Darius's face was so tight Betsy thought his skin might rip. A wave of nausea made her stomach roll.
"Some of the women resisted, but they soon learned what it was like to be with a god. Others that there can be no negotiation and must be obeyed immediately. Cross, for instance. She was no challenge at all. A perfect cow. As docile and unimaginative as a lump of clay. That's why I chose her for my sacrifice."
Before Darius started speaking, Betsy assumed there was nothing he could say that she would not be able to handle, but she did not want to hear any more.
"Did your experiment bring you peace?" Betsy asked to stop Darius from talking about the women. Her breathing was ragged and she felt light-headed. Darius snapped out of his trance.
"The experiment brought me the most exquisite pleasure, Tannenbaum. The moments I shared with those women were the finest moments in my life.
But Sandy found the note and it had to end. There was too much danger of being caught. Then I was caught, and then I was free, and that freedom was exhilarating."
"When was the next time you repeated the experiment, Martin?" Betsy asked coldly.
"Never. I wanted to, but I learn from experience. I had one lucky break and I was not going to risk life in prison or the death penalty."
Betsy stared at Darius with contempt.
"I want you out of my office. I don't ever want to see you again."
"You can't quit, Tannenbaum. I need you."
"Hire Oscar Montoya or Matthew Reynolds."
"Oscar Montoya and Matthew Reynolds are good lawyers, but they aren't women. I'm banking that no jury will believe that an ardent feminist would represent a man who treated a woman the way the murderer treated Reiser, Farrar and Miller. In a close case, you're my edge."
"Then you just lost your edge, Darius. You're the most vile person I've ever known. I don't ever want to see you again, let alone defend you."
"You're reneging on our deal. I told you, I did not murder Farrar, Reiser or Vicky Miller. Someone is framing me. If I'm convicted, this case will be closed and you'll be responsible for the killer's next victim and the one after that."
"Do you think I'll believe anything you say after what you just told me, after all your lies?"
"Listen, Tannenbaum," Darius said, leaning across the desk and pinning Betsy with an intense stare, "I did not kill those women. I'm being set up by someone and I'm pretty certain I know who she is."
"She?"
"Only Nancy Gordon knows enough about this case to frame me. Vicky, Reiser, those women would never have suspected her. She's female. She'd flash her badge.
They'd let her in easy. That's why there were no signs of a struggle at the crime scenes. They probably went with her willingly and didn't know what was happening until it was too late."
"No woman would do what was done to those women."
"Don't be naive. She's been obsessed with me since Hunter's Point. She's probably insane."
Betsy remembered what she had learned about Nancy Gordon. The woman had tried to murder Darius in Hunter's Point. She had dedicated her life to finding him. But, to frame him like this? From what she knew, it was more likely that Gordon would have walked up to Darius and shot him.
"I don't buy it."
"You know Vicky- left the Hacienda Motel at two-thirty. I was with Russell Miller and several other people at the advertising agency until almost five."
"Who can alibi you after you left the ad agency?"
"Unfortunately, no one."
"I'm not going to do it. You stand for everything in life I find repulsive. Even if you didn't kill the women in Portland, you did commit those inhuman crimes in Hunter's Point."
"And you are going to be responsible for murdering the next victim in Portland. Think about it, Tannenbaum.
There's no case against me now. That means another woman will have to die to supply the evidence the State can use to convict me."
That evening Kathy snuggled close to Betsy, her attention riveted on a cartoon special. Betsy kissed the top of her daughter's head and wondered how this peaceful scene could coexist with a reality where women, curled up in the dark, waited for a torturer to bring them unbearable pain? How could she meet with a man like Martin Darius at work and watch Disney with her daughter at home without losing her sanity? How could Peter Lake spend the morning as the horror god of a warped fantasy and the evening playing with his own little girl?
Betsy wished there was only one reality: the one where she and Rick sat watching Disney with Kathy squirreled between them. The one she thought was reality before Rick walked out on her and she met Martin Darius.
Betsy had -always been able to separate herself from her work. Before Darius, her criminal clients were more pathetic than frightening. She represented shoplifters, drunk drivers, petty thieves and scared juveniles. She was still friendly with the two women she had saved from homicide charges. Even when she brought her work home with her, she saw it as something that was only temporarily in her house. Darius was in Betsy's soul. He had changed her. She no longer believed she was safe.
And much worse, she knew Kathy was not safe either.
Chapter Twenty-two.
St. Jude's looked more like an exclusive private school than a mental hospital. A high, ivy-covered wall stretched back into deep woods. The administration building, once the home of millionaire Alvin Piercy, was red brick, with recessed windows and gothic arches. Piercy, a devout Catholic, died a bachelor in 1916 and left his fortune to the church. In 1923 the mansion was converted into a retreat for priests in need of counseling. In 1953 a small, modern psychiatric hospital was constructed behind the house, which became the home of St. Jude's administration.
From the gate, Reggie Stewart could see the administration building through the graceful limbs of the snow-covered trees that were scattered across the grounds. In the fall, the lawn would be a carpet of green and the tree limbs would be graced with leaves of gold and red.
Dr. Margaret Flint's office was at the end of a long corridor on the second floor. The window faced away from the hospital and toward the woods. Dr. Flint was an angular, horse-faced woman with shoulder-length gray hair.
Thank you for seeing me," Stewart said.
Dr. Flint responded with an engaging smile that softened her homely features. She took Stewart's hand ii a firm grip, then motioned him into one of two armchairs that were set up around a coffee table.
"I've often wondered what became of Samantha Reardon. She was such an unusual case. Unfortunately there was no follow-up, once she was released."
"Why is that?"
"Her husband refused to pay after the divorce and she wasn't covered by insurance. In any event, I doubt Samantha would have permitted me to pry into her life after she gained her freedom. She hated everything associated with the hospital."
"What can you tell me about Mrs. Reardon?"
"Normally I wouldn't tell you a thing, because all patient-doctor confidentiality rules, but your phone call raised the possibility that she may be a danger to others, and that takes precedence over those rules in certain circumstances."
"She may be involved in a series of murders in Portland."
"So you said. Is there a connection between the murders and her captivity in Hunter's Point?" Dr. Flint asked.
"Yes. How did you know?"
"I'll tell you in a moment. Please bear with me. I need to know the background of your request for information."
"A man named Peter Lake was the husband of one of the Hunter's Point victims and the father of another. He moved to Portland eight years ago so he could start a new life. Someone is duplicating the Hunter's Point m.o. in Portland. Are you familiar with the way the Hunter's Point women were treated?"
"Of course. I was Samantha's treating psychiatrist. I had full access to the police reports."