Читать книгу Deadly Obsession - Maggie Shayne - Страница 9

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“Two freaking weeks,” Mason said. It was his routine now. The first thing he said every morning when I walked into his hospital room was an exaggeration of how long he’d been imprisoned there. I showed up at my usual time. Eight o’clock with a Box O’ Joe, a pair of breakfast sandwiches and a couple of doughnuts.

“Ten days,” I corrected. “You’ll survive, I promise.” I pulled the bedside tray around and adjusted the height, cleared it of books, magazines and an empty plastic Jell-O container from the night before, and set the feast for him. I even poured his coffee. I was spoiling the man rotten. And I still hadn’t told him I loved him, because there were bigger things going on. Okay, and because I was a fucking chicken. I’d managed to decide that I’d say it back if he said it to me again. I’d do it immediately. So all he had to do was say it again and make it easy on me.

What if he’d changed his mind?

“Earth to Rachel,” he said,

I blinked out of my own head and said, “I brought you a great big present today.”

“My discharge papers?”

“Better.” I slid my bag off my shoulder, took out my laptop and set it on the nearby easy chair, my new workstation. I worked on my book-in-progress right here in his hospital room, every day until noon. Then I headed home for a few hours of quality time with my dog, and then I came back with the boys in tow as soon as school let out for the day. I didn’t mind it a bit. The four of us usually had dinner together, cafeteria food or takeout, depending on what I had time to grab, and then I took the kids back to my place for the night.

Amy, my personal assistant, was handling everything else. Copy edits, Facebook and Twitter posts, newsletter mailings, and fan letter replies. I needed to come up with a new title for Amy, because personal assistant didn’t begin to cover it. Maybe something like “She Whose Quitting Would Result in My Complete and Utter Annihilation.” Yeah, that would do it. Goth chick had made herself indispensable to me. Probably all part of her evil plan for the ultimate in job security. As long as I stayed flush, she’d stay flush. And I was staying flush.

I pulled a manila envelope out of my bag and slapped it onto the tray in front of “my detective.” I’d been calling him that inside my head ever since the night of the fire, when I’d screamed it at the Binghamton FD.

Mason was in mid-coffee-sip, but he stopped when he looked at the file. “What’s this?”

“The full case file. Everything to do with it, from the arson investigator’s report to Rebecca Rouse’s autopsy report. It also has Rosie’s notes from the interrogation of Peter Rouse, the victim’s estranged husband.” He knew that Rouse was our most likely suspect, being that his wife had taken the kids and moved out only a few weeks prior to the fire.

“Finally!” He set the coffee down and tore open the envelope. “You didn’t even peek?” he asked.

“I did not. I promised Chief Sexy-pants that it would get into your hands unopened, and you can now verify that I lived up to my word.” I moved up beside him so I could read while he did. And I grabbed my doughnut out of the paper bag because, you know, I’d already resisted it all the way here, and I was only human. He was lucky I hadn’t eaten them both and read the file.

He was skimming, though, flipping pages so fast I couldn’t keep up. Police speak required slow, careful reading for me. It was not my native tongue. “Whathitthay?” I asked around my delicious cream-filled, chocolate-frosted bliss.

Mason correctly interpreted my question, which proved he was my perfect mate, and said, “Gas line was tampered with. Marks that appear to have come from a hacksaw were found on the pipe. The killer let the basement fill with gas, then remotely activated a simple detonator to create a spark.”

“A spark?” I asked. “A single spark?”

He nodded. “That’s all it took.” He was still skimming. “They found the detonator in the rubble, but what was left wasn’t much to go on.” He read some more, nodded. “Search warrant was executed on Peter Rouse’s place. They found a hacksaw in the back of his pickup. Forensics matched the shards in its teeth to the gas line that was sawed through. Teeth marks matched, too.”

“Not the brightest murderer on the block, is he? Keeping that stuff in his pickup.” Mason frowned at me. I shrugged. “Not saying I don’t think he’s guilty, just saying he’s also effing stupid.” Then I lifted my brows. “Notice how I abbreviated the cuss word there?”

