The Secret Friend

The notebooks didn't contain any 'To Do' lists, Post-It notes or handwritten reminders like where to meet friends for dinner. The desk drawers contained computer manuals and several paperback copies of Jane Austen novels.

Darby turned on the laptop, relieved when it didn't ask for a password.

Chen used Microsoft Outlook for email and the calendar to keep track of appointments. Darby sorted through the months leading up to her abduction and found only entries containing Chen's class schedules and the dates that certain projects were due.

Her phone rang again. The caller was Tim Bryson.

'We've catalogued the security DVDs. Care to guess which ones are missing?'

'The ones from the day Emma Hale disappeared to the day her body was found,' Darby said.

'You got it. I vote we put people on Hale and see if Fletcher shows up.'

'I saw the security tape. If Fletcher is working for Hale, why did he sneak inside?'

'I don't know. Maybe he isn't. Maybe Fletcher is going to try and approach Hale, or maybe he's simply acting alone. All I'm saying is that we should cover all the bases.'

'I agree. You think the commissioner will go for it?'

'That's the next hurdle. What do you have on your end?'

Darby told him about the latent print found on Judith Chen's forehead and the matching print recovered from Hale's jewellery drawer handle.

She hung up and turned her attention back to the laptop. The files saved in Microsoft Word contained homework assignments and several essays for an English composition class.

There was a small folder holding digital photographs of Chen with what appeared to be her family and female friends. There were several photos of her with the dog and a white cat with black fur around its eye and chin.

Darby was examining Chen's internet search history when her phone rang again.

'Good afternoon, Dr McCormick.'

It was the intruder, the man with the strange eyes, Malcolm Fletcher.

27

'I didn't think I'd hear from you again,' Darby said, wondering how Malcolm Fletcher had got her number.

'I want to talk to you about the man who killed Emma Hale.'

'Do you know something?'

'I might.'

'And why do you want to share this information with me?'

'If you cannot get rid of the family skeleton, you may as well make it dance.'

'Another quote by Shaw?'

'Very good. I thought your generation had abandoned reading. What do you know about Themistocles?'

'He was an Athenian political leader.'

'Impressive,' Fletcher said. 'Themistocles led his people to victory over the Persians and was later banished by the same people he saved.'

'You've lost me.'

'In the end, it always comes down to a matter of degrees – how far you are willing to go, how far you're willing to push your way through the dark. I shouldn't have to warn you, of all people, that the truth is, more often than not, a terrible burden. You may want to give that some thought.'

'What are you suggesting?'

'I'm extending an invitation to meet the man who killed Emma Hale and Judith Chen.'

'How do you know the same man killed Hale and Chen?'

'Judith Chen was shot in the back of the head, like Emma Hale – at least that's what the papers are reporting. Are the cases connected, Dr McCormick? Or may I call you Darby? After reading so much about you, I feel as though I know you.'

'What should I call you?'

'Think of me as your secret friend.'

'How about you tell me your first name?'

'What would you like to call me?'

'How does the name Mephisto sound?'

A quiet laugh. 'Are you worried I'm going to hurt you?' Fletcher asked.

'The thought had crossed my mind.'

'I didn't hurt you last night.'

'Hard to do when you have a gun pointed at you.'

'I suggest a private meeting at the Sinclair Mental Health Facility in Danvers. I'll contact you in two hours.'

'And if I say no?'

'Then I wish you the best of luck finding the man who killed Judith Chen and the other women. I have no doubt of your abilities. You're certainly much more dedicated, and considerably brighter, than Detective Bryson. He should have discovered the missing necklace months ago.'

Click. Malcolm Fletcher was gone.

Darby called Tim Bryson. She filled him in on her conversation. Bryson listened without interrupting.

'I don't understand why he wants you to go to Sinclair,' Bryson said after she finished. 'The place has been abandoned for, Christ, it must be at least thirty years now.'

'I've never heard of Sinclair.'

'Before your time, I guess. The hospital was built sometime in the late eighteenth century. It was used as an asylum for the criminally insane. In the seventies, a private company took it over for a bit, and then it went back to being a state-run hospital. It's going to be torn down next spring to make way for condos, I think.'

'Fletcher said, "I wish you luck finding the man who killed Judith Chen and the other women." Maybe he knows something about another victim, someone we haven't found.'

'I think he's jerking your chain.'

'He knows about the missing necklace.'

Bryson didn't answer.

'The only evidence we have at the moment is an unidentified latent fingerprint,' Darby said.

'You haven't examined Chen's clothing yet.'

'Which is going to have to wait until Monday. I don't want to spend Sunday sitting around with my thumb stuck up my ass.'

'I don't suppose I can talk you out of this.'

'I want to know why Fletcher called.'

'I'll meet you at the hospital,' Bryson said. 'And I'm going to bring backup, just in case.'

28

Danvers, located north of Boston, was an hour's drive from the city. Darby used the Mustang's GPS navigation system. She took Route One North and made good time until she hit the mall traffic in Saugus. She ducked and weaved her way through the lanes, and when the traffic finally broke free close to Lynn, she tore up the highway.

Access to the hospital was through a single road, long and steep, that twisted its way through the woods. A beat-up Ford truck was parked at the bottom. Painted on the side panel were the words 'Reed Associates'.

The man sitting behind the wheel was a young Italian kid with a smooth, dark face and black hair spiked up with a lot of gel. A diamond earring and two gold hoops were in his left ear. He closed his Maxim magazine when Darby knocked on the window.

'I want to take a look around the hospital,' she said, showing him her laminated ID.

'You guys having a convention here or something? You're the second cop who's asked for a tour.'

'Someone else has been here recently?'

'This afternoon,' the security man said. 'Mr Reed gave him a tour.'

'Did this cop leave his name?'

'I have no idea. I didn't talk to him. Chucky did. I came down here to relieve Chucky of his shift. By that time, the dude was already talking to Mr Reed.'

'What did he look like?'

'Let's see… He was tall, at least six feet or so, black hair. He seemed pretty dressed up, nice shoes and stuff. He drove a Jag. Pay must be nice in Boston, huh?'

'He drove a Jaguar?'

'Yeah, a black one, real nice. It's one of the new models.'

'How can you tell?'

'I checked it out when he was up there with Mr Reed. I have a thing for nice cars. I own a Beemer.'

'Is Mr Reed here?'

'Yeah, he's up at the top somewhere.'

'I need to speak with him.'

'Hold on.' The security guard picked up a walkie-talkie. 'Mr Reed's on his way down.'

'What's your name?' Darby asked.

'Kevin Salustro.'

'Did you happen to see the Jag's licence plate?'

'No.'

'After I'm done with Mr Reed, I'm going to come back and ask you a few questions. While you're waiting, I want you to write down everything you remember about this cop including what you saw inside his car.'