part0045

“No one had a problem thinkin’ I was somehow involved in this,” Chief said. “It was bad enough I had to spend two days in Bristol with my daughter’s idiot husband and my wife nagging the whole time. Then I get accused of bein’ a killer on top of it.”

Chief chuckled. His face turned bright red, as it always did when he so much as cracked a smile.

“If it makes you feel any better, I was having a hard time swallowing it myself. But then again, it was your boat slip.”

“Yeah, it was my boat slip. But not my boat.”

Blake laughed. Not at what he said, but how he said it. Chief’s accent amused him.

“I saw that boat on my outhaul a couple days ago, to tell you the truth,” Chief said. “I wasn’t gonna make a stink about someone using it for a bit. Hell, I haven’t used the dang thing in years.”

“Don’t sweat it,” Blake said. “But I’ve gotta ask you something while I have you. It’s very important. Can you say ‘wicked smart?’ No, ‘How do ya like them apples?’ Just once.”

Gwyn giggled. “Come on, Chief. Say it.”

Chief smiled and reddened. “There’s somethin’ wrong with you two.”

Blake let out another hardy laugh, and then a sigh. There was something about that front porch. Sitting there with Gwyn and Chief, it was like living in a time gone by. Where neighbors got together without invitation. Where they were all a part of something, together.

It was good to see that after everything, the sense of community persevered. It was proof that they were all going to be okay.

The creak of the storm door announced Christa’s return. She snuck by Chief and sat on the settee, tucking herself in close to Gwyn.

“Lucy’s settled in upstairs. I figured I’d give her some space. She said she wanted to watch TV for a bit in her room. I guarantee she’ll be out like a light in five minutes.”

“She must be exhausted,” Gwyn said. “I can’t imagine getting any sleep in a place like that. Under those circumstances.”

“I can’t believe how well she did telling her story to the police. She was so strong. Me? I was trying to hold it together the whole time. All I wanted to do was cry. She did a lot better than I did.”

“Me, too,” Gwyn said. “Hearing her tell it, she seemed so old. When did she become such a grown-up?”

“That’s the saddest part,” Christa said. “Whatever innocence she had left was gone the minute he touched her.”

Gwyn took Christa’s hand. “But we have to remember to keep things in perspective. Lucy was lucky. Compared to the others, her injuries were minor. It’s a miracle, really.” She turned away from Christa, splitting her attention between Blake and Chief. “Did you know there was another girl in there with them? Besides Misty. A girl named Leigh. Lucy thinks she was also killed.”

“That’s awful,” Chief said. “Two girls dead. One disfigured. And then there’s poor Cathy.”

“About that,” Christa said. “Nobody tell Lucy about what happened to Cathy. She doesn’t need to know. It’s too disturbing. And she’s been exposed to enough horror to last a lifetime.”

“Secret’s safe with me,” Chief pressed his lips together and twisted his hand in front of his mouth as if he were turning a key.

Blake nodded in agreement.

Christa was right. Whatever’s Lucy’s perception of the danger she was in, she didn’t need it compounded. As far as Blake knew, Lucy wasn’t aware of Misty’s rape, or even the details of her murder. Neither she nor Zoe had been sexually assaulted so, in Blake’s opinion, there was no reason for Lucy to know what would have happened to her if she hadn’t been found.

“Here he is.” Christa motioned toward the road.

Blake looked over his shoulder to see Hopkins pull over in front of the house.

Hopkins had called ahead to say he would be stopping by with information. It was the reason they had gathered there. Not that they wouldn’t have been gathered there, regardless.

“Hide the booze,” Chief joked, a little too loud for comfort.

Chief was always good for a wisecrack. But what he didn’t know was that Hopkins hadn’t touched a drop of alcohol since the whole thing began.

Hopkins made his way onto the porch. He carried with him a black padfolio. Blake stood up, offering Hopkins his chair, and joined Christa and Gwyn on the couch.

“Chief, good to see you. Sorry about last night.”

“Na,” Chief said, “I woulda done the same if I were you. Turns out you’re not as much of a bumblehead as I thought.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Hopkins sat. “How’s Lucy?”

“Amazing, considering,” Christa said.

“Good. Good.” Hopkins groaned as he flipped open the padfolio. “Where do I even begin?”

Blake found the transformation amazing. The man sitting before them was so unlike the man Blake had met on that first day in town. His drawn-out features, tired tone, and chippy disposition had been replaced by a sharp, even-tempered professional. The true Tom Hopkins.