“I did notice. Nice job. The boys must be having a good influence on you.”

“I’m turning into Carol fucking Brady.” I clapped a hand over my mouth, but he just kept grinning at me. I sighed at my own difficulty with habit breaking and tried to steer us both back on topic. “So the almost-ex is not only guilty but stupid,” I said.

“Not too stupid to figure out how to remotely ignite the fire,” he said softly. “Arson investigator says it’s tricky to know how long to wait to spark one up with a gas leak.”

I shook my head. “Those poor kids down the hall don’t have a mother anymore, and now they’ve got to deal with the fact that their father killed her.”

“They’re not down the hall anymore. They were moved to the pediatric hospital last night,” Mason said.

“That’s good news, isn’t it?” I hoped to God it was.

“Yeah. Not even in ICU. They put them in a regular room, my nurse said. They’re out of danger. Probably going home—or somewhere—in a day or two.”

“Have you seen them yet?”

“No. I haven’t tried.”

“But you saved their lives, Mason.”

He shrugged. “And I’m not going to go present myself to them in hopes of receiving their undying gratitude. They’ve got enough to deal with right now.” He sighed and closed the file. “Speaking of kids, how are the boys?”

“They miss you. I mean, visiting you for a couple of hours every day isn’t the same, you know? They miss their stuff, too, or so they keep saying, though I don’t see how they could. We’ve hauled most of it to my house by now.”

His face turned serious. I hadn’t meant to wipe his smile away. “They’ve taken over your place. I’m sorry, Rache. I know how much you love your home and value your space. Any damage so far?”

“Don’t be a dumb-ass. They keep most of the mess to their assigned bedrooms.” And the kitchen and the living room and the dock out by the lake and the bathrooms. Good God, the bathrooms. Still, it’s odd how much I honestly don’t mind. Really odd. I shook the baffling state of my contentment away, because I wasn’t yet ready to talk about it. “Myrtle is happier than a carnivore at a meat market. She’s already figured out their routine. She waddles right over and plunks her ass in front of the door at a quarter to three every weekday and waits for them to get back from school.”

He smiled at that, because he loved my dog almost as much as I did. “She is one boy-loving bulldog.” Then he opened the file again.

“Rouse said the hacksaw in the back of his pickup wasn’t his.” He flipped a few pages. “No fingerprints on it. Looked like it had been wiped.”

I nodded. “They searched his house, too, though, right?”

“Yeah.”

“They find anything related to the detonator?”

His eyes raced over pages, his lips tightening. “Nope.”

“So all we’ve got is the hacksaw?”

“His fingerprints were found inside the wife’s house,” he pointed out.

“Yeah, but his kids lived there. I’m sure he was in and out a lot.”

“There was a silver Chevy Cruze seen parked a couple of blocks away at the time of the fire. The neighbors say it didn’t belong there,” Mason said. “Another neighbor said Rouse’s truck was seen in the area that night.” Then he shrugged. “But Rosie says it was there every weeknight. He drove the kids home from school. And this neighbor’s sighting was several hours before the fire.” He looked at me—waiting, I knew, for my feedback. He counted on me for it. And since I was an official police consultant now, I was happy to give it.

“Sounds like they must’ve been getting along, then. She’d have picked up the kids herself if she thought he was dangerous, right?”

“Women seldom think their spouses are dangerous until it’s too late. But when a woman is murdered, it’s almost always the spouse,” he pointed out.

“Says a lot for the state of marriage, doesn’t it?”

He peered up at me, but when I looked back he turned back to the report and flipped a page. “He admitted during questioning that he didn’t want the divorce. He didn’t want to lose custody of his kids.”

“So why try to burn the place with them inside?”

He met my eyes again, and his were brighter than they’d been since the fire. He loved his work, and this was the first chance he’d had to really sink his teeth into a case since nearly getting his gorgeous ass killed.

