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Chapter 13

September 25

L
ILLY SCRUTINIZED THE
chart rack in front of her. She flipped through the stack, noting each complaint in the blink of an eye.

Truth be told, she was reluctant to treat any of them.

It was her first shift back, and she didn’t know if she could portray compassion to any of these individuals. A deep anger smoldered within her. The only release was time spent at the firing range and hefty doses of alcohol at night to numb her senses into a fitful sleep. The bruises from her face had cleared, but what remained was the quiet resolve of a hunter in search of her prey.

She picked up the first chart and made her way to the noted room. The police presence at the hospital was noticeable, and she feared questions from patients attempting to determine the reason. Knocking at the door, she paused, waiting for muffled affirmation allowing her to enter.

An elderly gentleman sat next to an equally old woman in a wheelchair, cradling her hand in both of his. Lilly pulled a rolling stool from the corner toward the quiet couple and sat down. A laceration split the wife’s forehead down the middle.

“She’s mad at me for bringing her here,” the man stated.

“Can you tell me what happened?” Lilly positioned the chart to take notes.

“She got up this morning to use the restroom. Next thing I hear is a terrible crash and she’s on the floor … blood everywhere.”

Lilly noted the woman’s name from the chart. “Hazel? Do you remember what happened?”

“He’s an old ninny for bringing me here.” She yanked her hand away from his.

A true emergency and she’s mad. Priceless.

“For what it’s worth, I think he was right in doing so.” Lilly stood and grabbed a pair of latex gloves. “Can you tell me what happened?”

“I slipped.”

“The floor is carpeted,” the husband interjected.

“Be quiet.”

Lilly bit the inside of her cheek to keep herself from chastising their argument. “Ma’am, I can only help you as much as you help me. Did you pass out?” She watched the woman nod then look down. “Did you have any chest pain? A headache?”

“No to both. I just felt lightheaded, and then he was there.”

Lilly stepped forward and placed one hand under the woman’s chin, coaxing her head up into the exam light. She palpated the wound edges and didn’t feel any crepitus that might suggest fractured bone.

“Hazel, you got yourself pretty good. I’d like to CT your head and do an ECG to make sure your brain and heart are okay. Then we’ll get you stitched up.”

“Seems like a lot of trouble for one simple cut,” she moaned. Her husband patted her hand.

“When a cut runs from your hairline to the point between your eyes, it’s a little beyond simple. Tell you what. You stick with me for a few hours and don’t give my nurses any grief, and I’ll give you a lollipop for good behavior.”

Finally, a small smirk played upon the woman’s lips. “I’ll only behave if it’s cherry.”

Lilly removed her gloves and left the room, nearly colliding into Luther as she exited.

“Lilly! Nice to have a real doctor back in this place. Sorry to hear about your appendix, but it looks like you made it through surgery okay.”

“Where did you hear that?”

“Anderson. Why?”

Lilly struggled to respond without raising suspicion. “Just surprised he’s been saying anything. Hey, have you met my friend Hazel?”

“Yeah, I triaged her. Quite a character.”

Pulling a pen from her pocket, Lilly jotted down several orders. “CT, ECG, wound irrigation, and we’ll get her fixed up.”

“I’ll let you know when she’s ready.” Luther grabbed the chart from her hands.

“Oh, and see if you can track down a cherry lollipop.” Lilly pulled a couple of dollars from her pocket.

“You’ll owe me for making a trip to the gift shop.”

“You can get one, too.”

“Now that’s what I like, free candy. Hey, that detective is back. The one that was here with the pregnant trauma that died. You know why?”

“I haven’t the slightest.”

Her quick response raised Luther’s eyebrows. “Well, see what you can find out.”

“Sure.”

Lilly waited until Luther rounded the corner, then made a beeline to the central workroom. Anderson was there, flipping up several X-rays from an outlying facility.

“I need to speak with you, Dr. Anderson.”

