Sleepwalker (Nightwatcher #2)(101)

“But you and I both know that it’s a common misconception that schizophrenia is often accompanied by violent criminal behavior,” he reminded Rocky.

“I know that. But it’s not unheard of, either.”

In the end, though, to Rocky’s surprise, Jerry wasn’t diagnosed with schizophrenia; nor, from a legal standpoint, was he insane.

Yet violent mental illness might very well run in the family after all—in the sense that Jerry’s grandfather had passed it on to his son, Samuel.

“So, after Samuel was released from prison that last time?” Mai poses another question-that’s-not-a-question, and Rocky nods, waiting for her to continue.

“He took the medication for a few years,” she says, “and he had a job in a factory, paid his rent, basically seemed to have his life together. And then . . .”

“What?”

“It looks like he hasn’t filled his prescriptions since mid-August, and he hasn’t reported to work since . . .” She consults her notes. “About two months ago: September 12.”

Walking up the front steps at home less than ten minutes after he was finally cleared to leave the police station, Mack reaches automatically into his pocket for the house keys—then remembers.

He no longer needs them, thanks to the alarm system.

But someone got past it last night; got into the house to place a call to Nate Jennings.

How?

They had to have the code. But the only two people who know it are Allison . . .

And me.

Again, the strange little prickle of trepidation.

Is there any way in the world that I drove over here in my sleep and made that call to Nate?

Is there any way in the world that I—

No!

There is no way.

“Did you tell anyone the code?” he asks Allison, who is a step or two behind him.

“No. I don’t even remember what it is.”

“Did you write it down when I gave it to you, and maybe lose track of it?”

“I don’t think so . . . I mean, I did write it down, but . . .” She shakes her head, as though she’s having a hard time remembering the details. “Maybe I did lose it. So much was going on . . .”

“We need to change the code right away.”

She doesn’t reply, and he’s pretty sure he knows what she’s thinking.

Why bother? We’re not going to be staying here anyway.

She’s right—for now.

Back at the police station, they quietly agreed that it’s time to take the kids and get out of town for a few days.

“What about your job?” Allison asked.

“At this point, I really don’t give a crap,” he told her. “We’re not safe around here, not even at Randi and Ben’s.”

“But where can we go?”

He told her that he had an idea, but it would have to wait until they got home, where they could discuss it in private.

Mack wastes no time in punching the alarm code into the keypad mounted beside the door, feeling as though he’s being watched—by someone other than his wife, that is.

It’s probably true. After all, he’s a person of interest in the biggest murder case to hit Westchester County in years; he has no doubt that the police will be keeping him under surveillance—as will the neighbors, and probably the media, too, once they figure it out.

All the more reason to get out of town as soon as possible.

Safely inside the house, he arms the alarm again and Allison lets out an audible sigh of relief. She moves toward the stairway, and for a minute he wonders if she’s going to climb it, but instead she sinks onto a step at the foot of the flight.

“You look exhausted, Allie.”

“So do you.”

“Maybe we’ll sleep tonight.”

“Where?” she asks, looking up at him. “A hotel?”

He shakes his head. “That would be hard with the kids—the five of us in one room. I had something else in mind.”

The idea had actually come to him before Zoe’s murder, but he’d back-burnered it at the time, caught up in getting through the work week and Phyllis’s wake first. He just knew they couldn’t stay indefinitely at Ben and Randi’s, and he found himself dwelling on better times, happier places.

The longing he experienced was similar to his urge to flee New York every September, when even his Happy House couldn’t shelter him from the pain.

But of course, jetting off to Disney World is impractical, if not impossible, right now. He’ll have to settle on the next best place.

“Where were you thinking we should go?” Allison asks.

“Lynn’s beach house. There’s room for all of us, there’s a crib for the baby, and a kitchen. The girls love it there, we have the keys, and it’ll be empty at this time of year.”

“But . . . the keys. What if he copied those like he did the Lewises’?”

That gives him momentary pause.

“We can’t go down there and change the locks on her house without her permission,” Allison points out, and gets up to follow Mack as he strides into the living room and opens the desk drawer.

He pulls out the envelope containing the keys, and sees her shudder at the sight of it, probably remembering the last time she used the keys to the Lewis house.