“Lots of men would rather see the kids dead than lose custody.”

“I refuse to believe it’s ‘lots of men.’ Granted, we see it in the news, but it has to be rare or it wouldn’t be news.”

“That sounded dangerously positive, Rache.”

“I know, right? Having the boys around, I just can’t imagine how a parent could hurt their own kid.” I heaved a sigh. “I suppose it’s possible he did it. But still, all we really have is the hacksaw.” I finished my doughnut, sipped my coffee, leaned back in my chair.

“You have an idea, don’t you?” he asked.

“How can you tell?”

“If I look deep into your eyes I can see a bunch of gears turning in your brain.”

I nodded. “Get me in to see him. I mean, he’s still in custody, isn’t he?”

“No. He made bail. Probably because our evidence is so freaking weak.”

I shrugged. “Even better. I can talk to him more easily that way.”

“Uh-uh. No way. That’s a very bad idea.”

“Oh, come on, Mason.” He hadn’t touched his breakfast sandwich, so I picked it up and took a bite, then put it back. After some yummy caffeine, I went on. “You know I can tell if he’s the guy with a single conversation.”

“He could be dangerous.”

“So am I.”

“This guy probably killed his own wife, almost killed his two kids and damn near took me out with them. I don’t want you anywhere near him.”

“You’re worried he’ll turn his focus to me?”

“That too. Mainly I was thinking about your temper.”

I smiled sweetly and batted my eyes. “What temper?” But he was right. If this man was guilty, he had almost killed my detective. It might not be safe for me to be in the same room with him surrounded by armed guards, much less all alone.

Mason sent me a look that spoke louder than words, but it changed to one of worry when he returned to the file. “We need more or this guy’s gonna walk. A decent defense attorney could find a dozen experts who’d testify that pipe shavings aren’t unique. It’s not like DNA. And his pickup was parked outside in the open. Anyone could’ve thrown the saw into it.”

“That would be a hell of a coincidence, wouldn’t it?”

“Not if they knew who he was. Besides, it only takes reasonable doubt to get him off.”

I shrugged. “All the more reason I should talk to him.”

Mason said, “Your ESP isn’t admissible in court, Rache.”

“NFP. And it should be.”

“Whether it should be is irrelevant.”

“But if I talk to him, maybe I can get more. A clue that will lead us to better evidence or—”

“Rachel, stay away from this guy.”

He pointed at me with a forefinger, something I didn’t remember him ever doing before. Like he was telling Josh to eat his vegetables. I did not like it. I sent him a look, my eyebrows arching, my gaze on that finger, and he lowered it and shook his head.

“He’s dangerous, Rache.”

The door opened, and Dr. Earl came in. I thought his photo was probably next to the word stately in the dictionary. Tall, lean, silver-white hair so neat it looked plastic, and the face of an aging GQ model. He looked up from the chart in his hands and flashed us a cheerful white smile. “Good morning, you two. You beat me here again, Rachel. I must be slowing down in my old age.”

“Well, you know, I couldn’t have a doughnut until I got here, so I was highly motivated.”

He laughed softly, turned his attention to Mason. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I don’t need to be here. Like I need to be home and back on the job, building a case against the guy who put me here.”

“Well, we just might be able to make that happen today. The home part, not the back on the job part.”

“Today?” Mason’s brows rose, and he looked at me, then back at the doctor. “Where the hell are my clothes?”

“Ah, not so fast now,” said the AARP poster boy. “There are going to be some conditions.”

“Anything, Doc. Anything you say, I promise. Tell me, and I’ll do it. To the letter.”

“You are such a liar,” I muttered, but under my breath, so Dr. Earl could pretend not to hear.

He winked at me, though, so I knew he’d heard just fine. Then he started ticking off conditions on his immaculately manicured fingers. “You need to hire a nurse to come in and change your dressing twice a day to prevent infection. You need to come back if there’s any sign of any problem whatsoever. Any trouble breathing, or if that cough comes back. And you need to take another week at home before returning to work. And then only after I’ve examined and cleared you.”