Like Blake, Hopkins had been affected in ways he couldn’t have predicted. Maybe he had found the strength to let go of his own grief, along with the bottle.

“The fingerprints came back,” Hopkins said. “We’ve identified Lucas as Robert Foster. From Connecticut. We were able to track down a single arrest record out of New Haven. The investigator who handled the incident is retired, but New Haven P.D. was able to put me in touch with him. The cop’s name is O’Connor. He had a pretty wild story to tell, so bear with me here.”

Hopkins flipped the page.

“Here’s what we know, Foster was a first-year medical student at Yale University. By all accounts, he was an extremely bright kid—“

“Wicked smaat,” Chief said. He winked at Gwyn, who struggled to hide her amusement.

“Yes, wicked smart kid,” Hopkins said. “But all of a sudden he started going downhill. Began flunking his classes, becoming belligerent. Until he was eventually kicked out of school when he was caught impersonating a physician at Yale-New Haven Hospital. Shortly after, he started seeing a shrink and was diagnosed with split personality disorder.”

“How long ago was that?” Blake asked.

“About nine or ten years ago, I believe,” Hopkins said. “Initially, Foster was living at home and receiving treatment in an outpatient facility. But after he was arrested for attacking a female jogger in front of his house, he was ultimately institutionalized. O’Connor said that from what he could gather during the investigation into the attack, Foster’s downfall started around the time he broke up with his high school sweetheart. Apparently, she was a year behind him and still attending high school in Simsbury, Connecticut, while he was at Yale. During O’Connor’s interview with Foster, he said that he drove home from school to visit her and caught her cheating on him with some other kid.”

“That’s what sent him over the edge? A breakup?” Gwyn said.

“Obviously there were underlying mental issues, but it sounds like the event may have exacerbated them. Or brought them to light, anyway. O’Connor said Foster was fixated on the fact that he and his girlfriend had remained celibate, because she insisted they wait until they were married. When he caught her having sex with someone else, he basically lost his mind.”

“If he got himself locked up in the looney bin, how did he end up here with his aunt?” Blake asked.

“That’s where the story really gets crazy.” Hopkins said. “Eight years ago, he escaped from the institution by, you guessed it, posing as one of the doctors. He was never found. In fact, he’s still listed as a missing person in the national database.”

Christa raised her hand high above her head and waved it back and forth.

Hopkins laughed. “You don’t have to… fine, what’s your question?”

“Did Cathy know he escaped when she took him in? I mean, was she covering for him?”

“This is the part where you’ll need to brace yourself.” Hopkins said. “Foster is not related to Cathy in any way.”

“No!” Gwyn gasped.

“Lucas wasn’t Cathy’s nephew?” Chief asked.

“There is no Lucas. Lucas was just another product of Foster’s twisted mind. And no, he was not Cathy’s nephew. It’s been slow-going trying to gather any information from her. She’s not in good shape. Mostly it’s been a series of yes or no questions. What we think we’ve determined is that Foster targeted her. He broke in, held her captive, amputated her arms and legs to prevent her from leaving, and kept her barely alive for the past eight years.”

“Why?” Christa said.

“Our guess?” Hopkins said. “Foster chose her because she was a recluse. He must have been around for some time. Watching. Planning. It was ingenious, if you think about it. No one would be worried that she hadn’t left the house. It was expected. And long as she was alive, Lucas had a life of his own.”

“That’s why he propped her up in the window.” Blake voiced his own revelation. “To make sure people could get a glimpse of her so there was never a question whether or not she was still alive in there.”

Blake thought about the old woman’s face in the window. How she had looked at him when he was speaking with Lucas. He had assumed she was being nasty. But her scowl wasn’t the product of anger. It was the product of pain and desperation. She was pleading for help. With no hands to signal, no way to speak, the most she could do was tap on the glass with her head and hope someone took pity on her. But Blake hadn’t. No one had.

“He took control of her finances,” Hopkins said. “Drained her savings. The holding company that owns the condo we found in Newport. Guess who’s listed as the managing party.”

“Cathy,” Blake said.

“That’s how he was able to buy a boat,” Christa said.

“No, the boat was stolen,” Hopkins said. “Out of Newport. A week ago.”

“I don’t understand this split personality thing,” Gwyn said. “Foster steals a boat and suddenly he thinks he’s a captain.”