He flinched, and the film dropped from his hand. Bending quickly to retrieve it, he snapped it under the holder. “Not like you to be so stealthy.” He sighed. “I need to speak with you, also.”

Lilly took the lead in his silent wake. “Luther says you’ve been telling people I had an appendectomy.”

“This bothers you?”

“Sometimes a lie is harder to deal with than the truth.”

“So you would prefer I tell people about your assault.”

“Assault seems like such a nice word. I was raped, and I would rather you tell them nothing.”

He turned to her, placing the sheets back into the folder, and took a seat at his computer. “In absence of any excuse, Lilly, they’ll make up stories on their own.”

“Just have them come to me.”

“And what is it that you’ll say?” he asked, pivoting the chair toward her.

Lilly twirled her stethoscope between her fingers, looking down as tears welled up and spilled over. She watched them fall, tiny puddles of agony forming mute expressions of her grief.

“Lilly …”

Anderson stood and reached for her. She was stunned and took several steps back. His arms fell ineffective at his sides. Wiping her eyes, she met his troubled countenance.

“I don’t know.” The words were soft, like petals falling from a flower.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Detective Long hovering in the corner. He approached, and Dr. Anderson returned to his computer.

“Lilly, may I speak with you?”

She could feel unwarranted anger swell within her chest. Her throat tightened, and she shoved her stethoscope back into her pocket.

“I prefer we not speak here. People will begin to gossip.”

“We’ve been talking to everyone on staff. If we avoid you, it will probably spur them more.”

She paused, measuring his words. “What do you want?”

“Can we step into the med room?”

Lilly turned on her heel and approached the numbered punch lock and entered the code, allowing Nathan to enter first. She waited for the door to secure behind them.

“Next time, don’t come to where I work.”

Nathan held a hand up in surrender. “I’m clear on that. I guess it’s not a good time to ask you how you’re doing.”

“It’s not been a great day. I’m questioning if I should have come back.”

Her response stilled him, and he seemed to search for words.

“Did you … contact any of the victim assistance personnel?” He tapped his pockets, then pulled his wallet from his coat. “Let me see if I have one of their cards on me.”

“No!” She paused. “Not yet, I …”

“Let’s just get through the questions. Maybe we can set up a time to speak when you’re not worried about what people might say,” Long offered, placing his wallet back.

“Fine. Whatever.”

“I am keeping tabs on how often you say ‘fine.’ I get three in a row, and drastic measures will be undertaken.”

The pressure within Lilly’s chest eased. She bit her lower lip to prevent a smile from taking hold.

“That’s better. Now, I want to talk to you about this drug ketamine. What do you use it for here in the ER?”

“I’m sure you’ve already broached this matter with the other physicians.”

“Yes, we have. But we’re looking for holes in people’s stories.”

Lilly sighed. “We use it for conscious sedation most of the time. If we have to reset a closed fracture … something along those lines.”

“How do you keep track of the supply?”

“Did you talk to the nursing staff? They’re the ones who would really know what you’re asking.”

“On my list. Just tell me what you know.”

“Ketamine is kept in this machine.” Lilly brushed the dust off the control screen. “You have to access it with a PIN number and finger-print scan. It’s a controlled substance; therefore it must be recorded daily that no doses are missing. The nurses generally do the count in the early morning.”

“Any missing recently?”

“I haven’t been here for a while, Nathan.” His first name slipped from her lips, and she was surprised at how comfortable she felt using it. His pen stopped mid-sentence, and she tapped her lips, unsure if she should offer an explanation.

Did she have feelings for him?

“Do you generally use all of the medicine when a vial is taken out?”

“Not usually. The extra is disposed of, but it must be witnessed by another individual.”

“Any chance you can substitute the drug for something else and it not be known?”

“It couldn’t happen on the patient side. Ketamine, as I’m sure you’re becoming aware, has very distinctive effects. Obviously, a substitution would not bring about sedation, and questions would be raised as to what had happened.”

“What about when it’s wasted?”

“That could be a possibility. Anyone could say they were squirting ketamine down the sink, and it could just be saline.”