“Yes. Yes, I agree to all of it. Anything just to get out of here. Rache, my clothes?”

Dr. Earl shook his head. “You know better, Detective. Let’s proceed with your morning exam, and then I’ll get started on the paperwork as soon as I finish my rounds. You should be out of here by—” he looked at the clock “—midday, if all goes well.”

Mason shot me a bug-eyed “my head’s gonna explode” expression, and I had to clap a hand over my mouth to keep the laugh from busting out. I refilled my coffee cup from the box. “I’ll get out of here to give you some privacy, then. Help yourself to coffee, Dr. Earl.”

Then I left the room, shaking my head. Thank God he was okay and heading home today. Thank God. I think it was the first time I really allowed the full brunt of the danger to hit me, and it made my knees a little weak. It was a constant battle to keep my mind from going to what could’ve happened.

And, oh man, was I ever going to have a talk with probable arsonist Mr. Rouse the Louse, whether my detective liked it or not. I just wouldn’t tell him. Not until after the fact, anyway.

For now, though, my main challenge was how I was going to convince him to come home to my house instead of to his own. I paced the hallway, tried to stay out of the way of the rush-hour nurse traffic and wished I knew how Mason was going to react to my suggestion.

* * *

Marie Rivette Brown’s life wasn’t pleasant. The doctors at Riverside Maximum Security Psychiatric Hospital kept her medicated. Heavily medicated. She didn’t hear her husband’s voice anymore. Once in a while he came through, but it was rare and usually only if she was stressed out about something else.

They even let her use the community room. They hadn’t for the first few months, but now they did. It was a big room, with small round tables and plenty of chairs, lots of games like checkers and Trouble, and several decks of cards. A TV set was always playing some happy family movie with no violence or death or ghosts or voices. Nothing that might upset the inmates.

She knew what she’d done. She’d tried to retrieve her dead husband’s donated organs. Eric had been a serial killer. Finding that out had been like a mortar round hitting her world. No one else knew. No one ever would. But she knew. She’d known for more than a year and had done nothing about it, unable to destroy her sons by letting it come out. Then, after his suicide, she’d lost the little baby girl she’d been carrying, and that seemed to make the walls of her sanity come crumbling down completely.

She didn’t feel remorse. She figured the drugs kept her from feeling much of anything, so she couldn’t feel sorry for what she’d done, the lives she’d taken. Without the drugs, though, she knew she wouldn’t feel it, either. Without the drugs, she was convinced that what she had done was completely rational.

She missed her boys, though. That was the one thing she seemed capable of feeling, on her meds or off, completely insane or doped into a state of zombie-like calm. She missed her sons. Jeremy would be graduating from high school soon. A couple of weeks, if that. She so wished she could be there for him.

“Hi, sweetie. How are you doing today?”

Blinking out of her thoughts, Marie looked up from the table where she sat alone, an untouched meal in front of her, at the nurse. She’d seen her around before, a stunningly beautiful blue-eyed blonde with a figure her tight-fitting white dress did nothing to hide. But she wasn’t anyone Marie interacted with very often.

“Fine.” That was always her answer.

“You should let me take you outside. It’s such a beautiful day. Lots of people are out enjoying the yard today.”

Marie shrugged. “Okay.”

The nurse smiled and took her arm, helped her up and held on to her gently as they walked together toward the doors, then she used her keycard to unlock them. Marie didn’t think it made any sense keeping them locked, because they only led out to a fenced-in lawn, with several patches of flowers and quite a few big shade trees. Marie scuffed across the soft grass in her foam slippers toward a pair of lawn chairs underneath a pretty red maple. The nurse was right. The fresh air was nice. It smelled like summer and sunshine, and reminded Marie of picnics at the lake house up north and the kids playing on the tire swing and jumping into the water. Skinny and shirtless in baggy shorts she used to say would fall right off in the lake one of these days.

