inside.

  When she was gone, Blackburn sighed. “And to think I almost had her baby.”

  Tolan didn’t know if he was expected to laugh, but he was in no mood for Blackburn’s jokes.

  Blackburn didn’t seem to notice. “Pardon me for being a little slow on the uptake, but let me get this straight. What this all boils down to is a guy on the phone accusing you of being some kind of third-rate copycat.”

  “Pretty much.”

  “You have any idea why he’d think that?”

  “Isn’t it obvious?”

  “Not to me, no.”

  “You know as well as I do that when a wife is murdered, the husband is usually the prime suspect.”

  Blackburn shook his head. “Not when there are clear signs of a serial perp.”

  “But what if they were faked? What if this van Meegeren analogy is true?”

  Blackburn frowned. “Are you trying to tell me something?”

  “I’m just looking at the possibilities. Vincent was pretty adamant. Said the police and the papers got it wrong.”

  “And maybe he was just fucking with you.”

  “Maybe. But if Vincent didn’t kill my wife, then the question remains—”

  “Hold on, now,” Blackburn said, raising a hand for emphasis. “Let’s not forget we’re talking about a nut job. No offense, but that’s what he is. And calling you up and accusing you of murder is probably just the kind of thing he gets off on.”

  What Blackburn said made sense, of course, but then he hadn’t been the one to talk to Vincent, to feel his outrage.

  “I deal with this stuff every day, Detective. I think I know when someone is telling the truth.”

  “And I respect that, Doc, but the fact remains that your wife wasn’t killed by a copycat.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “Copycats always get something wrong. Some tiny detail. And your wife’s murder was textbook Vincent. If it hadn’t been, you would’ve had the department so far up your ass you’d be farting donuts.”

  Tolan said nothing.

  “So unless you want to confess,” Blackburn continued, “we gotta assume the guy’s playing you. He’s already victimized you once. Now he’s getting a charge out of doing it again.” He paused. “Providing, of course, it actually was Vincent who called you.”

  This surprised Tolan. “What are you saying?”

  “You yourself said it might’ve been one of your patients. A whispery voice making threats on a telephone line doesn’t prove much of anything.”

  “You’re forgetting the website,” Tolan said. “The photos.”

  Blackburn shrugged. “You can download all kinds of shit off the Internet these days. No telling where they came from. For all I know, it’s just some guy getting creative with Photoshop.”

  Tolan stared at him. “Why the resistance, Detective? You don’t believe me?”

  “On the contrary, Doc. I’m pretty sure it was Vincent who called you—mostly because I don’t believe in coincidences. But unlike my so-called partner in there, who likes to jump straight to Defcon One, I tend to want to digest things a bit before I go off half-cocked.”

  Something he’d said caught Tolan’s attention. “What coincidence?”

  “Huh?”

  “You said you don’t believe in coincidences. What coincidence?”

  Blackburn looked at him. “Remember that little wrinkle I mentioned earlier?”

  Tolan nodded.

  “The body we found this morning. The one who’s got your new patient all in a tizzy? We have every reason to believe he’s Vincent’s latest victim.”

  Tolan felt a chill rush through him. Was this another one of Blackburn’s jokes? “I thought you said that was just a stabbing.”

  “It pretty much was.”

  “I don’t understand, then. Was he sliced up like the others?”

  Blackburn shook his head. “The perp was interrupted before he could get that far.”

  “Then how do you know it was Vincent?”

  “The details,” Blackburn said. “It’s all in the details.”

  BLACKBURN SPENT THE next several minutes explaining those details, telling Tolan about the medical examiner’s findings, the reassembly of the task force, and the belief that Jane Doe Number 314 could well be the key to finally catching Vincent Van Gogh.

  As Blackburn spoke, Tolan began to feel light-headed. This was all coming at him too fast.

  “Keep in mind, Doc, that what I’m telling you is strictly confidential. But I figure the more you know, the better you’ll be able to get her to open up. Unfortunately, we may have a problem in that area.”

  “I’ve been saying that all along.”

  “Not with the witness. With you. Not everybody on the task force is as enthusiastic about your involvement as me and Carmody.”

  Tolan wasn’t surprised. “They’re worried about my objectivity.”

  “Or lack thereof.”

  He was right, it was a valid concern. Tolan now had a personal stake in the case and if it went to trial, any defense attorney worth his salt would claim that he had somehow manipulated or coached the witness.

  “So the question is,” Blackburn said, “can you be objective about this?”

  Tolan wasn’t sure he knew the answer. Objectivity had not been his strong suit this morning. Far from it.

  He thought of Jane and those brown eyes that looked just like Abby’s and wondered what they’d seen. Even if he could set aside his feelings, would he ever be able to break through the seemingly impenetrable wall she’d built?

  Before he could respond, the door opened and Carmody stepped back onto the patio. “Rossbach’s sending a tech team up.” She looked at Tolan. “Do you have any objection to phone taps?”

  “None at all.”

  “What about your office line?”

  “Considering the circumstances, I’m sure the administration will be happy to cooperate.”

