Whisper in the Dark (A Thriller) Read online

  “That I have,” De Mello said. “And this is where it gets interesting.”

  He hit another key and an arrest report came up on screen, showing a mug shot of the same shirtless guy.

  “He’s a street hustler by the name of Todd Hastert. Popped a few times for soliciting and for crystal meth possession.”

  “Another charmer,” Blackburn said.

  “Thing is, up until about a year ago he was legit. Worked in the M.E.’s office as a morgue attendant. Got eighty-sixed when he failed a piss test.”

  A small alarm went off in Blackburn’s head. Morgue attendants routinely prepped bodies for postmortem examination. Which meant Hastert might have been privy to all kinds of information, including autopsy reports. Only a handful of people at the time had known the secret details of the Van Gogh murders, and one of those people was the medical examiner. If you were looking for a leak, Todd Hastert might be a good place to start.

  “Tell me you’ve got a line on this guy.”

  De Mello reached over to the Palm Pilot in Blackburn’s hand and stabbed the name DickMan229 with his fingernail. An address came up on the small screen.

  “Your wish is my command.”

  36

  CARMODY HAD QUESTIONED three nurses, two orderlies, and one of the security guards, and none of them had even the remotest idea where Tolan might have gone.

  They uniformly described the doctor as a good guy, a great boss, always accessible, always ready with a kind word. He overextended himself sometimes, sure, tended to wear himself out, but they’d never known him to suffer any significant lapses of judgment.

  Until now, Carmody thought.

  But if you’re going to suffer a lapse, you might as well do it on a grand scale. And Tolan had certainly managed that.

  Why, she wondered, had he made up such an elaborate story?

  He had to know he’d be caught.

  Carmody had always thought of him as a direct, no-nonsense kind of guy. So why the hoax? Was Frank right? Was this simply Tolan’s roundabout way of unburdening himself of a year’s worth of guilt?

  It was, after all, the anniversary of his wife’s murder. Had the significance of the day shaken something loose?

  As she questioned the EDU staff, the defaced snapshots of Abby Tolan kept playing like a slide show in her mind. She wasn’t entirely convinced of Frank’s theory, but those photos had certainly lent credence to it.

  The symbolism was clear.

  A “good guy” doesn’t cut his wife’s eyeballs out.

  So maybe Frank’s instincts were correct.

  One thing Carmody had learned about Frank Blackburn, in the short time they were partnered up, was that despite his unrelenting, annoying demeanor, his instincts had always been pretty accurate. She had to give him that much.

  She just wished that that was all she had given him.

  There’s nothing worse, she thought, than knowing you’ve slept with a guy who annoys the crap out of you. A guy whose every political, social, and moral belief is the exact opposite of your own.

  Carmody thought about that night a lot more than she should. The night of their big mistake.

  They had gone to The Elbow Room for a celebratory drink after their success with the Sarah Murphy case—another scumbag rapist in the bucket and headed to trial—and they’d both been pretty giddy over their success.

  Frank was dropping her off at her apartment when her own worthless instincts reared up. Made her lean across the seat and kiss him. It was a surprise to them both and she couldn’t to this day tell you why she’d done it. But she had. And it was a great kiss. Better than it should have been.

  It wasn’t long before they were inside her apartment, inside her bedroom, throwing their clothes off, clinging to each other like two lonely, desperate strangers.

  The funny thing was, neither of them was particularly lonely or desperate, but something about that night made it seem that way, and being naked with Frank was neither awkward nor embarrassing.

  He laid her across her bed and peppered her with soft kisses, lingering in all the right places, using his tongue and his fingers so skillfully that he brought her close to the edge faster than any man she had ever been with.

  She didn’t know what she had expected when she’d kissed him in the car, but it certainly wasn’t this. Nothing about his demeanor had ever hinted that he could be so attentive to a woman, so loving.

