Will you tell me what you really think? Did my parents kill those other three couples? Am I chasing a fantasy?
Is there a chance they're innocent? Or could Todd Larsen have done it alone? Could Pamela be innocent?
I'd like your professional opinion. No, I'd like your personal opinion, Gabriel, and I'd like your advice, and I know I can't ask for either, because you'll only give me the professional line--how you have no opinion as to their guilt or innocence and pursuing this matter further is entirely up to me.
He looked over. "Olivia?"
"Let's do this."
We reached the visiting room. Pamela was already there when we arrived. Her eyes lit up when she caught sight of me.
Dr. Evans had told me to be wary of Pamela. To remember that I could be dealing with a sociopath who would show me whatever facade would get her what she wanted. When he'd said it, I'd looked back on my encounters with Pamela and wondered if I'd already seen proof of that.
But her anticipation and delight as I walked through that door wasn't feigned. She loved me. I might wish she didn't, but that wouldn't change the truth of what I saw in her face.
I saw more, too, as I walked in. I saw the pale, faint lines around her mouth and eyes, and I knew she hadn't fully recovered from the attack. She was still in pain, maybe not sleeping, and I wanted to back out and demand to get a doctor and make sure she was still being treated. Make sure she was healthy and comfortable and safe.
I'd loved Pamela Larsen once. Adored her. That doesn't go away. It can't, even when you think it should. Like my feelings for Lena Taylor. Or for James. However much they'd hurt me, I still loved them.
I should have raced in to tell Pamela the news. Seen her face light up with hope. Hugged her as we celebrated. While I could imagine the scene playing out in a TV movie--heartwarming and heartrending at the same time--I could not imagine myself in it.
"You were right," I said to Pamela. "You didn't kill Peter Evans and Jan Gunderson."
She went still. Stared. "You ... you found..."
"There's another man in custody," I said. "I'm sure they'll tell you about it soon. His name is Edgar Chandler. He claims William Evans confessed to killing his son and Jan Gunderson years ago. Unfortunately, Evans is now dead and Chandler will likely be charged with his murder. But whether Evans did it or Chandler did it, that should clear you and ... and my father."
She collapsed then, her shoulders falling as she slumped forward, eyes filling. "Oh my God. All these years ... And you..." She reached out and clenched my hands so tight it hurt. "So many people tried, and you did it."
"Not alone," I said, with a glance toward Gabriel.
Her gaze flitted his way. She went still. Then she inhaled and looked at him.
"Thank you, Gabriel."
She tried to be gracious, but I could tell the words hurt almost as much as that knife wound in her side.
"There will be an appeal now, naturally," Gabriel said.
"And I suppose you want it." She glanced at me. "You haven't promised him anything, have you, Olivia? I know the Taylor-Jones family has money, but--"
"Olivia has not offered to pay for your appeal," Gabriel said. "Nor would I allow her to. I have no expectation of representing you."
She released my hands and eyed him to see if he was bluffing. The fact that she even bothered trying proved she didn't know him very well.
I continued, "Finding another killer for two of the victims is a good start, but..."
"It's two of eight," she said, turning back to me. "Only a quarter of the way there."
"And having Chandler say that Evans copied the earlier crimes doesn't help. It's unlikely he killed all eight, which is what we were hoping for--a single killer. This complicates things." I paused. "It further complicates things because you asked me to investigate those two. Specifically those two."
She paused, as if processing my meaning. Then she shook her head. "I picked them because they didn't fit the timing pattern. It was a place to start." She met my gaze. "I didn't kill anyone."
"But it could have been my father."
"What? No." She clutched my hands again. "That's not the way to go, Olivia. My lawyers wanted to use that angle, to raise the possibility that your father acted alone. I refused because I have no doubt--no doubt--that he isn't responsible. If you're even entertaining the idea, you need to see him. Either way, you need to see him." A wistful smile. "You loved your mommy, but you were Daddy's girl."
Just like at home, with my other parents.
I pulled back. "I'll see what I can do. In the meantime, I'll be watching the Chandler case, and looking for a connection to the other victims. You also need to think of anything else I can use. I'm sure you've done that a million times in the last twenty years, but I'm going to need more."
"I'll put together everything I can."
I stayed for a little longer, just talking. Then the guard came to say our time was up. As Pamela rose, I said, "One more thing. I'm trying to get my medical records. Do you remember who I saw after Dr. Escoda?"
"Escoda?"