  “Good,” she said, then turned to Blackburn. “Rossbach says they’re going to hit up all the victims’ families, see if Vincent made any more phone calls. And there’s been a change of plans: He wants the witness transferred to County.”

  Blackburn looked surprised. “I thought we all agreed to give the doc a shot at this.”

  “That was before they knew about the calls. He says there’s too much at stake.”

  “Rossbach’s a douche,” Blackburn said.

  “He’s also right. And what he says goes.” She looked at Tolan again. “I’m sorry it has to be like this, but—”

  “Wait a minute, wait.” Tolan raised his hands in protest. Despite any conflicts, he knew he couldn’t let Jane out of this hospital. Not now. “I think I may have a solution. A compromise.”

  “What kind of compromise?”

  He was thinking on his feet at this point and had no idea if what he was about to propose would fly, but it was worth a shot. “The problem isn’t with Baycliff but with me, right?”

  “Right,” Carmody said.

  “So what if we keep her here, but I turn her care over to another therapist?”

  Blackburn snorted. “That pretty much defeats the whole purpose of me bringing her here in the first place.”

  “I understand that,” he said. “But I can still serve as a consultant. Make suggestions on how best to approach her, witho
ut being accused of trying to manipulate her.”

  Blackburn thought about it a moment. “Head shrinking by proxy. I like that, Doc. I’d rather have some of you than none at all.”

  “Besides,” Tolan continued, “if Jane saw Vincent stab that man in his apartment, what’s to stop him from coming after her, too?”

  “Don’t think we haven’t thought of that,” Carmody said.

  “He’s right,” Blackburn told her. “We keep her here, we won’t have to spread ourselves so thin.”

  Carmody ignored him, addressing Tolan. “Who do you have in mind to take your place?”

  Tolan considered the question. Baycliff had several excellent doctors on staff, including the four of them here in the detention unit. Kessler and Edmunds rotated shifts, Simm worked graveyard and, as supervisor, Tolan was a floater—although he usually worked the day shift when the place was jumping.

  Both Kessler and Edmunds were competent, even above-average clinicians. But in the time he’d been here, Simm had proven to be a true asset to the team. Tireless, dedicated, instincts that rivaled some of the best practitioners Tolan had known.

  “Clayton Simm,” he said.

  Blackburn scoffed. “The guy you want me to apologize to?”

  “He’s one of the best I’ve seen.” Tolan didn’t mention the botched heterochromia diagnosis, but it had been a bad morning for all of them and he still had complete confidence in the man. “More important, he listens to me.”

  Blackburn nodded, turned to Carmody. “What do you think?”

  “I think if we do this, you’re the one who’s running it past Rossbach.”

  “No problem,” Blackburn said. “We both speak douche.”

  23

  “I’D APPRECIATE IT, ma’am, if you could answer a question for me.”

  The woman looked up from her paperwork, waiting for Solomon to continue. She had the face of somebody who wished she were on a beach somewhere, soaking up some sun, rather than stuck behind this desk, dealing with the likes of him. It was the kind of face you’d find at the DMV or the Social Services office. Pinched and unhappy. And very, very tired. A look Solomon had seen a thousand times in his life.

  He tried his best smile on her. “You probably see just about everyone comes in here, right?”

  “Is that the question?”

  “Pardon me?”

  “You said you wanted to ask me a question. Was that it, or are you gonna waste my time with a lot of mindless chitchat?”

  She went back to her paperwork and Solomon felt his smile falter. You work in a warehouse like County General, you’re bound to be a bit surly, but this one was downright nasty.

  The way he figured it, nobody was chaining her to this desk.

  He decided to cut straight to the heart of the matter. “I’m lookin’ for a friend of mine. I think the police mighta brought her here earlier this morning.”

  She looked up at him again. “A friend of yours.” It wasn’t a question, just a flat, disinterested statement with a touch of weariness thrown in for good measure. “And who would that friend be? Abe Lincoln? The tooth fairy? Somebody from your home planet?”

  Wondering what had crawled up this woman’s ass and died, Solomon said, “Her name is Myra. And you’d remember her, because all she had on was a blanket and a lot of blood.”

  The woman scowled. “We don’t discuss our patients.”

  “You see,” Solomon went on, “the reason I ask is because she’s got some health issues I think the doctors need to know about.”

  “They’re doctors. They’ll figure it out.”

  “Maybe so, but what if she goes into insulin shock before they get to her?” It was a lie, of course, but bound to provoke a response.

  “She’s diabetic?”

  Solomon nodded. “She don’t get proper treatment, she could die.”

  “I could think of worse things,” the woman muttered, then returned her attention to her task.

  “So that’s it? You don’t give a damn?”

  “No, Mr.—” She glanced at the top of the page in front of her. “—St. Fort, I don’t.”

  “What kinda nurse are you?”

  She glared at him. “First off, I’m not a nurse. I run the emergency intake desk. The one you’re sitting in front of right now. Second, I’m tired of seeing people like you take a free ride off the backs of hard-working people like me. And third, I especially don’t give a damn because I’ve never seen this woman in a blanket you’re talking about, and I figure she’s either already dead or just a figment of your alcohol-soaked imagination.”

