Obsession (A Murderous Mind Book 2), page 9
Is Alan like that now? Only instead of a phone keeping him busy, it’s this murder. Does he realize there is still a world outside of it?
Susan didn’t think so. She thought he had a very bad case of whatever afflicted the people around her.
After another few minutes, Kaitlin Rickiment left the counter and sat down in front of Susan.
“Why’d you come here?” Rickiment—Kaitlin, Susan!—said. The pretense of politeness was gone.
“I seriously just wanted to see how you were doing. The whole series of events wasn’t easy.”
Kaitlin was quiet for a second but kept looking into Susan’s eyes as if searching for truth in them. Susan couldn’t read minds, but Kaitlin looked like she wanted to trust her. Wanted to have someone to speak to. However, Susan scared her.
“I’m a cop,” Susan continued. “A lot of people love us, and a lot of people don’t. There isn’t much middle ground for feelings about my profession. I’m not here as a cop right now. I go home just like you do, and my job doesn’t define me, just like I’m sure this shop doesn’t define you.”
The girl looked down at the table. “I can’t stand Starbucks coffee anymore,” she admitted.
Susan smiled, though she heard the tears in the girl’s voice.
“Not as good as advertised?” Susan asked.
“Not after your millionth cup.” Kaitlin laughed, reached for a napkin, and dabbed her eyes.
“So, what’s been going on, Kaitlin? I promise that whatever you tell me is between the two of us. I’m not on the clock. No badge on me.”
“I’m scared,” she said, not looking up. “I feel like someone is following me all the time. I feel like I’m being watched at night. Like someone knows what I told you.”
Susan remained silent and let Kaitlin’s thoughts settle while trying to gather her own. She didn’t want to go at this like a cop, asking for evidence and statements. “What makes you feel like that way?”
“I don’t know. I’ve always had feelings about all kinds of shit. My mom calls it intuition. She has it too. We just seem to know things we shouldn’t know. I don’t have any idea if it’s supernatural or if our senses just pick up on tiny details other people can’t, but it comes down to the same thing.”
She looked up. “I was driving a couple of my friends a few years ago. We were heading to Panama City for the weekend. All of a sudden, I got this strange feeling that I was going to be pulled over. I didn’t question it. I just said I was tired of driving and asked if one of them would take over. I didn’t think anything would happen to them, only that I would be pulled over if I kept driving.” She smiled sheepishly. “Erica ended up getting pulled over five minutes later.”
Susan smiled. “That’s true?”
“Yeah, it’s true,” Kaitlin said, then her grin died. “I’ve had a million things like that happen. Each one can be dismissed, but cumulatively? Well, I trust my feelings, and I’m feeling like someone is watching me because I helped you. Did you find the guy who did this yet?”
“No, not yet.”
“He’s going to try to kill me.”
Susan leaned forward, putting her elbows on the table. “Where do you feel like you’re being watched?”
“At my apartment. I live alone.”
“When?”
“Late at night. I look out my window, but I never see anything.”
“I can help if you want me to,” Susan offered.
“You guys put me in this situation. How can you help?”
“Give you protection. We can put someone outside your apartment until this is over.”
“What if they just start following me when I go somewhere else? What if they follow me to work or out one weekend? Your guys going to be there too?”
“They can,” Susan said. “If you’re in danger, it’s our job to make sure you’re safe.”
“He’ll wait, whoever it is. He’ll wait until there’s an opening.”
“Kaitlin, he doesn’t have forever. We’re tracking him down. As we speak, my partner is working toward catching him. If he hangs around you and we’re watching, he’s done. Completely.”
“Can I think about it?” Kaitlin asked.
“Of course. Here….” Susan reached into her purse and pulled out one of her cards. “I’m writing my cell on the back. Call that whenever you want.”
The girl took it. “Thanks.”
16
A PORTRAIT OF A YOUNG MAN
“Two years, huh, John?” Dr. Vondi asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Two years ago, you came in here for the first time. You were thirteen.”
“Has it been that long?” John said.
Dr. Vondi nodded. “A little longer for your mom. What do you think you’re getting out of this?”
“Like, from talking to you?”
“Yeah.”
John paused, thinking, and Dr. Vondi thought too. He hadn’t stopped thinking since last night, knowing John was coming. Two years was a long time. A long goddamn time when you considered the patient was John Hilt. Vondi didn’t know if he could go on any longer now that he knew what they were doing here. Toying with each other, neither speaking all their thoughts. They danced instead of fucking.
“I guess it’s good to talk about school. I don’t talk to anyone else about it.”
“I’m just wondering if you think it’s a good idea to keep coming here,” Vondi said.
“Why wouldn’t it be?”
Delicate. Be delicate.
“I’m not seeing a lot of growth. I’m not sure I can help anymore.”
“What were you trying to help me with?”
The kid was smart, which was part of the problem. He always asked questions that Vondi hadn’t thought of and wasn’t prepared to answer, which made their conversations tough. Therapy wasn’t supposed to be a war with landmines littered across the field.
