Whisper in the Dark (A Thriller) Read online

  17

  THEY SPENT THE next several minutes slicing up the investigative pie, Blackburn still reeling from his double dose of luck—good and bad. The task force was split into five two-man field teams. Each team would put the magnifying glass to two of the prior murders, starting from scratch, sifting through the murder books, reinterviewing witnesses, while Blackburn and Carmody concentrated on Janovic and Jane Doe.

  After the meeting, Blackburn quickly briefed De Mello, who took the news with a predictable lack of enthusiasm but promised to step up his efforts on the victim’s background and push Billy on cracking the Palm Pilot.

  Blackburn told him about the BOMBSHELL magazine page sitting on his desk. “Get the ad agency’s name from the fragrance manufacturer and find out who the model is. I can’t be a hundred percent sure it’s our gal, but I like the odds.”

  He was thinking about those odds as he headed for the stairs to the parking lot. Just as he reached the stairwell door, Carmody caught up to him.

  Oh, goody.

  “You’re in a hurry.” She was still struggling to contain her rage and he suddenly felt as if he was standing too close to a hornet’s nest.

  “I’m meeting with Tolan, remember?”

  “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

  Blackburn studied her. “And that would be?”

  “Your partner,” she said, without even a hint of humor.

  He eyed her dully, then opened the door and waved her past him. “After you.”

  They were quiet as they descended the steps, Blackburn silently cursing Escalante. When they reached the ground-floor landing, Carmody gestured him to a halt. Her frown was so deep, the muscles in her jaw had to be screaming in agony.

  “Let’s get this out in the open right now,” she said. “If we’re going to be working together again, I think we need some ground rules.”

  “If?” Blackburn said. “Where in Escalante’s little speech did you hear an ‘if’?”

  “Don’t start, Frank. This is exactly the kind of thing that drives me crazy and you know it.”

  “What I know is that we’re stuck together whether we like it or not. So let’s just make the best of it, okay?”

  “Fine,” Carmody said. “But if you make one crack about my ass or any other part of my anatomy, I swear to God I’ll file papers against you so fast you won’t know which way is up.”

  Blackburn stifled a smile, but Carmody caught it.

  “What?” she barked. “What’s so funny?”

  “Do you ever stop and listen to yourself?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You just said ‘crack about my ass.’ Even you’ve gotta admit that’s pretty fuckin’ hilarious.”

  Carmody’s face hardened. “You’re emotionally retarded, you know that?”

  “I’ve been accused of much worse. But tell me something. If you despise me so goddamn much . . .” He hesitated.

  “What?”

  “Why the hell did you sleep with me?”

  The question was a surprise. Even for Blackburn, who wasn’t quite sure why he’d asked it.

  A renewed spark of anger lit Carmody’s eyes—a look Blackburn knew all too well. If he pushed much harder, the nest would burst and there’d be hell to pay.

  “I mean it, Frank. Don’t fuck with me. I did you a favor transferring to Homicide without making a fuss. But if you start getting cute again, I will not hesitate to take you down.”

  “You didn’t answer the question.”

  “And I’m not going to,” she said. “We made a mistake. One I regret and you just can’t seem to let go of. But as far as I’m concerned, that whole conversation is permanently off the table.”

  Ouch.

  “All right, all right,” Blackburn said. “Don’t get your pretty little panties in a wad. I’m about as happy as you are about this situation, but I promise to behave.”

  “I wish I could believe you.”

  “If wishes were horses, beggars would ride.”

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  “My mother used to say it. Mostly around Christmas and birthdays. What it means is that you don’t always get what you want. But I’m making you a promise to be a good little soldier. And in return for that promise, I’m asking you to do me just one favor.”

  She studied him dubiously. “What?”

  “Loosen the fuck up.”

  18

  SHORTLY AFTER HE got off the phone with Blackburn, there was a knock at Tolan’s door. He jerked in surprise, then immediately felt foolish for allowing it to startle him.