Lilly turned as the security code was punched and Luther made his way through the door.

Stepping past Nathan, she pulled Luther forward.

“Luther, have you met Detective Long?”

“Seen him. Not officially introduced.”

“Consider it done.” Nathan extended his hand. Luther grasped it within both of his, shaking firmly.

“Mind if I ask what you all are doing around here?” Luther inquired, not yet releasing his grip.

“He’s making some inquiries into how we dispose of our controlled substances. It might be helpful in Torrence’s case.”

“I see.” Luther released his grip. “What can I tell you?”

“I’m interested in how the remaining portion of a controlled drug is discarded when the whole dose isn’t given.”

Luther stepped closer to the automated drug-dispensing machine.

“When a nurse pulls out a narcotic and doesn’t use it all, we’re supposed to come back into this system and document what wasn’t used. This is witnessed by another nurse. It should match up to what was given to the patient as recorded on their MAR.”

“MAR?”

“Sorry. Medication Administration Record.”

“How is the drug actually thrown away so another person doesn’t take it, sell it, or use it?”

“We usually dump the vial into a specialized container. Often times, there are needles in there, too. You’d have to be a pretty desperate junkie to go for it.”

“How do you know it’s the drug—that it hasn’t been replaced with another clear substance?”

“I guess there’s a certain level of trust. I think there’d be other signs, too, that the person had a drug problem.”

“Anyone like that you’re suspicious of?”

“No.”

“Who has access to this machine?”

“The ER docs and nurses. But, it’s mostly the nurses who pull the drugs.”

“What about other physicians who don’t work in the ER?”

“They wouldn’t be able to access this machine. They likely have their own in the area they work.”

“In what other areas of the hospital would ketamine be stocked?”

“Definitely the OR. Anywhere they’d have to put a patient down quickly. Check in OB. They have an OR there for C-sections and at times will put a patient down if it’s emergent,” Luther said.

Soft musical tones filled the small room. Lilly checked her pager as Nathan finished his notes.

“One final matter I want to discuss with you, Dr. Reeves. Privately.”

Luther excused himself after gathering a few supplies.

She placed her pager back in its holder. “What would that be?”

“Some results of your rape kit have come in. There was semen. Your case has been linked positively to two other cases—likely four other women.”

“Nathan, did you really think I’d be surprised by that?”

Lilly reached into the pocket of her lab coat, pulling out a small, spiral-bound notebook. The embroidered handkerchief Nathan had given her fell to the floor. She could feel the heat rising in her cheeks as she bent to pick it up.

“I’m surprised you still have that. I thought you’d have burned it by now.”

“Why would you say something like that?” Lilly smoothed the wrinkles of the soft, cotton fabric. “It’s one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever been given. My mother used to sew—but all her things are gone. It reminds me—” Lilly stopped herself, brushing away a quick tear. “Here is all the information I could remember about my father.”

She held out the journal. The touch of his fingers as they brushed against hers was soothing as he slid it from her grasp. His eyes met hers briefly, questioning, before he opened the pages and scanned the material.

“I didn’t mean to upset you.” Nathan closed the book. “I just thought your anger with me over these cases …” He paused, tapping the counter with her notes as he considered the right response. “I’m touched you would still have it.”

Lilly folded the cloth and placed it back in her pocket. “Nathan, intellectually I can understand your position. However, emotionally, I’m finding it hard to fathom why you’ve yet to warn the public. What I can’t understand is that it is within your power to save women from this man, and every day that goes by just puts them more at risk.”

“Our going public with this case is coming sooner than you think. Are you ready for that?”

Chapter 14

October 16

N
ATHAN SAT UP
from his work and rubbed the taut muscles in his neck with both hands. Several file folders were open in front of him. Brett was conferring with another task-force member at the link chart at the head of the room. He reached for his third high-priced cup of coffee, downed the suboptimal dregs, and placed his head on the cool laminate surface of the conference-room table.

