Lisa Gardner - Hide

"I've saved myself, Annabelle. Isn't that good enough?"

"I'm sorry, I meant-"

He waved away my embarrassment. "I know what you meant, dear. I'm just yanking your chain."

I blushed. It seemed to amuse him more. But then he leaned forward, his tone growing serious.

"No, I can't say that I've magically turned someone's life around. Which is a damn shame, given that the average age of a homeless person is twenty-four." He saw my surprised look, and nodded. "Yes, it's sobering to think about, isn't it? And nearly half of all the homeless are mentally ill. To be honest, these folks aren't the kind who are going to turn their lives around after getting a free shower and a cup of soup. They need help, they need guidance, and most, in my humble opinion, would benefit from at least a brief stint in a therapeutic environment. None of which is going to happen to them any time soon."

"You're a nice man, Charlie Marvin."

He playfully clutched at his chest. "Oh, be still, my beating heart. I'm too old to be receiving such high praise from a pretty face. Be careful, or my wife's spirit will come back to chastise us both. She always was a hellion."

That made me laugh, which seemed to make him happy. Bella returned to check on our progress. Seeing we had accomplished nothing, she flopped down at my feet, sighed heavily, and put her head down. For a while, the three of us sat there, gazing at the moon, listening to the water, feeling the peace of the silence.

Of course, I was the one who broke it first.

"Do you know who did it?" I asked, no reason to define "it."

Charlie took his time with his answer. "I'm afraid I know who did this terrible thing," he said at last. "Meaning, when the police figure it all out, the name will be someone I knew from the hospital."

"You mentioned a couple of likely suspects. This Adam Schmidt. Christopher Eola."

"So you were eavesdropping."

"I have an interest," I said levelly.

He winked at me. "I'm not criticizing, child. In your shoes, I would've eavesdropped, too."

"Between the two, who do you think is most likely?"

"Not knowing any details of the crime?"

"None of us know many details of the crime," I said, in answer to his underlying question.

"Christopher Eola," he said promptly "You'd have to be depraved but calculating to kidnap and murder six girls. Adam was a sleaze, don't get me wrong. But he was too lazy for this kind of crime. Christopher, on the other hand… He would savor the challenge."

"Do you know where he is now?"

"Well…" Charlie started, then stopped.

"Well?" I prodded.

"I got to thinking about it more after talking with Detective Dodge and Sergeant Warren… "

"Yes?"

"Well, the more I thought about Christopher, the more I thought it had to be him. So I called a buddy of mine at Bridgewater. He'd never even heard Eola's name-bad sign right there, if you know what I mean. But he did some digging, and sure enough, Eola was released in '78. Meaning Christopher's had all sorts of time on his hands, yet none of us have heard from him. Makes me nervous."

"You don't think he magically got a job, assimilated into society, became a model citizen?"

Charlie contemplated my question. "Do you consider Ted Bundy was a model citizen? Because if you do, then maybe Christopher has a chance."

"That bad?"

"Man had no morals. No empathy with his fellow human beings. For a guy like that, the whole world is a system meant to be played. And what Christopher Eola enjoyed playing most was outwitting others in order to indulge his very private, very violent fantasies."

I considered Charlie's words. "If that's the case, how do you think he's made it nearly thirty years without coming to police attention?"

"I don't know"

"But you must have some ideas."

Charlie stroked Bella's head, considering. "Eola came from money, so maybe he's tapped into those resources. A little bit of money can cover a lot of messy tracks."

"True."

"And he's smart, which helps. Mostly, however, I think he relies on his appearance."

"You described him to the detectives as effeminate."

"Yes, ma'am. He's strong, though-all muscle and sinew, that one. But he appears-appeared, I guess, when I knew him-quite aristocratic. For some reason, no one ever suspects the cultured academic."

"Academic?" I heard myself say.

"It's not like he actually had a degree or anything. But it was an image he cultivated. Several of our female nurses actually thought he was a Ph.D. until we broke the news he'd never even gone to college."

"What kind of degree did he pretend to have?"

Charlie pursed his lips. "Oooh, that's a long time ago. A degree in history? Master of fine arts? Maybe it was literature. I don't remember now. Just that he led some people to believe he taught courses at MIT. I don't know why I would've guessed him a Harvard man myself."

Charlie flashed his friendly grin, but I was no longer smiling. Something niggled at me. Too many coincidences.

"Do you have a picture of Christopher?" I asked.

"No, ma'am."

"But there should be something on file. A yearbook? A mug shot? Something."

"I'm not sure, to tell you the truth. Maybe Bridgewater took a photo."

I nodded slowly. Foot starting to tap in agitation. If Eola was loose in '78… Still exiled from his family, with no place to go…

Would someone like that drift out to Arlington? Maybe make himself at home in the attic of a little old lady? And given that he had money, if the target of his interest disappeared, would he be inclined to run, too? Maybe the Boston police had never known about Christopher Eola for the same reason they didn't get to know about me. Because we both vanished and spent the next twenty-five years on the road.

The hour was growing late. Lost in my own thoughts, I hadn't realized that Charlie was already standing, ready to go. Belatedly, I rose, then dug in my purse until I found one of my cards.

"If you think of anything else," I told him, "I would appreciate any help you have to give."

"Oh, not a problem. Pleasure's all mine." He glanced at my card, frowned, and asked, "Tanya?"

"My middle name. I use it for business. You know, a girl can never be too careful."

We shook hands one last time. Charlie headed off toward Faneuil Hall. Bella and I headed for the North End.

Right at the edge of the park, as I was set to cross Atlantic Avenue, something made me turn around. I spotted Charlie, under the trellis now, studying Bella and me intently. An aging gentleman making sure I made it home okay Or something else?

He saw me staring, raised a hand in acknowledgment, smiled softly, then turned on his heel.

I started running with Bella then, under the streetlights, on the main streets, with my Taser in my hand and my demons chasing me once more.

BOBBY SAT THIRTY feet off the ground, cradled in the bare branches of an enormous oak tree. He wore black BDUs, topped with soft body armor. A pair of night-vision goggles rested on his forehead. A Sig Sauer 3000 rifle, outfitted with a Leupold 3-9X 50mm variable scope and loaded with Federal Match Grade.308 Remington 168 grain slugs, was in his arms.

He should be thinking of the good old days. When he'd been able to run faster than a speeding bullet and leap tall buildings in a single bound. When he'd been the best of the best, the baddest of the bad. When he'd had a mission, a team, and a sense of purpose.

Mostly, he wanted to wring D.D.'s neck.

The note on D.D.'s car had contained explicit instructions. At 3:33 a.m., the locket should be delivered to the former site of Boston State Mental, outside the ruins of the admin building. D.D. was to bring the locket herself. She should wear it around her neck. She should come alone.