She sank into a chair, closing her eyes and breathing the air, and trying to grab hold of the joy of the memory. But there wasn’t any. It was just a picture. It elicited no emotion.

Marie wasn’t aware that the nurse had sat down in the other chair until she spoke, breaking into the memory and bringing her back to the miserable present.

“I wanted to show you something. I’m not really allowed, but sometimes I think the rules here are over the top.”

Marie frowned as the nurse pulled a folded newspaper clipping out of her pocket, opened it and held it by two corners as the breeze made it ripple. It was a photo of a man carrying two blankets out of a fire. She looked closer, frowning. “That’s Mason.”

“Your brother-in-law, right?”

Marie nodded, her eyes eagerly skimming the words under the photo. Those weren’t blankets, they were children. Mason had saved them from a terrible fire that had killed their mother. Nodding slowly, she understood. “He’s a good man. He’s always been.”

“I can see that. I was so surprised when I saw this on the news and realized he was part of your family. You must be so proud of him.”

Marie wasn’t proud of him. Not really. After all, she’d had no hand in making him the great person he was. “His mother probably is.”

“Oh? His mother’s still living?”

Marie nodded.

“Close to him, I hope? He lives in...Binghamton, right?”

“Castle Creek,” Marie said, remembering the farmhouse and wondering if her boys were happy there. Probably. They loved their uncle so much. Maybe more than they loved her. Especially after what she’d done. “His mother’s in Whitney Point. Near Rachel.”

“Rachel? Who’s she?”

“His girlfriend, I guess. She’s a writer.” Something buzzed deep in Marie’s mind, a little trill of awareness that told her it was odd for a nurse to be asking about her family. “Why do you want to know?”

The nurse smiled, shrugged, lowered her head, blushed a little. “I don’t know. I guess I’m just impressed with him. To think we have a hero like that around. They don’t make men like that anymore, you know?”

“Oh.”

“What’s he like?”

She’s up to something. Look at her eyes.

Marie blinked. It had been so long since she’d heard her dead husband’s voice in her head. Oh, she knew the doctors kept telling her it wasn’t really his voice. It was her own subconscious, speaking to her in his voice in order to get her attention. And because she had a mental illness, she must not trust the things her subconscious said to her in the voice of her dead husband.

But she furrowed her brows and stared deep into the nurse’s eyes anyway. There was a fire in there. It was deep, but it was there, swirling and sparking, but hidden very well behind a facade that was blank. False. Empty. She’d seen that look before. She’d seen it in Eric’s eyes. It was the plastic mask of a killer.

“He’s nice,” she said softly, cautiously.

“He has your kids, doesn’t he?”

“How do you know that?” Marie asked.

Dangerous. She’s dangerous.

“I looked at your file.”

Marie’s eyes widened. “You stay away from him. You stay away from him and my boys.”

“Me?” The nurse got up from her chair, one hand fluttering to her chest, her eyes pretending to be offended and surprised. But she didn’t feel those things. Marie could tell. She was mimicking real emotions, the way Marie herself tried to do during every session with her shrink, in hopes of someday convincing him that she was well and could go home.

“My goodness, Marie, what are you talking about?”

“Stay away from them,” Marie said again.

The nurse smiled. And for just a moment she let the mask slip. There was evil in that smile. Evil. She was a demon, and the fire in her eyes was a window directly into hell.

Marie reached out and snatched the name tag from the nurse’s chest, tearing her dress in the process. She stared at the name, saying it aloud, over and over and over as the nurse jumped back with a squeak of alarm and then pressed a button in her pocket.

Orderlies came running out the door, crossing the yard toward them.

Marie was up on her feet. “You’re evil. What do you want with my family? You stay away from them. You stay away!”

Then the strong young men in white took her arms, and another nurse, a regular, jabbed her in the ass with a needle. Marie went out with the demon nurse’s name on her lips.

Gretchen Young.