“I don’t think that’s exactly how it works. I spoke with our clinician about this after I got off the phone with O’Connor. The original medical records only document the one additional personality. The one who thinks he’s a doctor. That makes sense because of the whole med school thing. The others must have come later. When? No one knows. It’s possible Lucas and the Captain were created out of need or simply based on environment. She also said each personality is often unaware of the others.”

“I don’t think that’s right,” Christa said. “Lucy said that when Lucas—I mean Foster, was acting like the Doctor, he often talked about the Captain. Like the two were at odds with each other.”

“That’s true,” Gwyn said. “But she said that neither ever mentioned Lucas nor acknowledged his existence. Lucy never saw the Lucas she knew. Not until Blake was there.”

“For me,” Hopkins said, “that’s the hardest thing to wrap your head around. That Lucas may have been just another one of the victims, in a way.”

“You’re saying Lucas didn’t know he wasn’t Lucas?” Chief said.

“If that’s the case,” Blake added, “he may have been going to Newport thinking he was going to see his doctor. Maybe he even thought that Cathy was his aunt. Which would also mean that he literally thought like he was mentally impaired. It would explain why he brought me the key when I’d asked him to. Because he truly didn’t know there was anything wrong with letting us out.”

“This is confusing,” Gwyn said.

“I know,” Hopkins said. “I’m sure things will become a lot clearer as more information is uncovered. But that’s all I’ve got now.”

Hopkins stood up. The action prompted everyone else to stand up as well.

“I’d better get back before I get in trouble with the wife,” Chief said. “I’ll see you later.”

Blake understood the subtext. Chief was actually saying he needed to go tell someone what he’d just learned.

“Thank you,” Christa said.

“Yes, thank you,” Gwyn added.

“Of course,” Hopkins said. “Whatever you need, don’t hesitate to call. I’ll keep you updated if we find out anything new.”

Hopkins stepped down on the grass. Christa and Gwyn said goodbye and retreated into the house. Blake joined Hopkins and walked with him to his car.

“How’s the processing going?” Blake said.

“I’m letting Charlie handle it. He knows what he’s doing.”

“Well, good luck tomorrow night, if I don’t see you,” Blake said.

“Thanks. I don’t suppose you want to hang around one more night. An endorsement by a Special Agent of the FBI could go a long way with the council.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Blake said. “There’s something I haven’t told you. I...”

When Blake decided to use Anja’s credentials, he knew it was the only way he was going to get access. Or at least the quickest and easiest way. What he didn’t account for was how bad he’d feel about misleading Hopkins after everything was said and done.

Hopkins slapped Blake on the shoulder. “Relax. I already know you can’t. I got a message from the FBI up in Providence. A guy named Harrison. Said he was the agent in charge over there. A little late, but it’s the thought that counts, right? I called him back and told him how instrumental you were in this case. Figured there was some kind of commendation they could give you. That’s when he told me.”

Blake was hoping to keep Harrison in the dark on the impersonating an agent thing. For Harrison’s sake more than his own.

“What exactly did he tell you?” Blake said.

“Don’t worry, nothing specific. Just that you are supposed to be under deep cover in D.C. and that any publicity would negatively impact your assignment.”

“Ah, yes, that. Like I said, I’m supposed to be on leave. Lying low.”

“Well, I hope you had a nice vacation.” Hopkins grinned and extended his hand.

“It had its moments.” Blake accepted the handshake.

Hopkins got in the car and started it. “See ya around,” he said through the open window. And then he drove away.

Blake hoped the council would recognize the value Tom Hopkins brought to the town. That they would give him the second chance he had earned. Whether they would see it that way was anyone’s guess.

He headed inside and found Christa in the dining room, setting the table. Gwyn was digging in the fridge.

“Good guy,” Blake said.

“Hopkins?” Christa said. “Yeah, I don’t believe a thing about what the paper said.”

“Me either,” Blake said.

“Are you sure you have to leave tomorrow?” Christa said. “We could take you around. Go out on the kayaks. All four of us.”

“Yes, I’m sure,” Blake said. “There’s someone waiting for me at home. Someone I care about very much.”

Christa picked up the bundle of letters from the ledge between the dining room and the kitchen. She held them out toward Blake. “Don’t forget to take these.”

“You keep them,” Blake said. “I already know how it ends.”

Christa placed the stack of folded papers back on the ledge, then stepped toward Blake. She put a hand on each of his shoulders, flashed her pearly white smile, and looked him straight in the eye.