The team needed direction from him. Closing his eyes, Nathan pictured each of the victims in his mind. He’d poured over Celia’s questionnaire until he had it memorized. They were awaiting the surveys from Heather Allen and Jacqueline Randall.

He needed to give Lilly hers. It perplexed him that he was holding back where she was concerned, but he used the excuse that they were waiting for Brett to finish tracking down hit-and-run reports from Celia’s neighborhood.

He wanted to see Lilly, but not in an official capacity.

These were the threads in a tapestry of a tale of destruction that Nathan feared was about to add an additional victim. Early November would mark the rapist’s usual strike pattern.

He needed to visit Thomas Reeves.

Public disclosure of the fact that there was a serial rapist in their midst only complicated the issue. Now, the team had to separate actual leads from kooks trying to get their fifteen minutes of fame. Visions of John Mark Karr flashed through his mind. Karr had insinuated himself into the JonBenet Ramsey case. The state of Colorado could not take another false confessor.

He’d interviewed three attention seekers just this morning.

The air stirred near him. Nathan lifted his head to see Brett tapping a folder impatiently on the table.

“We’ve got a lot to do for you to be sleeping.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. What do you have?”

“I just got back from dropping off Lilly’s survey. I noticed you hadn’t done that. Any reason you want to tell me about?”

“No good reason.”

Brett sucked his right cheek in, seeming to let the question slide. “We need to go get Heather’s and Jacqueline’s packets. You up for stopping by their places today?”

“Sure, why not.”

Brett sat down. “You seem fatigued.”

“I haven’t been sleeping much. I’m worried. I don’t think we can stop this guy before he gets busy again.”

“You know the FBI isn’t going to give us much until we submit these surveys with the rest of the police work. Let’s get these wrapped up today.”

“Did you find any reported hit-and-runs in Celia’s neighborhood?”

“It should make our trip to Nevada more interesting. Yes, a man who lives behind Celia’s house reported that his car had been sideswiped, left pink all over it.”

“If it was our perp in that vehicle, why is it in Nevada? Crashing the thing would mean he knew it was a risk that he was going to be discovered or he was in a hurry to finish the job. Seems unusual that he would make a mistake like that and be brazen enough to take it to the garage where Celia works. And who is this older woman, Meryl Stipman? Someone related to the perpetrator?”

Brett cracked his knuckles. “Was it that risky for him to go to her place of work? Celia wouldn’t have seen the car in her drug-induced state. Maybe the woman is scoping out information for the assailant. Seeing if Celia is there. Maybe taking it to her garage was more an instance of him checking in on her, similar to when serial murderers revisit their buried victims.”

“Maybe. Let’s get over to Heather’s.”

“She’s not home. She’s at the local crazy house,” Brett said. “I got permission from her MD for us to have a short conversation.”

Nathan relinquished his car to Brett, reviewing Heather’s file as they drove. In high school she’d been captain of her cheerleading squad and debate team. She’d been inducted into the National Honor Society and earned full-ride scholarships to several different universities. On the weekends, she volunteered at a dog shelter and the local soup kitchen.

Smart. Beautiful.

Kind.

Heather’s assault was akin to spraying weed killer on a newly opened flower.

Next in the file were the photos taken after her assault. Her face was bruised and bloodied. One eye had a repaired laceration near the eyebrow, but her lip was still split in more than one area. Her eyes were hollow, no connection with the camera, her confidence and peace stolen, leaving a vacant look behind.

The local crazy house, as Brett referred to it, was a high-tech, glass-and-metal low-rise of seven stories tucked at the end of a long, gated drive in a grove of pine and aspen trees. Brett let out a slow whistle as he parked Nathan’s car and they gathered their things.

“You’ve got to have some money to be put up in a place like this.” Nathan closed the car door.

“It’s so still out here. You can’t even hear the city noise. Who can sleep with all this quiet?”

“Not everyone needs the rain forest at night to help them slumber off.”

