PJ WANTED TO THINK over everything she’d heard and remember every detail. Thomas wanted to chatter about his newly-acquired skill in table tennis.
She took US-61 home. It was dark and she didn’t need the scenic route along the Mississippi. Her bright headlights tunneled through the night. After she saw a deer on the shoulder, she flicked off the buzzing thoughts in her mind and concentrated on getting home safely.
It was a tedious drive, punctuated by a stop at a fast-food restaurant to use the bathroom. She felt bad just taking advantage of the restaurant’s restroom, so she and Thomas ate there, too. She managed to buy a salad but added a milkshake to it. Thomas ate two double cheeseburgers and looked around for more. Seeing him staring at her milkshake, she handed it over. All that accomplished was trading guilt over her indulgence for guilt over Thomas eating so poorly that day.
She resolved to keep better hours and maybe even cook an occasional meal. Using her cellphone from the parking lot, she told Lilly they’d be there in an hour to pick up Megabite and Thomas’s things. Enough of this twenty-four-hour on-call business.
At home, she fed the cat, then called Schultz. Before he got there, she took a hot bath, swallowed a couple of Tylenol, and slipped on her flannel pajamas. The pajamas were faded from years of use, and the top was missing one of its buttons. She’d been getting around to replacing it for about three years. Physically comforted, she went downstairs to wait. Thomas passed her on the stairs carrying two apples and a bowl of popcorn up to his room.
“You couldn’t be hungry again,” she said.
“Yeah, I am. Aren’t you?”
She shook her head. At least there was fruit involved. “Remember, you’re still grounded. This would be a perfect time for The Great Gatsby.”
She put on some coffee and cuddled with Megabite in the living room while it brewed. Either the cat was really happy to be with her, or just enjoyed kneading on flannel. Either way was okay with PJ.
Schultz arrived. Over cups of coffee at the kitchen table, she told him everything about her visit with Jasmine Singer. He listened with great intensity and didn’t interrupt.
“So it’s likely April Winter’s the killer,” he said. “At least, of Arlan and Frank.”
“I don’t know if we can say that for sure, but it looks like she might be lashing out against her sisters in an indirect way, by going after their husbands. Maybe for the life she didn’t get to live. She was confined at Jasmine’s summer home, and probably given drugs whether she was willing to take them or not.”
“How about Shower Woman and the other five murders?”
“Seven murders, if you count Elissa Nevers and the Michigan doctor. I don’t know. The killings that used the signature mutilation obviously have deep meaning to her. The others may have just been people who got in the way.”
“Is it over now?” Schultz said. “She’s done everything she meant to do?”
“You mean because there hasn’t been a signature death in two whole days? If I were Jasmine,” PJ said, “I’d be more than a little nervous right now.”
“She’s probably got that Elder Care place built like a fortress. After all, she’s had plenty of time to prepare. She imprisoned April for thirty years.”
PJ sipped her coffee and thought about that. Jasmine was enormously wealthy, so her “summer home” could well be a mansion, with every luxury and convenience, including connections to the outside world through books, TV, and computers. Without Jasmine concealing her, April would have ended up in an institution or in prison for murder. Did she do April a favor, even though her motive was to protect the family image?
“Jasmine as much as admitted that April was schizophrenic. Talk to me about that.”
“The common age of onset is sixteen to twenty-five, which fits April perfectly. The one thing the public seems to know best about schizophrenics is delusions, like getting special messages from the TV or being singled out for persecution. There are also hallucinations, which can be seen, smelled, felt, or heard. Sometimes schizophrenics believe someone or something is giving commands for dangerous or violent behavior. ‘My pillow whispers to me when I put my head on it, and it told me I had to kill Uncle Wally,’ or something like that.”
“You mean your pillow doesn’t talk to you?”