  And when he entered her, slowly pushing himself inside, teasing her, making her wait for that first, exquisite thrust, she felt the rush coming on, stronger than ever before. As he finally pushed himself deep, moaning in her ear as if this was the most wonderful thing he had ever felt in his life, as if she were the most wonderful thing—

  —she came.

  And not for the last time that night.

  Then, three hours before the sun rose the next day, Carmody had been lying next to him in her bed, listening to him breathe, wondering what the hell she had just done and how she was going to get out of it. Sleeping with your partner is never a good idea. Ever. Under any circumstances.

  Carmody liked to think of herself as a reasonably intelligent woman, someone who weighed the pros and cons of every move she made before she actually made it. Yet that night, all reason had abandoned her and now she had to pay the consequences.

  She’d had no desire to be in a relationship with Frank. And she knew that irrevocable damage had been done to the partnership. When Frank awoke, slipping back to his usual, sarcastic, annoyingly alpha male persona, she’d decided right then and there to put her papers in for a transfer to Homicide.

  It was a move that had hurt him. She knew that. Had made him even more insufferably male, acting as if he couldn’t have cared less about the transfer, that he was, in fact, happy to get rid of her. But most men are so ridiculously easy to read. So obvious about their wants and desires and their fears, and she knew that Frank had been severely stung by her decision. And in those last couple weeks together, they became increasingly hostile to each other, a hostility that lingered to this day.

  A hostility she often regretted, but couldn’t quite release.

  Carmody approached the nurses’ station, hoping to page the head nurse, whom Frank had mentioned was Tolan’s girlfriend. She was halfway to the counter when her cell phone rang.

  Pulling it out, she glanced at the screen, saw only the words INCOMING CALL.

  Flicking it on, she said, “Sue Carmody.”

  Silence on the line.

  Well, not silence exactly. She could hear someone breathing.

  “Hello?”

  No response. Just the breathing.

  She was about to say something, when the line clicked. Assuming it was a wrong number, she continued toward the nurses’ station, glancing past the EDU security cage toward the lobby doors.

  Although the parking lot was some distance away, she could plainly see that there was a car parked in Dr. Tolan’s slot. It looked like his black Lexus.

  And there was someone behind the wheel.

  She turned then, heading toward the doors, when her phone rang again.

  She immediately clicked it on. “Sue Carmody.”

  Silence. More breathing.

  She stared out at the Lexus.

  “Dr. Tolan?”

  No response.

  Carmody moved through the security cage and out toward the lobby doors. “Dr. Tolan, is this you?”

  Another moment of silence, then a choked voice said, “I killed my wife. I killed Abby. We fought that night and God have mercy on me, I killed her.”

  Then the line clicked.

  Carmody froze. Holy crap.

  Looking toward the lot, she saw the Lexus starting to back out of the parking space.

  Move, Sue, move. Don’t let him get away.

  Slamming through the lobby doors, she tore down the walkway. The Lexus was pulling out now, rolling toward the exit.

  Carmody tucked her cell phone into a pocket and sprinted to Fra
nk’s sedan, which was parked in one of the slots reserved for police personnel. Unlocking it, she threw open the driver’s door and jumped behind the wheel.

  The Lexus was already headed down the hill, disappearing from sight.

  Jamming the key into the ignition, she started the car, gunned the engine, then rocketed out of the parking space, picking up speed as she pulled out of the lot onto Baycliff Drive, which wound down through the mountains toward the 101.

  As she drove around the first curve, she saw the Lexus again, but it had turned off the main drag onto a narrow access road that disappeared behind an outcropping of rocks.

  Where the hell was he going?

  Spinning her wheel, she rolled after him, reaching for the radio mic as she drove, flicking the call button.

  “Dispatch, this is unit two-nineteen, in pursuit of POI Michael Tolan, driving a black Lexus, headed east on an access road just off Baycliff Drive.”

  She waited for a response and got none.

  “Dispatch?”

  Nothing. Glancing down at the radio, she realized it had been switched off.

  Sonofabitch.