I spelled it. She said the name didn't ring a bell.
"You should ask your father," she said. "He took you to most of your appointments, and he has a much better memory for dates and names. Is something wrong?"
"No, just checking."
"So you're all right?" she asked, waving off the guard's attempts to lead her away.
"I am." I walked over and tried to give her a hug, but the guard wouldn't let me. I stood there as she walked away, looking over her shoulder, watching me until the door closed between us.
Chapter Sixty-eight
That evening I was sitting in my favorite Chicago restaurant, attacking a T-bone like it was my last meal. Dinner was Gabriel's treat. A celebration. I could argue--and had--that he should be resting, but that was like jumping in front of a train and ordering it to stop. He had his cane, and that was the only concession he'd make.
As this was a celebration, the subject of our investigation was off-limits. Gabriel wasn't just paying, he was entertaining, too, and spent the meal regaling me with past cases. I listened to his stories and I ate my dinner and I drank my wine and I was happy.
I shouldn't have been happy. I should have been traumatized, curled up in a corner, reliving the ordeal at the Evans's house. I'd shot two people. Maybe in a few days that would hit me, but for now, I only regretted that it had to happen.
"Have I made legal life sound exciting?" Gabriel asked as he refilled my wineglass.
"You have."
"Good. Because I have a proposition to make."
"Really?" I waved at the bottle. "So that's why you're plying me with wine."
His eyes glittered, and he opened his mouth to say something. Then he shook his head, smiled, and eased back in his seat.
"Rest assured, it's not that sort of proposition. It's a job offer. You proved an apt investigator. I'd like you to continue in that capacity. Particularly if you promise to do all the online research."
"You're too kind. Tell me more."
"You'd do the research mostly from your apartment--I'll set you up with proper Internet. You'd still need to come into Chicago to discuss cases and conduct interviews. While I can't provide you with an office, I'm sure we could set up a desk with Lydia for when you're in town. I can't offer full-time hours, but the pay would be sufficient for you to quit the diner."
"I don't want to quit the diner."
He fixed me with a look. "Don't tell me you enjoy waiting tables, Olivia."
"I don't. I hate it."
He pulled back then, gaze cooling. "You aren't intrigued by my offer?"
"Oh, I'm very intrigued. But the part I don't like? Having you as my sole source of income. If you do something I don't agree with, I can't argue. If you ask me to do something I don't want to, I can't argue."
His gaze thawed. A faint smile. "I'd be fine with that."
"I'm sure you would."
"And the res
t of the offer?"
"Sounds great. If we can work it around my job at the diner."
His fingers tapped the table. "All right," he said finally. "We'll see how it goes. But you may lose better-paying hours with me if we need to work around your diner schedule."
"I'll survive. So when do I start?"
"Tomorrow is a holiday so perhaps Wednesday, if you can. I have a case..." He trailed off. More table-tapping. It seemed like annoyance now, his frown growing.
"What's wrong?"
He shook his head. "Just something we ought to take care of first. We need to..." A wave. "Talk."
"Go ahead."
"Not now. This is our celebration dinner. You said you're going back tomorrow? To your parents' home?"
My parents' home. Not "my home" anymore. I liked the sound of that. It felt right. "I am. My mother isn't back yet, but I've decided I'm being silly, leaving a perfectly good wardrobe there."
"Come by the office Wednesday morning then. We'll talk. Get this"--another wave--"other business out of the way. Then we'll set you up for work." Another few taps. Then he shook it off and picked up his barely touched wine. "A toast. To our next investigation."
I lifted my glass. "May it go as well as the first. With fewer bullet holes."
Gabriel laughed, quite possibly for the first time since I'd met him.
The next morning, I was up early. I couldn't sleep in. I was still riding high from yesterday's adrenaline rush.
I wasn't the only one awake. I grabbed my phone to head out for a walk and discovered that Gabriel had texted me nearly an hour before, saying he needed me at his office by ten Wednesday morning. We'd already decided that last night. I could blame his forgetfulness on the wine, but he'd barely touched his. I think he was really checking to see if I'd had too much wine when I agreed to work for him.
I texted back that I'd be there and that I hoped he was using the cane. He replied that he no longer needed it. I responded with "Bullshit." He merely replied that he'd see me at ten. Without the cane, I supposed. We'd need to work on that.
I smiled as I put the phone away. I was looking forward to working with Gabriel. In fact, the prospect was one thing that had me unable to sleep. Was I just excited to be doing work I really enjoyed? Or was I also a little bit happy to have the excuse to keep in touch with Gabriel?