  He wasn’t normally the jumpy type. But then this situation wasn’t exactly normal, was it?

  There was no mistaking Vincent’s threat.

  He wanted Tolan dead.

  And when someone as skilled and dangerous as Vincent Van Gogh wants you dead, well . . . It’s usually a matter of where and when.

  Tolan stared at the link at the bottom of his computer screen.

  ABBY TOLAN

  He thought again of the night the police had called him. The shower running behind him, a naked stranger waiting, the sudden shame he’d felt soak into his bones as his cell phone rang.

  You. You hurt me.

  He hadn’t been asked to identify the body. That’s how bad it was. The killing had been so brutal, so unrelenting, that they’d been forced to confirm Abby’s identity through dental records. She had been found in her studio darkroom, her body in pieces and burned by photo chemicals.

  Tolan had never seen the crime scene photos. Hadn’t wanted to. Yet when Vincent had directed him to that link, which he knew would lead him straight to the horror in Abby’s darkroom, he had to admit that he’d been tempted to look.

  Only sheer willpower kept him from clicking it.

  Another short knock snapped him out of his thoughts. Then the door opened and Lisa stuck her head in.

  Tolan immediately closed his laptop.

  “You’ve been in here half the morning,” she said. “Some of your patients are getting anxious. Especially Bobby Fremont.”

  “Bobby’s always anxious. I really wish you’d be careful around him.”

  “He’s not going to hurt me. I’m the only friend he has in this place. And he wants to know why you canceled group.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “That you’d explain at this afternoon’s session.”

  Tolan nodded. “Assuming there is one.”

  She frowned at him. “What’s going on, Michael?”

  “I’m expecting Detective Blackburn here within the hour. Can you make sure he gets buzzed in with a minimum of fuss?”

  Lisa stepped inside now and closed the door behind her. “Goddamn it, Michael, quit avoiding my questions.”

  “I’m not avoiding any—”

  “Ever since I started my shift you’ve been acting strange. Is it this new patient?”

  “You’ve seen her?”

  “No, I’ve been busy. Is there a reason I should?”

  Tolan shook his head. “This has nothing to do with her anyway.”

  “Then what is it?”

  He wasn’t sure why he was holding back. He hadn’t told her about Vincent’s earlier call because he’d wanted to protect her. Keep her from worrying. But that excuse seemed silly now. She was a grown-up, for godsakes, the head nurse at a respected psychiatric unit, and a bigger part of his life than he deserved. If anyone did the protecting, it was her.

  Still, he was reluctant to tell her. Not just about the calls, but about Jane Doe Number 314 and everything that had happened this morning. Lisa was the only light in his world right now and he didn’t want any clouds in that particular sky.

  “It’s nothing,” he said. “I’m just a little on edge, is all. Got a couple of crank calls.”

  “Crank calls? From who? What did they say?”

  “Nothing you need to worry about.”

  Her face hardened now and he knew he’d just said the wrong th
ing. But he couldn’t stop himself. “It was probably just some ex-patient trying to irritate me. It’s really not that big of a deal.”

  She stared at him, stone-faced. “No big deal, huh?”

  “Less than that,” he said. “An annoyance.”

  He could see she wasn’t buying it. “So I guess I’m an annoyance too, is that it?”

  “Come on, Lisa, that isn’t fair.”

  “Fair? I just want you to be straight with me, Michael.”

  She was right. If it had been Abby standing there, he wouldn’t have hesitated to tell her the truth. Still, he felt the need to delay the inevitable.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’ll fill you in at lunch. I promise.”

  She stood there a moment, saying nothing, then opened the door. She was about to step outside when she stopped. “Tell me something, Michael. Do you love me? I mean, do you really care about me?”

  Oh, Christ, Tolan thought. Not this, not now. “You know I do.”

  “That’s the thing,” she said. “I don’t. You make love to me, you’re very good at that. But sometimes I wonder what’s going on in that head of yours. Especially when you’re holding something back.”

