Brian Freeman - The Voice Inside

“I know the victims are all connected to Hope,” Easton told him. “I know that punishing Hope for what she did to your daughter is pretty much the only thing that keeps you alive.”

Rudy waited a long time to reply. If Easton was taking a shot in the dark, the shot had landed perilously close to its mark.

“You can’t possibly understand my relationship with Hope, Inspector,” Rudy said. “I loved her. I still do, despite everything. You can hate and love at the same time. Hope was very complicated and troubled. I never saw the depth of pain she was in.”

“Then I guess you weren’t looking,” Easton said. “It’s right there in the self-portrait she did as a teenager.”

“It’s always easier to recognize things in hindsight, but you’re right. I should have seen it. I used to look at that painting on the wall and not realize that it was a cry for help. I suppose if you’ve seen the painting, that means you’ve seen Hope’s mother? Josephine?”

“I have. I showed her the photo of Nina Flores. She spotted the connection to Hope right away.”

Rudy felt another body blow. Was it possible? Did he know? There was only one other person in the world who would understand with a single glance why he’d chosen these women, and that was Hope’s mother.

“What did Josephine tell you?” he murmured.

As Rudy spoke, the wind gusted behind him suddenly, like the shriek of a witch. He wondered if the detective could hear it through the phone and whether he would put it together. The wind. The ridge. Maria Lopes and her house in the hills. Instead, Easton said nothing, not answering the question. The detective was baiting him to talk. To say more. Rudy couldn’t stop himself.

“Hope was always afraid that she was going to harm Wren,” he went on. “I think she was terrified of that even before she got pregnant. She saw something in the faces of other mothers. Contentment. Joy. Love. They were so happy holding their children, and she knew she would never feel the same way herself. It took me a long time to realize that. Far too long.”

Rudy closed his eyes. In his mind, he saw all their faces. All that terrible, infuriating joy.

“Of course, understanding what Hope did doesn’t make it less evil,” Rudy went on. The edge was back in his voice now, as sharp as a knife. “She gets no mercy for what she did. None.”

“Neither do you,” Easton replied immediately.

Rudy heard the rage thrown back at him. “I’m not asking for mercy. I know I won’t get any from you. Are you saying you want to kill me, Inspector? Is that your plan? Be honest. If I gave you the chance right now, would you put a bullet in the head of the person who cut your sister’s throat?”

He listened to the detective breathe. Slowly. In and out. Trying to wrest control of his emotions.

“I want to stop you, Cutter,” Easton said. “I don’t want you dead. I’d rather see you back in a box to torment yourself for the next thirty years.”

“Oh, you don’t need a box for torment, Inspector. Free men suffer, too. Sometimes the only thing you need for madness is a memory burned into your eyes. I have that.”

“I have that, too,” Easton reminded him. His voice was a low, bitter growl.

“You think you’ve seen it all, but you haven’t. There are plenty of other demons out there for you. Horror can always get worse. Don’t make this personal between us, Inspector.”

“Too late.”

The noise of the phone became dead air. Easton had hung up abruptly; the call was over. Rudy powered down his phone and took out the battery. He picked up the binoculars again and settled in to wait.

Evening would be coming soon. Maria would be running.

He’d wavered about his plans for Frost Easton, but now he knew what to do. No mercy. If Easton wanted to make it personal, then Rudy would oblige. The detective had no idea just how personal it was going to get.

Frost threw down the phone on the seat beside him. He swore loudly in the silence of the truck, and his hands squeezed into fists. He’d lied to himself and to Rudy Cutter about the violence gripping his heart. If he had the chance right now, he would do just what Cutter had suggested. He’d put a bullet in the man’s head.

He tried to calm himself as he drove the last few blocks. He was late, and he was somewhere he didn’t particularly want to be. Parked cars crowded the street beside the eucalyptus trees of Stern Grove as he turned off Nineteenth Avenue. Natasha Lubin’s parents had a full house for the gathering of families of Cutter’s victims. Their bay window fronted the park, and he could see people inside.

Frost got out of the truck. Stern Grove was like a dense forest inside the city, and the trees loomed over his head like giants, with their bony branches knotted together. He shoved his hands in his pockets as he crossed the oil-smudged street. He climbed the steps, and he could hear voices through the front door. He steeled himself to face down the cold stares of the families.

What could he tell them?

Rudy Cutter was still free. He was still killing. And he was going to kill again.

A slim woman in a dark-green dress answered the door. He’d met her once before. Dominika Lubin was Natasha’s mother. It was obvious from her tight-lipped expression that she recognized him, too.

“Mr. Easton,” she said. “Janice and Ned told me you would be here. Come in.”

He crossed the threshold into the lion’s den. The space in the living and dining rooms was small and crowded. Family members clustered together, talking in hushed tones with no smiles. The conversations came to a sudden end as people noticed him, and he felt a wave of silent hostility. No one said anything, but they didn’t need to say a word to convey their message.

His parents spotted him. Ned broke away from the people he was with to welcome Frost with his usual smothering hug.

“Thanks for coming,” his father murmured in his ear. “It means a lot to your mother.”

“That’s why I did it,” Frost replied.

“What a great dinner last night, huh? Your mother and I are so thrilled about Duane and Tabby. Isn’t she great?”

“She is.”

“Next time, bring this Eden woman with you,” Ned said.

“We’re not a couple, Dad. Really.”

“Well, bring her anyway. It will make Janice happy to see you with someone.”

Ned steered Frost into the gathering with an arm around his shoulder. Polite, lukewarm smiles greeted him. His mother was in a circle with three others, including Gilda Flores and a thirty-something Chinese couple, whom Frost assumed were related to the sixth victim, Shu Chan. Janice took hold of Frost’s shoulders and kissed him on the cheek.

“This may be uncomfortable for you, but I’m glad you’re here,” his mother whispered.

He saw that furniture had been pulled into a rough circle of sofas and chairs, with an open area of gold carpet in the middle. There wasn’t enough seating for everyone in the room. Frost estimated the crowd at nearly thirty people. He saw members of different families holding hands and clinging to each other. Hugging. Crying. There was some laughter, too. Around the room, he saw a handful of framed photographs of an attractive young woman he knew to be Natasha Lubin. Some of the other family members shared photographs on their phones.

It was probably cathartic for many of them, but for Frost, it was suffocating. As a rule, he didn’t do well in crowds.

“Shall we do the reflections?” Dominika Lubin announced after twenty minutes that felt like an hour.

Frost eyed his mother with a question.

“It’s a chance for people to share memories,” Janice murmured.