  This lady was mad at the world. Give her ten minutes with Katrina or a couple days down at the river bottom, maybe she’d realize just how good she had it.

  But no matter. Solomon had found out what he needed to know. He’d lost the coin toss. Myra wasn’t here. Now all he had to do was figure out a way to get himself up to Headcase Hotel.

  “Just so you know, ma’am, people like me ain’t no different from people like you. We’ve just had some bad breaks, is all.”

  She glanced at the page again.

  “It says here you urinated on a police car. Was that a bad break?”

  Solomon said nothing.

  She gave him a nasty little smile, then looked past his shoulder and gestured with two fingers. “You can uncuff him now. The orderlies will take him from here.”

  One of the cops who’d arrested him came over then and told him to stand up.

  “When do I get to see Dr. Clarence?”

  The woman behind the desk frowned. “Who?”

  “Dr. Clarence,” Solomon said. “He’s been my doctor for what? Three years now? Every time I come to Baycliff he takes good care of me.”

  “Look around, Mr. St. Fort. This isn’t Baycliff, it’s County General.”

  Solomon squinted at her. “What’re you talking about? I told this fool. I’m supposed to go to Baycliff and see Dr. Clarence.”

  “You didn’t tell me shit,” the cop said. He was about to take the cuffs off, but Solomon jerked away from him.

  “Somebody call Dr. Clarence. I need to see him right now. He’s gotta take care of me.”

  “Easy,” the cop said.

  But Solomon didn’t listen to him. He started thrashing now, twisting away from his grasp. “Get me Dr. Clarence, goddamn it! Where’s Dr. Clarence?”

  The woman behind the desk looked sharply at the cop. “You might’ve mentioned he was already under somebody else’s care.”

  “How the hell was I supposed to know?”

  Solomon kept thrashing, shouting out for Dr. Clarence. An orderly came over and grabbed him by the arms.

  “She’s hurting me, Mama! Make her stop hurting me!”

  The woman behind the desk stood up, her face reddening. “You shut up.”

  “Make her stop! Make her stop!”

  The woman was glaring at the cop now. “You think I’m going to sit here and do all this paperwork just so we can transfer him out in a couple hours?”

  “What do you want me to do about it?” the cop said.

  “What do you think? Get him the hell out of here. Now. Take him up to Baycliff to see his precious Dr. Clarence.”

  “I’m not a goddamn taxi service.”

  “Then throw him back on the street, for all I care.”

  “You’re County General, for crissakes. You can’t just turn him away like that.”

  “Oh?” the woman said. “Watch me.”

  She grabbed the paperwork in front of her and unceremoniously ripped it in half, flashing her nasty little smile again. “Sorry, Officer, we’re full up this morning. You’ll have to take him somewhere else.”

  “What’d you just do there, little Miss Hard Worker? You rip up my note to Dr. Clarence? Was that my note to Dr. Clarence?”

  The woman kept her gaze on the cop. “Get him out. Now.”

  And as the cop scowled at her and roughly grabbed hold of Solomon, Solomon bit back his own smile.
<
br />   The Rhythm never lets you down.

  24

  IT WAS CLOSING in on noon when the caravan of police technicians took the winding road up to Baycliff Psychiatric. A special communications truck was parked near the ambulance bay, just outside Tolan’s office, his land line rigged with recording and tracing equipment.

  The signal from his cell phone, Sue Carmody explained, would be picked up at a cellular switching station. And if Vincent was using one to make his calls, current technology allowed them to track his whereabouts within a three-hundred-foot radius.

  There was a palpable, almost desperate excitement in the air. A hope that this might be it. An actual shot at catching a serial killer.

  But Tolan didn’t share the excitement. As much as he appreciated the effort, it was, he thought, a waste of time.

  Vincent was no dummy. He knew that Tolan would go straight to the police. There wouldn’t be anymore phone calls. And despite what Blackburn had said, Tolan knew that Vincent wasn’t playing games with him. Not about this.

  Not about Abby.

  You. You hurt me.

  As he stood near his office doorway, watching a technician test his land line, Tolan thought back to that night again, to the fight he’d had with Abby.

  It had all started with a stick of gum.

  Craving a sugar fix, Tolan had been searching through her purse, looking for the pack of Doublemint she always kept in there—when he found something else. Something entirely out of place.

  A small blue box.

  The words on the label were still imprinted on his brain: Lifestyles Sheer Pleasure. Three-pack.

  A box of condoms.

  A box of condoms that had been opened.

  And two of them were missing.

  At first, Tolan couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. Had even checked to make sure it was Abby’s purse. But the gesture was pointless. He knew it was hers, the one she carried wherever she went. And as he began to understand what this meant, what that open blue box signified, surprise gave way to hurt, then anger, then . . .

  Then . . .

  Then what, Michael? Keep going.

  One of the police technicians coughed, bringing Tolan back to the present as dread blossomed inside him like a malignant growth.