  She flicked a knob, but nothing happened. The thing was dead.

  Goddamn it, Frank.

  He’d forgotten to test it before checking the car out of the police garage. Either that, or someone had tampered with it in the hospital lot.

  Tolan?

  The Lexus was disappearing around a curve, moving deeper into the mountains. Carmody drove past an unlocked security gate marked NO TRESSPASSING and realized that this was an access road that led to the old hospital.

  Why was Tolan going there?

  She picked up speed again, took the curve, and saw the Lexus up ahead. Digging out her cell phone, she was about to put it to her ear when she noticed the NO SERVICE icon flashing on her screen.

  Shit.

  The mountains must be blocking the signal.

  Dropping the phone to the seat next to her, she thought about turning back, waiting until she could get some backup out here, but was afraid she might be wrong about where Tolan was headed. What if there was another road that took him down the hill and away from the old hospital? And without a radio there was no way to head him off.

  Then again the man had just confessed to murdering his wife, and the last thing she should be doing was going after him alone. That was a Blackburn move, and she was no Frank Blackburn.

  The Lexus disappeared around another curve.

  Making her decision, Carmody punched the pedal and sped after it. As she rounded the curve, she saw it pull through another gate.

  Up ahead, beyond a thick cluster of pepper trees, sat the dark monstrosity that had once been Baycliff Hospital. It was a massive old structure, half burned to the ground, but still imposing, its dark doorways and broken windows like malevolent eyes.

  Carmody pulled to the side of the road and waited as the Lexus momentarily disappeared behind the cluster of trees. A moment later it was in view again, pulling to a stop in front of the building.

  No one got out.

  The driver just sat there.

  I killed my wife. I killed Abby. God have mercy on me.

  Thinking she might be about to witness a suicide, Carmody put the sedan in gear, then drove through the gate, rounding the short curve that wound through the cluster of trees. When she emerged on the other side, she discovered that the driver’s door of the Lexus was now hanging open, the seat empty.

  Shit.

  Pulling to a stop behind it, she killed the engine and climbed out, taking her Glock from the holster she kept clipped at the small of her back. She glanced around. No sign of him.

  “Dr. Tolan?”

  She moved past his car toward the building, staring at the black hole that had once been the main entrance, wondering if he’d gone inside. If he had, she wasn’t about to follow. She may have been stupid enough to come this far alone, but she wasn’t that stupid.

  She kept her Glock raised. “Dr. Tolan?”

  No response. No sign of him.

  Then her phone bleeped. She turned, realizing she’d left it on the passenger seat. And it was working again, no longer stuck in a dead zone.

  Moving to the car, she leaned in and snatched it up, flicking it on. “Hello?”

  Silence. Only the sound of breathing.

  “Dr. Tolan? Is that you?”

  She looked toward the building again. It towered above her like a set from an old horror movie, and she half expected a snarling, ravenous ghoul to come tearing out of that black entranceway, its teeth bared.

  “Dr. Tolan, where are you?”

  The silence continued a moment, then a soft voice said, “Right behind you.”

  And when Carmody turned, she was struck in the chest by twin Tazer darts, the sudden shock of electricity knocking her straight to the ground.

  37

  THEY HAD PUT Solomon in what the orderly called the Day Room. A bunch of bolted-down tables and chairs facing a large wire-mesh window that overlooked the ocean.

  Solomon had been right. Standing at the window, he could see houses way down there along the coastline, little two-bedroom beach homes right up against the sand, waves lapping at their back porches.

  The Day Room was full of loonies. Some of them sat in chairs, quietly babbling, while others milled about, looking as if they weren’t quite sure what to do with themselves. A stack of game boxes sat untouched on a shelf in the corner. Parcheesi. Checkers. Monopoly. Another shelf held old paperback books and magazines.

  A television, mounted high on the wall behind a cage, was set to a channel showing a weeping young couple who seemed to be offering some kind of confession to a talkshow host. Some of the folks watching wept along with them.