Yes, I won't deny it. Gabriel and I had shared something yesterday, something terrifying and life-changing, something that would transform our relationship. And afterward, he'd taken me out, just the two of us, for an intimate dinner, during which he'd propositioned me ... with a job offer.
There was no need to worry that I was falling for Gabriel because any interest was clearly not reciprocated. Which was good. It was safe.
I could enjoy his company and not worry about it turning into more, because if it did, I'd get hurt. There was no question of that. Gabriel may have opened up a little, but that wall was still impenetrable. Life had taught him that people were resources to be exploited and used. That's what I saw in his eyes. That was the emptiness. An inability to form the kind of basic human connection I'd need from a lover. Maybe someone, someday could break through, but I wasn't naive enough--or arrogant enough--to think it would be me. I'd gotten closer than most and that was enough. It had to be.
By the time I reached the park, my ebullient mood had begun to fade. Maybe it was thoughts of Gabriel, of his childhood, his youth. Which bled into thoughts of my own family and my life, and all those tangled threads. I'd taken the first steps toward unraveling them this morning. I'd told Howard I was coming home later today to collect my things. Ten minutes after I hung up, I got a near-panicked call from my mother. What did I mean I was getting my things? Was I moving out? Was I angry with her?
I could have laughed. I think I might have. It was as if she honestly couldn't imagine why I'd be put out by her behavior over the last few weeks. The sad truth is that I wasn't surprised she couldn't. In her own way, she's as self-centered as Gabriel. Maybe that's why I understand him so well. But there's a difference, too. Gabriel might always have his own best interests at heart, but he expects everyone else to do the same for themselves. To him, we are all the center of our own universes. My mother sees herself as the sun, the rest of us revolving around her.
Do I hate her for that? No. I think in her own way she's as much a victim of her upbringing as Gabriel. The very fact that she didn't expect me to move out proved that ultimately nothing had changed between us. My mother loved me as best she could. There was comfort in that.
I was also ready to deal with the problem of Todd Larsen. I would go see him as soon as Gabriel could arrange it. This wasn't easy for me. I knew from Pamela--and my returning memories--how close we'd been and I feared how much of that was tangled up in my love for my dad.
It would be harder now, too, seeing Todd when I knew he might be innocent. Might be. Perhaps I should have more conviction than that. I wish I did. But there was still a long road to travel before I could reach that conclusion. Some questions had been answered, but so many more had been raised.
A shadow passed overhead. I looked up quickly, tensing, but it was only a hawk. It circled once and flew off, but I kept staring up, thinking about ravens now. Ravens and owls and signs and portents. There was more going on here. So much more, and that was one puzzle I hadn't even begun to unravel. I wasn't sure where to start.
I was about to sit down when I stopped. Someone was watching me. I could feel it, the hairs on the back of my neck rising. I glanced slowly over my shoulder and--
There was a dog beyond the park fence. Standing in the shadows. A massive dog, the size of a small pony, with thick curling black fur and eyes--
Red eyes.
I swallowed and blinked, and when I looked again, I could see the eyes weren't red, but a rich mahogany brown, reddish when the light hit them just right.
The dog was staring at me. Staring right at me, gaze fixed on mine.
I heard Chandler's voice.
The hounds will come to Cainsville and when they do, you'll wish you'd made a very different choice today.
At a sound to my left, I glanced over sharply. Nothing. I turned back toward the dog, lifting my phone to get a picture...
But there was nothing there. The hound was gone. I was alone in the park again.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Starting a new series is a terrifying and exciting endeavor. I've done it before, but I always had my Otherworld books to fall back on. This time, my safety net is gone. Yet my support group stayed in place, there to guide me through the transition and catch me when I stumbled, and I cannot express how grateful I am for that.
Thanks to my agent, Helen Heller, who didn't panic when I said I wanted to end a successful series and start something new, but said "Go for it," and supported me every step of the way. Thanks to Anne Collins of Random House Canada and Antonia Hodgson of Little, Brown UK, for doing the same. Thanks to Dutton U.S. for being equally supportive, and to Jess Horvath, for coming onboard as my new U.S. editor.
Finally, if you're an Otherworld reader, thanks for giving this one a try. Welcome to Cainsville. I hope you enjoy your stay as much as I did.
Kelley Armstrong, Omens
(Series: Cainsville # 1)
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