Hide (Detective Harriet Foster #1)(88)

He walked around the old house, a small flashlight pointed downward, not wanting to draw attention to his presence this late at night. He knocked on walls, flexed the floorboards, getting a feel for the place. It wasn’t much. Not like the perfect house they’d had before, but it would do for now. He’d made sure of the basement. It was wide and deep with thick concrete walls. There was a separate entrance and sturdy stairs, room enough for a table and plenty of wall space for his tools, for crafting and creating. He was satisfied. For now.

He eased open the basement door and peered down the stairs before slowly making his way down in the dark, his feet thudding decisively on the wooden planks. There was a stale reek of dust and damp and long-ago sewage, but he could air things out when he moved his things in. Mornings, there would be natural light flooding in below from glass block windows that ran all along the basement’s length. They would have to go. He’d block them out or cover them up, in the meantime. Easy job. When he pulled the string attached to the single light bulb overhead, the dull light didn’t reach far into cobwebby corners, though there was nothing much to see yet, only a few discarded rags, a junked bed frame covered in years of dust, and an old rusty bucket someone had left behind.

How much better it would be this time without having to padlock the door. Everything was out in the open, and he felt liberated, like he’d been freed from a tomb. Only this time, he had someone to share in his creative process, his art of transformation. He’d never worked with anyone else. He’d have to learn how. But the house was here, ready and waiting. That was something.

His reconnaissance had been a success. Foster was easy. She lived alone. No one visited, and her neighborhood was not one the police put a lot of effort into. But she was dangerous. He’d have to remember that. Li was different. There was an old lady in her house—he assumed she was her mother—a husband who dressed in scrubs and was rarely there, and a baby, a boy. Nice little family. They lived north. Wrigleyville. The police responded faster up there. The decision as to who he would go after first had already been made. Foster. She appeared to be the one leading the charge, the first up the hill. It was always wise to cut off the head of the snake first. But not yet. Timing was everything in things like this. Far better to let the enemy come to you instead of running out to meet them. Patience.

He pulled the string again and cut the light. Yes, this house would do just fine.





CHAPTER 64


Dr. Silva walked out of Westhaven late. Almost midnight. But what did the hour matter, she thought, when she had plans to make. The cops were being obstinate, freezing her out, and Bodie Morgan was proving just as uncooperative. Who did he think he was? Didn’t he know who he was toying with? Still, she wasn’t that worried, not yet; Silva had strategies upon strategies to put into action. It was only a matter of time before she got what she wanted. Now, though, what she needed was home, a shower, and a quick meal before bed. Tomorrow she’d set about turning things around.

Norman was not on the gate; the new guy was in the guardhouse. Silva couldn’t recall his name, but she waved at him as she drove past and turned onto the narrow road leading to the main thoroughfare a quarter mile up.

As she drove away, she glared at Westhaven’s facade and pulled a face. Substandard. Embarrassing. She was much too good for the place. Alvin Keyes, the Beltway Slasher. They could say what they wanted about her, but she’d been the one to get him to reveal where he’d buried three of his victims. The damage to his mind, the psychotic break he’d experienced, had been a risk worth taking, at least for her. Where was the gratitude? The recognition? It was a clear case of the ends justifying the means, and in return she’d been banished.

“But like the phoenix,” she muttered to herself, “I will rise.”

Silva punched the buttons on her radio, and the car flooded with orchestral music. She’d be home in forty minutes.





CHAPTER 65


She’d watched Silva’s car turn out of the gate and head for the main road, and she’d smiled, knowing she’d never get there. She imagined Silva anticipating getting home, getting ready for bed safe in the knowledge that she was secure, tucked in, and in charge. Maybe she was thinking about pouring herself a nice scotch or a bourbon, slipping out of her heels.

Amelia started her car and crept it forward at five miles per hour, lights out, her eyes on Silva’s taillights. Silva would stop soon. She’d be forced to. This Amelia was doing for Bodie. For family. Silva wanted him locked up like an animal for the rest of his life, babbling like an idiot, zonked out on drugs, tarred and feathered like some madman. She couldn’t have that. Bodie might not appreciate the efforts Amelia took to keep him out of trouble, but that didn’t mean she didn’t have to make the effort. Now that their father was back, it was even possible that Bodie might overcome his aversion to him, and they could all be together again, but better this time.

“Just a little further,” she muttered, watching Silva’s car up ahead. “Just a little.” Her eyes narrowed as Silva approached the spot. She stopped her car yards away and cut the engine. When she heard the loud pop of the tires and saw Silva brake to a sudden stop, taillights blazing red, she smiled. “Game time.”

Amelia watched as Silva got out of her car, leaving the driver’s door open, the car dinging, a frenzy of bassoons, flutes, French horns, and cymbals firing out of the radio. Silva checked her left front tire. Amelia knew it was flat. She’d scattered the small tire spikes across the road. Silva thought she knew Bodie, but Bodie knew her too. He knew this road was sparsely traveled at night. He knew Silva often worked very late and drove home alone in a black BMW. He knew which way she turned when she passed through the gate. And Amelia had checked. There were only cameras near the hospital entrance, trained on the guardhouse.