LITMIR.BIZ

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Dr. Yancy thinks I saw something that I’ve repressed.”

      “What do you think?”

      She lifted her hands. “Sometimes I think, if I could just reach a little further, I might get it. I don’t know.”

      He thought that over, then asked, “Your neighbor, your father and his wife and your brother and his girlfriend were the only ones who saw what was in the package? That’s it?”

      “Della’s my brother’s caretaker, not his girlfriend. Well, maybe she is. That distinction’s kind of fuzzy. But I don’t think any of them would say anything. And my neighbor, Trask, wouldn’t even know what he was looking at.”

      “You’re completely sure about that?”

      “Yes.”

      “And your brother’s caretaker, Della?”

      “Well . . . no . . .” she admitted. “Della’s been with Hague for years and she’s devoted to him. She’s older than he is, by about a decade. I think she met him at Grandview, and then later, when he was out, they kept in contact and he needed help and . . . there you go. Maybe she is just his caretaker. I really don’t know what their relationship is, but I do think, overall, she’s good for him.”

      “You just don’t like her much,” he said, reading between the lines.

      “I like her better than Lorinda,” she admitted honestly. She sighed heavily. “Maybe I should just go with the prevailing theory that the shootings were because of Kurt Upjohn. It was a massacre, for God’s sake. All of my stuff . . . is just maybe . . . my stuff.”

      “I don’t know if you’re right, exactly. About Zuma. But I think with the timing of the package, and your own history . . .” He pressed his lips together a moment, not wanting to give her too much to believe in, but also needing to bolster her trust. “Count me in on the investigation.”

      Liv’s eyes searched his face. He could see she didn’t trust him one iota; she couldn’t figure out his motivation. “Who are you?” she asked.

      He thought about telling her. The words leapt to his tongue. But her mistrust of the authorities stopped him. “You picked me,” he reminded her. “I’m in between jobs. My ex-girlfriend’s still in Canada. Not a wife, but close enough. We lived together quite a while.” The lie tripped off his tongue. Lies he’d used when he was Alan Reagan. “We broke up and I’m starting a new life.” When she didn’t say anything, he said, “Tell me from beginning to end, who saw the package.”

      She inhaled slowly, then exhaled. “I got it at work. I took it to my brother’s apartment.”

      “After your neighbor saw the pictures.”

      “Yes.” She nodded. “Then my father and Lorinda stopped by Hague’s. They thought it was strange that my mother had sent me the photos and documents, and we talked briefly about the strangler. I told them I was going to do some investigating on my own, that I never believed Mama had committed suicide. Della was mostly concerned about Hague, who had gone into one of his fugue states, a trance, so I don’t know how much she was really paying attention to the package contents. Maybe she was, maybe she wasn’t.”

      “This was how long before the attack on Zuma?”

      “The night before. Thursday.”

      “Go on,” he said, when she stopped.

      “There isn’t much more to tell. I went to work, went to lunch, came back and saw—the bodies. Then I ran and eventually got in your Jeep and held you at gunpoint.”

      “Is there anything else—anything—that would make you suspect the Zuma killings had to do with you?”

      She shook her head and gave him a resigned look. “No. I told you, it’s just a feeling I’ve had for a long time. All my life really, since my mother’s death. Like there’s something out there. Someone out there, who means me harm. Yes, I know. This could probably be the result of finding my mother’s body. I’ve heard it all before. It just doesn’t go away and it doesn’t matter how rational I am, or how much I try to talk myself out of it, it’s always there.”

      “So, if the strangler had something to do with your mother’s death, and the Zuma killings are related to that, you think he struck again now because you got the package?”

      “He came into Zuma shooting,” Liv said. “That doesn’t follow his m.o. I know. It doesn’t make sense.”

      “Been a lot of years,” Auggie said. “Anything’s possible.”

      “Are you playing devil’s advocate?”

      He couldn’t tell her that he’d seen a lot of criminals whose crimes morphed from one thing to another for various reasons.

      “He killed three more women after my mother’s death,” she said. “Most of them were prostitutes out of the Portland area, but not all. There was a woman from Malone, the town over from Rock Springs.

      “It just feels like someone’s after me,” she went on. “Maybe they think I now know something about my mother’s death. The doctor . . . if he knew what Dr. Yancy thought, that I’d repressed something, something I’d seen . . .” She worried her lower lip with her teeth. “And then the package contents scared him. Jump-started him, or her, or whoever. If it’s not the strangler who’s after me, it’s still somebody. That’s what I feel.”

      “Okay.”

      “Okay, what?” she asked suspiciously.

      “I know you’re not going to, and I’m not going to make you, but I still think you should go to the police.”

      “No.”

      “Then, I’m a part of your team. You chose me, and you’re stuck with me.”

      He could tell his declaration almost relieved her, but she said with ill grace anyway, “Sounds like I don’t have any choice.”

      “You could still hold me at gunpoint and threaten to shoot me.”

      She lifted her brows in that way people do that silently asks, “Really?”

      “Of the people who saw the package, which one do you think it is? The one who acted on it?”

      “None of them. I don’t know. Maybe it was someone at the lawyer’s office?”

      “Was the package opened?” he asked. She shook her head. “Move past the lawyers for a moment. Go back to the people you know who saw the contents of the package.”

      “Like I said, it’s none of them. I don’t like Lorinda at all, and my father’s a cold fish, but Della . . . or Hague . . . they just . . . wouldn’t. I mean, why? Hague was a baby when our mother died, and Della wouldn’t care. . . .” She trailed off and Auggie’s attention sharpened.

      “What?” he asked.

      “It’s nothing. It’s just . . . Hague orates. In a corner of the bar below his apartment. He holds court and just talks about everything. Rants, really.”

      “About?”

      “Political stuff, mostly. He has followers. They come and listen to him, or argue with him, or just come to feel like they’re part of a crowd.”

      “You think he brought up the package to his listeners?” Auggie was skeptical.

      “He said he did . . . but I don’t know if it’s true. I upset him and he reacted. Hague gets things confused.”

      “If you had to put a finger on what item specifically, from inside the package, would send a killer to Zuma, what would it be?”

      “The photo of the stalking man,” she said. “The zombie-doctor. That picture stands out. He stands out.” She made a sound of disbelief. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why it’s taken me so long. Do you want to see

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