  He said nothing.

  “I’m not here to judge you. I’ve told you that a hundred times. But if this thing we’ve got going isn’t working for you—”

  “Lisa, stop. I’m sorry, but I can’t deal with this right now. I’ll tell you everything at lunch.”

  She looked stung. “I guess that answers my question.”

  She turned, went outside.

  “Lisa, wait.”

  Then she closed the door.

  So much for that cloudless sky.

  HE DIDN’T KNOW how long he sat there, brooding over the morning’s events, but it had begun to stir something inside of him. Something dark. Got him thinking about the true source of his guilt, the one thing about those last moments with Abby that he hadn’t yet shared with anyone. Not even Lisa.

  Probably never would.

  Closing his eyes, he tried to will it away, to relegate it to the periphery of his brain where it always sat, like some crouching beast. But it was too late. Damage done.

  He needed a distraction.

  Taking the pages from the printer tray, he folded them twice, then stood and shoved them into his back pocket. The only thing he could think to do now was to get back to work. Quickly make his rounds, then check in on Jane.

  When Tolan and Lisa were undergrads at UCLA, one of their housemates remarked that most shrinks are crazier than their patients.

  Maybe there was some truth to that.

  19

  CASSIE WAS IN the observation booth, fiddling with the controls on the computer cam. There were two small video cameras mounted in the seclusion room, broadcasting a wide angle and overhead view. Tolan had had them installed shortly after he took over as director, thinking that the more eyes they kept on their problem patients, the better off they’d be.

  He looked at the computer screen. Jane wasn’t moving. Stared blankly at the ceiling. “Any changes?”

  “Not much,” Cassie said. “She stopped twitching, that’s about it. Oh, and she was singing for a while there.”

  “Singing?”

  “Some kind of nursery rhyme, I think. I couldn’t really make it out.”

  Singing was good. A form of communication beyond the few words she’d spoken before and after her break. Although, at this point, Tolan couldn’t be sure how much of that was real and how much was a product of his sleep-starved imagination.

  A large part of his job involved observation and interpretation. But if you couldn’t rely on the accuracy of your own senses, you were in serious trouble.

  “I’m going in,” he said. “Feel free to join me this time.”

  Cassie slid off her stool and they moved outside to the seclusion-room door. Tolan keyed in the security code, then the lock unlatched with a faint beep and a moment later, they were standing over Jane.

  Her eyes were closed now.

  “Let’s get these things off her,” Tolan said, indicating the restraints.

  “You sure you want to do that?”

  “Yes. They’re more a hindrance than a help. We can always slap them back on if we absolutely have to.”

  “You’re the boss,” Cassie said.

  He knew she thought he was being reckless, but she went to work without any further comment.

  As she unbuckled the restraints, Tolan watched for Jane’s reaction. Her catatonia seemed to have deepened. She gave no indication she even knew what was happening.

  A small clot of blood clogged her left nostril—a remnant of Blackburn’s backhand.

  Tolan moved to the toilet and sink in a corner of the room, took a paper towel from the dispenser, and wet it with warm water.

  Moving back to the bed, he said to Jane, “Easy now, I’m just going to wipe your nose a bit.”

  No response.

  No reaction at all.

  Sensing it was safe to proceed, he carefully dabbed at the clot, doing his best to clear her nostril.

  As he worked, she opened her eyes again.

  She was, he now realized, quite beautiful. And as he took a closer look at those eyes, he was surprised by what he saw. Something he hadn’t noticed during their last encounter.

  He turned to Cassie. “Did you read Simm’s workup on her?”

  Cassie was down by Jane’s feet, unbuckling the last of the restraints. “Yeah, it was pretty thorough.”

  He thought back to his conversation with Simm and Blackburn. “I could’ve sworn he said she suffered from heterochromia.”

  “Right,” Cassie said. “Green and brown.”