“I wanted to understand you better, and I thought when that happened, I could help both you and your mom.”
“You mean because she thinks I killed Harry, right?”
“I mean your overall relationship,” Vondi corrected.
“You have. She doesn’t even think about Harry anymore.”
“You’re sure of that?”
“She doesn’t talk to me about it.”
Dr. Vondi sighed. “What I’m asking, John, is whether you want to continue seeing me. Do you think there’s any value in this for you?”
John looked out the window and was quiet. After a full minute, he looked at Vondi. “Yes, I want to keep seeing you. I don’t think you’re helping me or my mother because you’re lying to yourself. Which is fine. Necessary, maybe. I want to keep seeing you because I don’t think you’ll stop thinking about me one way or another, and I don’t want you…investigating any more, like you did a year ago.”
“He told me I won’t be able to stop thinking about him and that he wants to make sure he can monitor that.”
Vondi looked at Lori from his chair. This was the first time he had revealed any of the conversations he held with John. Hell, the first time he’d revealed a therapy conversation to anyone.
“What did he mean by ‘monitor?’” Lori said.
“That’s my word. He wants to keep tabs on me. Make sure that I don’t dig into his life again.”
“Why would you do that?” Lori asked.
“Because…because there’s something inside him I can’t uncover. I don’t know what it is. I don’t think he’s Clara like you do, but he’s different from any person I’ve met, and I want to know what makes him tick.”
Lori nodded. “I see.”
“I almost stopped seeing him. That’s how the conversation came up. I told him I wasn’t sure I could help him anymore, and I don’t think I can.”
“I didn’t think you saw him to help him. I thought you were seeing him to help me understand he isn’t Clara.”
“I was in the beginning, but I can’t do that either. I don’t understand him, Lori. Do you? Do you know your son? I’m not asking whether you think he’s a killer. I don’t want to go down that path right now. I’m asking if you feel like you know him.”
Lori shook her head. “No, I don’t. I’ve never known him or understood him. It’s not just that he keeps his own counsel. It’s like he knows that if he was to open up, everyone would see what’s inside him. Everyone would see—and I know you don’t want to talk about it—that he’s not normal, and the world would call him a monster.”
Vondi nodded but waited a few seconds before speaking. “Part of what he said is true. I don’t think I can just let it go. My mind wants to understand what it doesn’t, and it wants to get to the bottom of whatever is going on with your son.”
“Then stop seeing him,” Lori said. “If it’s bothering you so much, stop. You haven’t changed my beliefs about what he is. All his therapy has done is confuse you. I’m not confused. I don’t worry about it much anymore.”
“What about him wanting to see me?”
Lori smiled. “I can stop that.”
“What do you think is best?” Vondi asked.
“I think it’s a good idea to stop his therapy. I’m not sure what you want to get out of it. I like you, Dr. Vondi, and you have helped me, but I’ve told you for years that John is fire, and right now, you’re playing with it. You should let it go like I have.”
Lori sat in her car, hands in her lap, keys in one hand. The car was on Dr. Vondi’s parking deck, or rather on his office’s parking deck. She had walked down here ten minutes ago and hadn’t moved since.
Dr. Vondi had just gone from harmless to dangerous in a single conversation.
The whole point of him seeing John was to convince Lori that she was wrong, but whether or not he knew it, he was coming to see John as she did. He would see Clara reborn.
Had Lori done this?
The answer was yes. She should never have let John start seeing Vondi. She knew the truth, but she wasn’t going to let her son get hurt no matter what. Vondi? When he finally came to the only possible conclusion, what would he do?
John saying that he wanted to keep tabs on the doctor?
Christ, that was going too far. John was too smart. Smarter than Alicia and smarter than his parents. John now knew that Vondi thought along the same lines as she did, and…
Does that put Vondi in danger?
Lori closed her eyes, trying to block out the world. What do I do?
No answer came. Halting John’s therapy with Vondi was the best course of action, but would the doctor drop it, or would Lori seeing him weekly keep John on his mind? And what if he did investigate? What would he find?
Lori didn’t know because she didn’t dig into John’s world. She’d told Vondi that she wasn’t thinking about John anymore, but that was a cover. She thought about John all the time, and this added to it. Two options came to Lori’s mind. She could stop seeing Vondi, but would that cure him of this obsession? If his desire to know John was as strong as she thought and Vondi stated, maybe not. Maybe he would keep looking into her son.
The other option was to send John away.
Somewhere Vondi couldn’t find him.
17
PRESENT DAY
Scott put the phone to his ear and listened to it ring. From all his inquiries, Dr. Gerald Vondi’s brother was still alive, and this number would reach him.
“Hello?” someone answered.
“Hi. My name is Scott Hilt, and I’m looking for Robert Vondi. I was hoping this number was the right one,” Scott said, trying to sound friendly.
“This is Robert. How can I help you, Mr. Hilt?”
The man’s voice sounded old and frail but intelligent, as if his body was giving out before his mind.
“Well, sir, I’m calling about something I doubt you’ll have much information on, and it might be sensitive. I apologize up front.”
