How much better it would be this time without having to padlock the door. Everything was out in the open, and he felt liberated, like he’d been freed from a tomb. Only this time, he had someone to share in his creative process, his art of transformation. He’d never worked with anyone else. He’d have to learn how. But the house was here, ready and waiting. That was something.
His reconnaissance had been a success. Foster was easy. She lived alone. No one visited, and her neighborhood was not one the police put a lot of effort into. But she was dangerous. He’d have to remember that. Li was different. There was an old lady in her house—he assumed she was her mother—a husband who dressed in scrubs and was rarely there, and a baby, a boy. Nice little family. They lived north. Wrigleyville. The police responded faster up there. The decision as to who he would go after first had already been made. Foster. She appeared to be the one leading the charge, the first up the hill. It was always wise to cut off the head of the snake first. But not yet. Timing was everything in things like this. Far better to let the enemy come to you instead of running out to meet them. Patience.
He pulled the string again and cut the light. Yes, this house would do just fine.
CHAPTER 64
Dr. Silva walked out of Westhaven late. Almost midnight. But what did the hour matter, she thought, when she had plans to make. The cops were being obstinate, freezing her out, and Bodie Morgan was proving just as uncooperative. Who did he think he was? Didn’t he know who he was toying with? Still, she wasn’t that worried, not yet; Silva had strategies upon strategies to put into action. It was only a matter of time before she got what she wanted. Now, though, what she needed was home, a shower, and a quick meal before bed. Tomorrow she’d set about turning things around.
Norman was not on the gate; the new guy was in the guardhouse. Silva couldn’t recall his name, but she waved at him as she drove past and turned onto the narrow road leading to the main thoroughfare a quarter mile up.
As she drove away, she glared at Westhaven’s facade and pulled a face. Substandard. Embarrassing. She was much too good for the place. Alvin Keyes, the Beltway Slasher. They could say what they wanted about her, but she’d been the one to get him to reveal where he’d buried three of his victims. The damage to his mind, the psychotic break he’d experienced, had been a risk worth taking, at least for her. Where was the gratitude? The recognition? It was a clear case of the ends justifying the means, and in return she’d been banished.
“But like the phoenix,” she muttered to herself, “I will rise.”
Silva punched the buttons on her radio, and the car flooded with orchestral music. She’d be home in forty minutes.
CHAPTER 65
She’d watched Silva’s car turn out of the gate and head for the main road, and she’d smiled, knowing she’d never get there. She imagined Silva anticipating getting home, getting ready for bed safe in the knowledge that she was secure, tucked in, and in charge. Maybe she was thinking about pouring herself a nice scotch or a bourbon, slipping out of her heels.
Amelia started her car and crept it forward at five miles per hour, lights out, her eyes on Silva’s taillights. Silva would stop soon. She’d be forced to. This Amelia was doing for Bodie. For family. Silva wanted him locked up like an animal for the rest of his life, babbling like an idiot, zonked out on drugs, tarred and feathered like some madman. She couldn’t have that. Bodie might not appreciate the efforts Amelia took to keep him out of trouble, but that didn’t mean she didn’t have to make the effort. Now that their father was back, it was even possible that Bodie might overcome his aversion to him, and they could all be together again, but better this time.
“Just a little further,” she muttered, watching Silva’s car up ahead. “Just a little.” Her eyes narrowed as Silva approached the spot. She stopped her car yards away and cut the engine. When she heard the loud pop of the tires and saw Silva brake to a sudden stop, taillights blazing red, she smiled. “Game time.”
Amelia watched as Silva got out of her car, leaving the driver’s door open, the car dinging, a frenzy of bassoons, flutes, French horns, and cymbals firing out of the radio. Silva checked her left front tire. Amelia knew it was flat. She’d scattered the small tire spikes across the road. Silva thought she knew Bodie, but Bodie knew her too. He knew this road was sparsely traveled at night. He knew Silva often worked very late and drove home alone in a black BMW. He knew which way she turned when she passed through the gate. And Amelia had checked. There were only cameras near the hospital entrance, trained on the guardhouse.
The worried look on Silva’s face excited her, and she could almost see the old woman work it through in her head. This was a major inconvenience. She’d have to call someone for a tow or a tire change. Her after-work scotch or bourbon or shower would be pleasures delayed. When Silva reached inside her car and came out with her cell phone, Amelia got out and walked up looking innocent, helpful. “Everything okay there?”
Silva tensed, but when she saw it was a woman, she appeared to relax. “I must have run over something in the road,” she said. “I’ve got a flat.”
“Oh no.” Amelia sounded sympathetic, worried even for the woman’s safety. She checked the tire, kicked it. “It’s flat, all right. I could change it for you. Pop your trunk. I’ll get the spare.”
“That’s not necessary. I’ve got AAA.”
“It’s no trouble,” Amelia said. “I could have you going in fifteen minutes. It’s so late. You don’t want to be out here any longer than you have to be.”
“I didn’t see you on the road behind me,” Silva said.
Amelia could tell Silva was getting nervous, suspicious. The woman took a step away from her. “You weren’t paying attention,” Amelia said. “So, the spare?”
Silva glanced behind her at the stretch of empty road. She was too far away from Westhaven’s gate and the guardhouse. “Thank you, but I’ve got service.” She clutched her phone to her chest like it would protect her. “I’m a doctor. I work at the hospital there. I’ll be fine.”
Amelia stepped forward and lazily kicked at the road, brushing the spikes away with the toe of her boot. “I know who you are, Dr. Silva.”
Silva flicked a look at the driver’s door. It stood open. The steering wheel just inches away. Amelia could tell she wanted to run for the safety of her front seat but didn’t dare move. “What do you want?”
“I’m a Good Samaritan,” Amelia said. “You’re in a bind. I’ve stopped to help.”
Silva slid a look at the spikes, then read the smiling face. “You’re no such thing.”
Amelia slid the knife out of her pocket. She couldn’t stand here all night out in the open. It was then that Silva broke and lunged for the open door. Amelia caught her by the back of her coat and shoved her inside.
“Don’t,” Silva pleaded. “You don’t have to do this.”
“I know,” Amelia said. “I want to.”
The first plunge of the knife hit Silva right below her rib cage, the better for suffering, Amelia decided. Blood quickly flooded her silk blouse as she let out a sorrowful whimper. Amelia so enjoyed the sound of pain. The second strike hit right above Silva’s collarbone, Amelia striking before the good doctor panicked and laid on the car horn in a desperate attempt to sound the alarm. Silva made no sound as blood ran like a river down her torso. Amelia leaned over and whispered in the dying woman’s ear, “Night-night, Doc.”