  Tolan frowned, then took a penlight from his breast pocket and shone it in Jane’s eyes. She shifted her focus toward Tolan, squinting against the intrusion.

  So there was life in there after all.

  He killed the light, stared at her. She stopped squinting, but seemed to be looking right through him.

  There was no sign of heterochromia at all. No corneal damage whatsoever.

  Both of her eyes were brown.

  Hazel, to be more precise.

  What the hell was going on here?

  First, Blackburn had insisted he’d seen, to use his words, an armload of smack tracks. Yet there were none. Then Clayton Simm had said the patient had a clear case of heterochromia. Also wrong.

  Adding his own lapse of judgment to the mix, Tolan wondered how three competent men could be so obviously mistaken about what they’d seen. What were they dealing with here? Some kind of human chameleon?

  The intercom came to life behind him. “Dr. Tolan?”

  The voice belonged to Martinez, one of the unit’s security guards.

  Tolan turned, seeing his reflection in the two-way glass. Despite the circles under his eyes, he looked a lot better than he felt. “What is it?”

  “Detective Blackburn is here.”

  So soon? The last forty minutes seemed like five. But time has a way of getting away from you when you’re in the middle of a breakdown.

  “Have him wait in the staff lounge. I’ll be there in a minute.”

  Returning his attention to Jane, he stared into those vacant hazel eyes. Was this another hallucination?

  “Do me a favor,” he said to Cassie, then gestured to Jane. “Take a look at her eyes and tell me what color they are.”

  Cassie did as she was told, furrowed her brow.

  “That’s weird. They’re both brown. Looks like Clayton screwed up.”

  Tolan said nothing.

  With Cassie’s confirmation, he immediately felt better about his momentary lapse this morning, because it was obvious now what had triggered it.

  Jane’s eyes reminded him of . . .

  —scratch that.

  They looked just like Abby’s.

  20

  HE WAS SURPRISED to find that Blackburn wasn’t alone. Detective Sue Carmody, Miss Anal-Retentive herse
lf, stood near the soda machine, eyes brightening as he entered the room.

  Tolan looked at the two of them and immediately sensed tension. This was not a happy couple.

  “Detective Carmody,” he said. “I thought you and Frank parted ways.”

  “Only in an ideal world,” Blackburn muttered.

  Carmody shot him a look, then offered Tolan a telegenic smile and shook his hand. “It’s good to see you again, Doctor. Did Frank tell you how Sarah’s doing?”

  Sarah was the rape victim they’d brought to him several months ago. A frail fourteen-year-old who was not only able to describe and identify her attacker, but had testified against him at trial, never once taking her eyes off the man. Brave girl.

  “We haven’t had much time to catch up.”

  “Her mother says the psychologist you recommended is a godsend. Her therapy’s going great and she’s thriving in school. She was chosen to be part of the county’s academic decathlon.”

  “That’s good to hear,” he said. And it was. The last he’d seen the girl was at trial. But this line of conversation was so far off subject that he felt annoyed. They weren’t here for a trip down memory lane, and he wanted to get to the meat of the matter.

  Apparently Blackburn felt the same. Throwing Carmody a sidelong glance, he said, “Now that we’ve got that fascinating bit of news out of the way, let’s concentrate on the here and now.” He looked at Tolan. “Seems this case has developed a little wrinkle you should know about.”

  “Which is?”

  “Let’s get your news out of the way first. You sounded pretty shook up over the phone.”

  Shook up couldn’t begin to describe how he felt. He was a new recruit waiting for dawn to bring him his first taste of battle.

  He gestured them toward a nearby door, then opened it and led them outside to a small open courtyard that held three patio tables shaded by maple trees. It was a beautiful place to escape from the drab hospital confines, but was rarely occupied at this time of day and would afford them some privacy.

  Closing the door behind them, he gestured toward one of the tables. They all sat, the two detectives waiting patiently as Tolan gathered himself.