JACK WAS RELIEVED THAT THINGS BETWEEN HIM AND TAYLOR were back on an even keel. He’d been keeping her apprised of his every move regarding Dakota. The tension had mostly dissipated between them, and they were focusing on more pressing matters, especially Evan’s health. When she told him about Evan’s visit to the doctor, he offered to cancel his meetings in Pittsburgh and come straight home, but she insisted it wasn’t necessary. Jeremy was with her, and she said they’d have the results by the next afternoon. He knew if he disregarded her wishes and showed up, she’d know that he was just as worried as she was, and that could send her over the edge. Despite knowing better, he did a bit of googling that confirmed that his worst assumptions were legitimate. But he also remembered the admonition he’d heard on one of the ubiquitous medical shows—when you hear hoofbeats, think horses, not zebras. Still, he’d seen his share of zebras. But Evan had to be okay. Life couldn’t be that cruel . . . could it?
In Pittsburgh, Jack stopped at the hospital where Pastor Pearson was being treated, but the police weren’t letting anyone onto his floor. All he had been able to find out was that the pastor’s condition was still listed as serious. Jack had emailed and called the church office—someone must have cleared the phone messages because he was finally able to leave one—but hadn’t gotten a response yet. Scotty would have the inside scoop on the toxicology report, since it was now an active criminal case and the pastor had been arrested and was under police guard at the hospital. Jack had thought of speaking to the local police, but Scotty had asked him not to. It was part of a bigger FBI investigation now because of multiple states being affected. Jack also was looking into another incident, one that had happened four days ago—this time Frank Morris, a psychologist who’d gone off the rails.
When Jack visited Kate Morris, the psychologist’s wife, at their home, she’d relayed her horror story in a monotone trance, likely under the influence of a prescribed sedative. Her husband, who had practiced for twenty-five years with an impeccable record, had conducted his practice from an office attached to their home. The last appointment he’d had was with a couple he’d been seeing for marriage counseling for six months. She told Jack that last week, as the day had grown late and her husband wasn’t yet home, she’d looked out the window and seen that his clients’ car was still parked out front. She had gone over and knocked on the office door, but when she got no answer, she’d gotten worried and pushed it open.
The couple’s bodies had been on the floor, their heads smashed in, a splintered and bloodied baseball bat next to them. Her husband was sitting in his chair, his clothes stained with blood, talking to someone she couldn’t see. She’d started screaming his name, and when he’d looked up at her, he’d seemed crazed and yelled that she had to die too. She’d run into the house, locked the door, and called the police, who’d arrived quickly and been able to contain him. Before anyone could make any sense of it, though, he hanged himself in his jail cell in the middle of the night.
Dr. Morris’s wife didn’t have the autopsy report yet so Jack couldn’t confirm if meth was involved, but the scenario was so similar to the others that he was certain it would be. He was typing up his notes when his phone pinged with a text—Scotty.
Looked into your cases. Three of them were in states where the cause of death is public record and easily obtained. You were right. Meth-induced psychotic break resulting in murder-suicides in all three. Requested subpoenas for the rest. Should have by end of week. Maria and I will expect you for dinner on Thursday.
That made six confirmed cases of methamphetamine found in the bloodstreams of all the killers, and Scotty’s help with records on the rest of them would save Jack a ton of time. He still wanted to re-interview the people he’d already spoken to because he didn’t believe these people’s loved ones had voluntarily used meth—none of them showed signs of prolonged use, and it was too coincidental to think they’d all just taken up the habit. It had to have been slipped to them somehow, but he had no idea how. He’d have to go back over all his notes, make more phone calls, and see if there were any prescriptions they had in common or over-the-counter remedies—even some kind of vitamin or nutritional supplement they’d all ordered.
He decided to start with the four survivors he’d already interviewed. He could cover most of it on the phone, having already established a rapport with them. There was no sense talking to anyone new until he’d exhausted every possible connection between the cases he’d already started investigating. Then he’d consider in-person visits to the rest if he still hadn’t found a common denominator. That meant he could go home tomorrow, see Evan, and be there when the doctor called with the test results.
Who was he kidding? Even without the help from Scotty, Jack would have made a detour back home to New York tomorrow. There was no way he’d let Taylor get the results all alone.
Jack’s mind started to swirl with worst-case scenarios about what the tests would reveal, so he left the hotel and began walking to clear his head. Their life had finally been getting back to normal. He’d never thought he could be this happy or even that he deserved to be. Every morning he got to wake up next to the love of his life, the woman that he thought he’d lost forever. Taylor had given him a second chance, and he had vowed to never let anything bad happen to her again. It started raining, but he kept going, his thoughts swirling furiously.
After everything they’d been through, he’d wanted to believe he could erect a wall of protection around them and make sure nothing bad ever got in. But he was wrong. Bad things found him—they always found him. He was soaked now and stopped, ready to turn back, but as he stopped, he looked up and saw he was in front of a church.
He reached for the door, thinking maybe he should go in and say a prayer . . . but his hand froze in midair, and he shook his head. What was the point? Either Evan was going to be okay or he wasn’t. Jack’s going into that church and talking to the air wouldn’t make one damn bit of difference. He turned around and hurried back toward the warmth of the hotel.