“Not funny. Insensitive, too. People don’t choose schizophrenia, Leo. Ten percent of them commit suicide, and for the rest it can be a miserable life. Social withdrawal, erratic behavior, unpredictability, the list goes on. Often they have drug or alcohol problems and can’t keep a job. Antipsychotic drugs can sometimes help, but often there’s a compliance problem.”
“Jesus. As if young people didn’t have a tough enough time already, some of them have to get saddled with this. Would a person with this problem be organized enough to carry out the planning for these murders? That barn scene was elaborate.”
PJ hesitated before answering. “If she’s taking her meds consistently to stay focused, probably so. But if she slips up on the meds, the killings will get less elaborate.”
Schultz nodded. “Like Shower Woman and the teacher in Florissant—just bust in and kill. So what makes one teenager start hearing voices and others don’t?”
“There’s no single thing we can point to as the cause,” PJ said. “Brain chemistry, genetics, even physical problems with the brain; each seem to play a part.”
“Genetics. Didn’t you say April was a child of rape?”
“Yes.”
“As far as we know, April’s mother didn’t have the problem. So we could be looking for a schizo father.” Schultz waved his hands around. He seemed to be on some track of thinking that hadn’t occurred to PJ.
“Ten percent chance of inheritance.”
“Oh. Not so good.” His face fell briefly, then became animated again. “Still, what are the most common family secrets?” Schultz said.
“You mean besides murdered household maids?”
“Look who’s being unfunny now.”
“Hmm. I’d say spousal abuse,” PJ said.
“And?”
“Child abuse. I see where you’re going with this,” PJ said. “Virginia would have been about seventeen when she gave birth to April. Maybe sixteen when raped.”
“She could have gotten screwed by some high school punk or it could have been a family matter. Her father,” Schultz said. He crossed his arms over his belly and leaned back. The chair creaked.
“There’re a lot of ifs in that reasoning,” PJ said. “Even if it’s true, what good does it do us?”
“I don’t know. Yet.”
“It was devious to put the maid in the casket and bury her, claiming it was April,” PJ said. “An uncle I’ve talked to attended the funeral. He was certainly convinced his niece was dead. That made it easier to hide April away with no questions.”
“I suppose we’re going to have to go for exhumation. The maid’s family deserves that much, at least. What was the name again?”
“Elissa Nevers,” PJ said.
“I’ll get to work on an exhumation order in the morning,” Schultz said.
“Jasmine is a devious woman. We have only her word that April’s alive. It’s convenient that the doctor who was taking care of her is dead.”
“You thinking what I’m thinking?”
“That Jasmine is the killer and her whole story is a massive delusion?”
“Shit,” said Schultz. “I was hoping you weren’t thinking that.”
PJ changed the subject and talked to him about her latest simulation, Shower Woman’s murder. He thought the rug and slippers that kept the scene free of footprints were good ideas.
“Fibers from a thick pile rug were found on the bathroom floor,” he said. “There were rugs in the linen closet that matched, so we didn’t think much of it. April’s going to have a bloody rug in her car. Not that it’s still there, but forensics can compare fibers and match the blood.”
“One thing that really worries me,” said PJ, “is that if Jasmine is telling the truth, she hasn’t found April in six months. How are we going to do any better?”
Schultz was wide-awake in bed next to PJ, who was asleep with Megabite curled on her stomach. He reviewed everything they’d discussed. Pieces were still floating around, not settling into place. Bringing April into the story made his special sense, cop’s intuition or something else, perk up. The thread that he envisioned connecting him to a killer had uncoiled and was casting about for the link.
Where was she, this mysterious oldest sister who was wreaking vengeance on what was left of her family? What would be her next step? It could be killing June, May, and Jasmine, and then April might achieve some kind of peace, whatever her tortured mind would allow her.
Also pressing on his mind was the question of whether she was the person trying to kill PJ. April was a formidable opponent, maybe the most cunning he’d come up against. He wasn’t going to let PJ out of his sight, and she could damn well complain about it all she wanted.