The man paused, then said, “I’m pretty old, and there isn’t much that’s sensitive to me anymore. I don’t get a lot of calls, so talking to anyone is better than no one. Go ahead and tell me what’s on your mind.”
“A long time ago, my wife and son saw your brother professionally. They both saw him for years.” Scott paused. “Lori and John Hilt. I doubt those names mean much to you. My son is now a grown man, and my wife passed, but she left some damning journals about him. About my son. The tough part for me is that my wife wasn’t of sound mind, especially toward the end of her life. I’m wondering if any of your brother’s files or notes still exist. I know, it’s a really long shot.”
“Hmmmm,” Robert said, stretching the noise out, then didn’t say anything for a few seconds. “I don’t know about files, to be honest. I have a bunch of his stuff, but I’ve never gone through it. I also don’t know if he took a lot of notes.
“I know he didn’t during his sessions. He told me that one time. Said taking notes during a session took you away from paying attention to the patient. Gerald’s been dead for a long time, and I don’t have any use for the files. I think they’re up in my attic. You’d have to come get them. On my income, I’m not paying for shipping.”
“Do you know if there are any legalities to this? Anything that could get us into trouble?”
“Hmmmm,” Robert said again. “Probably, yeah, but I'm too old to care. It's up to you.”
A jolt ran through Scott’s spine, and adrenaline pumped into his system. Files. Maybe they would help and maybe they wouldn’t, but he wouldn’t have to sit here looking at Lori’s notebooks. To be honest, he was also too old to care.
“That’s not a problem, Mr. Vondi. Where are you located?”
“I’m in Houston.”
“That’s about five hours from me. Do you have a day that would work best?”
“I’m free anytime. Just give me a call before you come, and I’ll have them all ready for you.”
Scott looked at his watch. It was too late for him to make the drive now. “How about tomorrow? I can be down there at eleven in the morning.”
“Works for me. I’ll see you then.”
How the hell has no one caught him yet? Alan wondered.
Three murders in two years, all of them on Hilt’s campus or right across the street, if someone wanted to be technical. His best friend had died when they were newly teens. Then these two people, one who attended the same meetings as Hilt and the other who worked in the same goddamn building.
Six murders surrounded the son-of-a-bitch. Six that Alan could see. How many more were there that he couldn’t see, and how in hell had no one put these pieces together until now?
Because he went overseas. Had he done it all here in the States, someone would have caught on, and he’d be in jail. Or dead.
What was going on in the man’s head now?
He was getting reckless. That was what Alan thought. Whatever was wrong with this guy, whatever fucked up connections in his head made him do this, they were growing more fucked up by the day. Three in two years in England. Two in two weeks now.
How was Alan going to catch him?
He understood that he wouldn’t find any evidence at either of the crime scenes, and this trail of dead bodies was nothing more than circumstantial evidence. A first-year law student could get the case thrown out of court.
Yet, Hilt was slipping. He had blown the second guy’s head off, and that wasn’t his modus operandi. It created more blood, more cleanup. And if he was slipping, losing control of his murderous compulsion, turning the heat up might cause something to break inside him.
You do that, then you tail him. He’ll kill or try to, and you’ll have him.
Turn up the heat.
The guy hadn’t lawyered up, which was insane. Did he think he was invincible? That he couldn’t be caught because he’d gotten away with it so far? Alan supposed those questions didn’t matter. As long as he didn’t lawyer up, Alan was free to talk to him as much as he wanted.
“John, the detective is back.”
“The same one as last time?”
“The same.”
John sighed into the phone. “Wait five minutes, then send him in.”
“You got it.”
John hung up and heard Harry immediately. “Why the fuck are you seeing him again? Why would you allow him to come in here?”
“I want to know what he knows.”
“John, he doesn’t know shit. If he knew anything, he wouldn’t be stopping by your secretary to ask to see you. He’d come in with cuffs, and you’d be walked across the floor with your head down. He’s doing this to scare you, plain and simple.”
“And if I don’t see him, how does that look?”
“WHO CARES HOW IT LOOKS? YOU’RE FIGHTING FOR YOUR LIFE HERE!”
John stood and straightened the papers on his desk. “What if he knows about Father Charles?”
“He doesn’t. It’s a missing person until they find a body, and missing persons don’t go to Detective Dickface. Don’t let him come in here, John. Use your head.”
The knock on the door ended the conversation.
“Come in,” John called from behind his desk.
Detective Tremock opened the door. “John, how ya doing?” he asked, closing it behind him.
“I’d be better if you weren’t here, truth be told.”
“Oh, I know that’s right,” the detective agreed.
“So, what have I done now to deserve you coming back?” John looked down at his desk.
“I wanted to talk about something interesting I found,” the detective said as he walked across the office.
“Well, before we get started on that,” John said, gazing at Tremock, “don’t ever fucking visit my wife again. Do you understand me?”
“I understand, but I’m sorry to tell you you don’t have any control over who I visit or what I talk about. In case you’ve forgotten, I’m a cop. I can go where I want.”
