“Look,” he told Kat, “if you don’t feel comfortable about this, feel free to—”
“I want to go in with you,” she said.
Blackburn saw the excitement on her face, but shook his head. “No way.”
“Come on, Frank. Hogan can handle lookout. And you could use another pair of eyes.”
“Not gonna happen.”
“Why?”
“This isn’t a date, Kat. We aren’t talking about a movie and a milkshake.”
“Yeah?” She leaned in close to him then, whispering in his ear. “If you ever want that milkshake, you’d better reconsider.”
Blackburn stared at her, not doubting for a moment what she meant by that. A bold move, to be sure. An ultimatum. Appealing to his baser instincts.
And he liked that. Hell, he loved it — especially the reward being offered.
But the moment he thought about the visual she had so generously supplied him, an image of Carmody intruded. Carmody, lying across her bed, pulling him toward her. Carmody, who still hadn’t bothered to return his last phone call.
He had no reason to feel loyal to the woman. Had every reason not to be. But sitting in that hospital cafeteria today, he’d felt a renewed vibe between them. That old spark. An intangible link that a loner like Blackburn didn’t often find.
And for all his sexual bravado, he hadn’t slept with another woman since that night of drunken bliss.
But he also knew that Carmody was a dead end. Treated him with about the same amount of dignity she’d afford a piece of used toilet paper. More interested in advancing her career than getting involved with an overbearing jerk like him.
So why the sudden conflict?
Why was he wasting his time fretting over a cold fish when he had a potential sure thing standing right here in front of him? All he had to say was yes.
Maybe having a second set of eyes in there wasn’t a bad idea after all.
“Well?” Kat said.
Blackburn stared at her. God, she was cute. He didn’t need much more convincing.
“What are you doing for dinner Saturday night?”
48
“Turn left,” Lisa said.
She had lined her trunk with black Hefty bags before they put the body inside. The trunk was small, but they managed to get Carmody to fit with a minimum of fuss.
A minimum of fuss, Tolan thought. How callous is that?
They were driving now, Tolan behind the wheel of Lisa’s BMW. He was still in shock, letting her take the lead, continually amazed by her calm under fire, and continually grateful that she was willing to take this risk for him.
But how could she?
How could she remain so loyal to a monster?
Because if he’d done this, if he had butchered Carmody, that’s exactly what he was.
Something stirred at the periphery of his brain, like an image from a dream. Abby standing near a dark doorway.
“Where are we taking her?” he asked.
“The old hospital.”
“The old hospital? We can’t just dump her there.”
“We don’t have much choice.”
“But—”
“Nobody goes up there anymore, Michael. And there are plenty of places to hide a body.”
He glanced at her and saw the set look on her face, her expression unreadable. This was beyond the usual focused concentration now. Something deeper. Colder.
“Why are you doing this, Lisa? How can you even be in the same car with me?”
“I already told you why.”
“No, this is above and beyond. You think I killed her. You probably think I killed Abby, too.”
They pulled onto Baycliff Drive now, winding up the mountain.
She looked at him. “It doesn’t matter, Michael. Don’t you know that by now? I love you. I’ve always loved you. You’re my lost soul.”
“Your what?”
She shook her head. “If you don’t get it by now, there’s no point in trying to explain it to you.”
“No,” Tolan insisted. “Tell me. What do you mean?”
“It’s something the old man said. That I looked like a woman in search of a lost soul. I think it’s fitting. Don’t you?”
Another image from the dream assaulted Tolan. Abby pointing her camera. A flash of light.
Ask the old man, Michael. He knows.
“Who are you talking about? What old man?”
“The police brought him in today. He had some interesting things to say about your new girlfriend.”
“My what?”
Lisa sighed. “Jane Doe, Michael, Jane Doe. But according to him, that’s not who she really is. Not now, at least. And I think you already know that.”
Tolan tried to find a suitable response to this, but couldn’t. His mind was reeling.
Lisa pointed. “Take the access road.”
“Lisa—”
“Turn.”
He did as he was told, pulling onto a narrow road that snaked through the mountains toward the old hospital. He waited as Lisa gathered herself to tell him whatever it was she was trying to tell him.
After a moment, she spoke. “You remember when Abby used to say, ‘Careful, now, the rhythm is gonna get you’?”
Tolan nodded. “What about it?”
“I always figured she got it from that song. I mean, she did, but she didn’t really use it in the same way. For her it was a warning.”
“It’s just something she said. I never really gave it much thought.”
“Neither did I, until today, when the old man started talking about it.”
“About what? The song?”
“No, Michael, pay attention. The Rhythm. The way of The Rhythm.” A pause. “Abby was from Louisiana, just like him.”
It’s the way, Michael. The Rhythm. The heartbeat.
“Maybe you should back up and tell me who the hell this old man is.”
“First, I need you to tell me something.”
He said nothing. Waited.
“Why did you leave the hospital today? Why did you take off without saying anything?”
Tolan hesitated, thinking about what he’d seen and heard in that seclusion room. Early this morning, he had chastised Blackburn for his insensitive use of labels, but there was no better way to describe what he’d been through.
“You’ll think I’m nuts.”
“I doubt it,” she said. “Just answer the question. Tell me why you left.”
He hesitated again, wondering how much he should say.
But what exactly did he have to lose? Things couldn’t be much worse than they were right now.
So he told her. Told his story from the beginning. About the blackout the night Abby died, and again today, just before finding Carmody in her shower. About the details of Vincent’s phone calls and his fear that they might not be real. About Jane’s changing eyes, the disappearing needle tracks. About the song that only he and Abby knew, the shifting facial bones, the words she spoke. Saying his name.
It was an unburdening. A confession.
The confession of a madman.
Because he now knew that’s what he was.
Lisa said nothing as he spoke, staring out her window into the night.
“The missing ear was the kicker,” he said. “I had a panic attack, ran to my car, then… nothing. Until I woke up on your living-room floor.”
They were silent as he rounded a curve, threading his way through the tangle of pepper trees, then into a clearing where the old hospital stood, illuminated only by the moon.
The place was a throwback to a more primitive time. A time when the mentally ill needed to be hidden from the world. Shunned.
As he pulled into the front drive, Tolan couldn’t help feeling the heat of a thousand eyes on him. The ghosts of the many patients who had come and gone over the years.