“That was a gift from my mother.” Brett jokingly chopped his hand toward Nathan’s face. “Just remember, you ever let it slip in the department that I sleep with that thing, your mother’s going to find you dead the next day.”

They were buzzed in and led to the office of Dr. Jonas. He was a short, spry black man whose bifocals hovered on the tip of his nose. Nathan struggled to keep his fingers from reaching out to push them back up. Brett stepped forward first to shake his hand.

“Thanks for meeting with us today, Dr. Jonas,” Brett said, letting Nathan approach.

“My pleasure. Anything I can do to help the police.”

The feminine pitch of his voice caught Nathan off guard. If he had first spoken to him over the phone, Nathan would have thought they were meeting a woman. The doctor stood to welcome Nathan, readjusting his orange-and-black striped bow tie before offering his hand. Standing did not improve the man’s height.

“Nathan Long.”

“Nice to meet you both. Have a seat.”

“Did Heather sign the release so you could discuss her case with us?” Nathan took the chair Jonas indicated and opened Heather’s case file.

“She did. You’re lucky … not many patients would agree to do this. But this has become her new obsession.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning, Heather has always had obsessive components to her personality. When I first started treating her in her late teens, it was for an eating disorder. She wasn’t anorexic or bulimic, but she restricted her fat intake to a degree that she’d stopped menstruating and was showing signs of malnutrition. After two years she switched her compulsion to bodybuilding. I was relieved in the beginning because her eating habits improved dramatically. She was putting on weight and looked healthy. Unfortunately, she was going to the gym three times a day, for two hours at a time. It was becoming difficult for her to hold down a job. For income, she started competing in bodybuilding shows. This was a vicious cycle. The more competitions she won, the more she was in the gym. She started looking into plastic surgery. Then the attack came. Everything stopped.”

“As in?”

“She fractured. Her whole personality dissolved.”

“You mean a psychotic break,” Nathan offered.

“No, different from that. She was never delusional. She didn’t experience any hallucinations. Her contact with reality was quite secure. It was that everything she valued before lost its significance. She began to drink, stopped going to the gym. Began writing in these journals trying to recall every single detail of the attack. She wanted me to give them to you along with your questionnaire.”

Dr. Jonas reached behind his desk and grabbed a cardboard banker’s box. Nathan noticed Heather’s name, date of birth, and some other code listed on each side. Brett stood and lifted the top.

“All these are hers?” Brett grabbed the first group of papers and the most recently dated notebook.

Nathan stood as well. There had to be over twenty books. Brett handed him the questionnaire. Nathan set it on top of the glass surface and began smoothing out the pages that looked as if they’d been wadded up, then retrieved from the trash.

“I don’t think that’s going to help,” Brett chimed in, leaning his way. “Look at this. It’s full of these types of drawings.”

Dr. Jonas peered over the top of his glasses. “I think that’s your elusive tattoo. She draws it constantly. In these, she’s told me she’s getting close to the one she actually saw.”

Nathan started counting the books in the box. “There are thirty notebooks in here, Doc. How long did she work on these?”

“She probably filled these in about three months. This is the second box, the most recent. Her pace has picked up quite a bit. Initially after the attack, she had moved back in with her mother. That’s when she first started writing, at my encouragement. Unfortunately, her relationship with her mother was never very constructive, and it became too hard for her to live at home. That’s when she came here. Now, this is all she does.”

Nathan placed the journals back into the box and took the one Brett had been skimming through. He leafed through several pages. “I think what I’d like to do is just meet her today. I want to take some time reviewing her survey and these diaries and then develop the questions I want to go over. Can we come back next week?”

“Yes, that would be fine. I think that’s a good plan, Detective. She’s been waiting for you in one of our conference rooms.”

Nathan stopped, the box in his hands. “Dr. Jonas, have you ever heard of a Dr. Thomas Reeves?”

“If you have anything to do with treating post-traumatic stress disorder, you’ve definitely heard of him.”

“What do you think of his work?” Brett took the box from Nathan so he could retrieve his notes.