  A woman in a blue robe kept circling the room, holding an open book in front of her and pretending to read as she quietly sang “Moon River.” The book was upside down.

  Every once in a while an old coot stuck in a wheelchair would cry out, “Help me, Jimmy! Help me!” but nobody paid much attention to him. Not the orderlies, not even the guard sitting behind a nearby desk.

  Solomon had seen some pretty crazy things on the street, but this place topped them all. He sure wished that nurse lady would show up like she promised. He needed somebody sane to talk to.

  He kept looking around for Myra, but didn’t see her. Figured they probably considered her too dangerous to leave her in here. Put her in her own box, just in case she got feisty.

  “Mr. St. Fort?”

  He turned from the window, saw the nurse lady, Lisa, coming toward him, a smile on her pretty face.

  He gave her one of his own. “Afternoon, ma’am.”

  “Sorry I took so long to get back to you. I usually spend my day running around like a chicken with its head cut off.”

  Solomon jerked his thumb in the direction of the parking lot. “You ever find what you were looking for out there?”

  Her eyes clouded and Solomon knew he’d just poked a sore spot.

  “Not yet,” she said. “Why don’t you come with me? We can go someplace that isn’t so noisy.”

  She gestured to the guard, then turned and started away. Solomon followed her.

  SHE TOOK HIM to a small, windowless room. Exam table in the middle, covered with a wide sheet of paper. She invited Solomon to sit on the table, while she pulled up a stool next to it.

  “You wanted to tell me about your friend,” she said. “I have to admit I’m pretty curious about her myself.”

  “Where you keepin’ her?”

  “Don’t worry, she’s being cared for. We’ve put her in her own room and she’s under constant observation.”

  “You got any idea why the police brought her here?”

  The nurse lady frowned and shook her head. “I was hoping you could tell me. They’re keeping it on a need-to-know basis. And apparently they don’t think I need to know.”

  “Aren’t you a supervisor or something?”

  She nodded
. “So they tell me.”

  “Then why wouldn’t you need to know?”

  “I’m afraid you’d have to ask one of the detectives in charge. They’re a pretty tight-lipped bunch. I’ve read her chart, but there’s not a whole lot there.”

  “I was on the street when they picked her up,” Solomon said. “Heard the cops talking about her.”

  “And?”

  “They said she tried to stab a guy with a pair of scissors. Some cab driver, over on The Avenue.”

  The nurse lady’s eyes widened slightly. Just enough to tell Solomon she was surprised and definitely interested.

  “But what I have to tell you,” he said, “won’t be in a police report, and it won’t be on any chart. I don’t want you thinkin’ I’m crazy, but what that woman is going through has its roots in the heart of the Vieux Carre.”

  “The what?”

  “The French Quarter. New Orleans. Down in the dark alleyways and behind private doors. You won’t hear too many people talkin’ about it, because those who know tend to keep it to themselves, keep it in the family. Most of the locals have never even heard of it.”

  He looked at her a moment, wondering how deep into this he should get. Then he said, “You can call it a religion, a lifestyle, a crazy man’s superstition—doesn’t matter. La manière du rythme is what it is and ain’t nobody on this good earth can deny it.”

  “La manière . . . what?”

  “The way of The Rhythm.”

  She frowned now. As if she had just been confronted by someone trying to hand her a copy of The Watchtower. He was taking her into foreign territory and her first instinct was to retreat.

  Most people who knew about The Rhythm were born into it, like Solomon, so it never took any real convincing. But outsiders were different. Had a natural tendency to be skeptical. He’d tried telling Clarence about it once and Clarence had just looked at him and said, “What the fuck you been smokin’, man?”

  But if Solomon was right, if he’d judged this woman accurately, once she got past those initial instincts, she’d be receptive to what he had to tell her.

  Weighing his words, he said, “People who believe, people who know, know that the way of The Rhythm is like a heartbeat. Keeps us alive. And life is all about balance and timing.”