Bones Never Lie (Temperance Brennan, #17)(74)
“Did you ever hear back from the psychiatrist?”
“Yeah. Pamela Lindahl. You met her in ’04, right?”
“Only briefly.”
“Your impression?”
“She seemed genuinely interested in Tawny’s welfare. Why?”
“I don’t know. She’s odd.”
“Psychiatrists are all odd.”
“I can’t put my finger on it. She seemed to be hinting at something she wouldn’t come out and say.”
“Did you ask why she took Tawny to de Sébastopol?” Not relevant. But the outing still troubled me. I couldn’t see the upside.
“She claims she was opposed to the idea, but Tawny insisted, like it was some rite of passage. When the kid wouldn’t let up, Lindahl consulted colleagues, they said go for it, so she finally agreed.”
“The house was sealed after the fire. How’d they get in?”
“Lindahl called the city, and someone did a safety inspection. Though damaged, the building was structurally sound. Given the special circumstances, they were allowed to visit. I’m not sure of the whole story.”
“What did they do there?”
“Mostly sat in the parlor.”
“Did Tawny venture into the basement?”
“Yeah. Lindahl passed on that. Figured the kid needed to be alone.”
“Jesus.”
“Lindahl stayed in contact even after funds for treatment ran out.”
“How long?”
“Until the kid cut herself off in 2006.”
“Does she have thoughts on where Tawny might be?”
“If so, she’s not sharing them.”
“Did you ask about Jake Kezerian?”
“Lindahl’s comments weren’t flattering.”
“Does she think he’s the reason Tawny took off?”
“She refused to speculate.”
“Did Anique Pomerleau come up in their sessions?”
“She’s not at liberty to say.”
“Seriously?”
“Tawny is a patient. And an adult. Anything they discussed is privileged.”
“Did you ask about the potential impact of our contacting Tawny?”
“Lindahl felt revisiting the past would be painful.”
“No kidding.”
A pause.
“You really think Ajax could be our guy?” Ryan asked.
“Slidell does.”
“How’d he hook up with Pomerleau?”
“Unless Ajax cracks, we may never know. But after Oklahoma, he worked in New Hampshire.”
“Somehow they meet. Paired with Pomerleau, things escalate to murder.”
Nothing but hockey as we thought about that.
“Here’s what bothers me,” I said. “Ajax is a pedophile. But these homicides show no sexual component.”
“Who knows what’s sexual to these freaks. Our doer takes souvenirs. Maybe the rush comes after the kill.”
“Maybe it comes from controlling the victim.” Continuing Ryan’s train of thought. “From dictating minute personal choices—hair, clothing, body position.”
“Moment of death.”
I heard a match strike. An expulsion of breath.
“Why kill Pomerleau?” Ryan asked. “And why shift to Charlotte?”
“Better climate?” I didn’t believe it.
“Then why the delay? Why go to New Hampshire, then West Virginia?”
“Ajax needed time to rebrand himself.”
“Maybe.”
“Pomerleau probably told him about Montreal. About my role in bringing her down. Maybe that excited him. It’s not uncommon for serial killers to try to up the ante.”
“Increase the danger, increase the thrill.”
“The danger being me.”
We both considered whether that had legs.
“How about this,” Ryan said. “Ajax wants to be arrested. He loathes what he’s doing but can’t stop himself.”
“Subconsciously, he wants me to catch him?”
“While consciously, he tries to avoid it.”
“Hmm.”
The voices exploded into a frenzy.
“Who scored?”
“Desharnais.”
“Why would Ajax, or anyone, continue to strike on dates significant to Pomerleau?”
“He’s taken over her compulsion? Or maybe, unknowingly, he’s sending out a clue.”
“A clue I would understand.”
“That plays.”
“And the next date comes in less than six weeks.”
CHAPTER 32
LITTLE HAPPENED OVER the next forty-eight hours.
Turned out Ajax couldn’t reconstruct his movements on the day in 2007 when Nellie Gower disappeared. He was in New Hampshire by then, but the clinic’s pay records didn’t reflect exact dates worked, and it didn’t keep schedules going that far back. Neither did the doctor.
As in Charlotte, Ajax had lived alone, in a rental home on the edge of Manchester. He ventured out only to work, shop, and run errands, never socially. He did not attend church. He had no colleague with whom he was close, no friend or neighbor with whom he discussed gardening or sports. No one to contact to help jog his memory.