“I haven’t made up my mind yet. It seems to be helping people, but its long-term benefits are unproven.”

It was a short walk to the plush sitting area. A plasma-screen TV hung on the wall. The room smelled faintly of lavender. Engulfed in one of the loveseats was Heather, her formerly muscled body now soft and lanky. She was writing furiously in another notebook, dabbing at her eyes every few words with a Kleenex. Both eyes looked reddened and chafed at the corners.

Nathan walked forward first. Brett stayed back on his own accord. Nathan stood before her briefly, and she cowered before him. If the furniture could have swallowed her any more, she would have disappeared. Nathan kneeled, reducing his height to take on a more submissive posture.

“Heather, my name is Detective Long.” Nathan reached his hand out. She took it limply and gave it a few unconvincing shakes.

“You’re not the same officer I spoke to before.”

“You’re right. There are a lot of people trying to catch the man who did this to you.”

Fresh tears popped, and the tissue she held seemed unable to keep up with the flow. Nathan reached to get her a new one.

“I don’t mean to upset you, Heather. I wanted to thank you so much for the time you spent on all those questions. Your notebooks are amazing. I’m going to take them and review this information and come back next week and talk. Would that be all right with you?”

She nodded, but did not speak. Nathan continued. “Thank you, Heather. You let Dr. Jonas know if we can do anything for you.”

He joined Brett, who held the box in his hands. Dr. Jonas excused himself, and they made their way back to their vehicle. Nathan opened the trunk and let Brett set the material inside.

“Off to Jacqueline’s?” Brett asked.

“Might as well get this over. It’s a short drive.”

Brett pulled out of the parking lot. The day was sunny, but the cool air spoke of autumn firmly set into the base of the Rocky Mountains. Residential lawns were decorated with faux headstones, and cotton webbing hung from trees with enormous, shiny black spiders clinging to barren branches.

“This is one victim that perplexes me.” Nathan pulled out several photos. “I think his other victims are these strong, independent women. But Jacqueline is a single mother of four children and a kindergarten teacher.”

“You don’t think you need a strong personality to manage thirty-some-odd five-year-olds?”

“Not at all. I meant, she just seems softer. More diminutive.”

“Maybe it’s the fact that she is a single mother. Actually, all of the women lived alone. Maybe, it’s not their dominant personality, but the fact that they are vulnerable with no male presence in the home. If I remember correctly, none of them had dogs. Maybe, he actually considered them easy prey.”

“That’s a possibility, but two of them were obviously strong. Heather had won several bodybuilding competitions. Lilly is an expert at martial arts. He had to know that, and I think that’s what he despises. Strong, confident, independent women.”

“I think it’s crazy how people decorate for Halloween like it’s Christmas.” Brett rolled his window down. “Check the address for me. I think we’re close.”

“Hold on.” Nathan reached for Jacqueline’s case file. “House number is … 1208.” He glanced up. “It’ll be on the left side of the road. Here, right here.”

Brett pulled to the curb. The lawn was completely overgrown. Shrubs lined the front in snarled masses. As they got out and secured Nathan’s vehicle, they could hear the chaos of playful children inside. The screen door hung off one hinge. The smell of cigarettes was pungent at the doorstep. Brett knocked. The door opened to a tall, muted girl with dark hazel eyes and matted brown hair.

Nathan coughed a few times into his fist. “Hi there, I’m Detective Long. I’m here to see your mom. Is she home?”

The door opened wider. Brett covered his nose and clenched his lips at the stench as Nathan’s eyes watered.

The girl motioned them inside. “She’s in her bedroom.”

“We’ll wait here for her,” Brett offered, taking a few steps backward onto the sidewalk.

“Won’t do any good. She never leaves her room anymore.”

Nathan ignored the look of pleading in Brett’s eyes. He wished he could allow Brett to leave, but it would be inappropriate for him to be alone with this witness. They followed the girl down a short hall, peeking into one bedroom, seeing two boys clubbing one another with foam bats.