Incarnate Page 17

  “I didn’t do it,” she said. “It was the old man.”

  “The old man,” Kim repeated, her pulse quickening. “What old man? Do you know his name?” This could be it—the detail that finally got the police off Scarlett’s back, and proved to Kim’s colleagues that she wasn’t going crazy.

  “From the park,” Henry continued as if he hadn’t heard Kim. “When I was with my mom. I didn’t like him, but my mom talked to him. My mom is nice to everyone.”

  “You and your mother met an old man in the park?” Nothing that Kim had read online about the case had mentioned such a suspect. Was it possible that Henry’s mother knew the killer but never put two and two together? Could he have been a neighbor? A doctor, a grocery clerk, or someone else they saw in the course of daily life? “Did you see him more than once? Was he your mother’s . . . friend?”

  “I didn’t like him,” Scarlett murmured miserably. “But he took me. At first to his house.”

  “He lives in a house? Do you remember where it was?”

  Scarlett scrunched her face, concentrating, but finally shook her head. Then she blurted out, “News birdie.”

  At first Kim had thought she misunderstood. “News . . . birdie?”

  Scarlett nodded her head emphatically. “It had a news birdie.”

  “What’s a news birdie, Henry?”

  “On top. A news birdie. I saw it. When I got let out of the trunk.”

  Kim struggled to understand. “News birdie?” Again, Scarlett nodded, more frustrated now. “Can you tell me more about the old man?”

  Scarlett shook her head. “I don’t want to talk about him.” She was starting to grow agitated, her breathing shallow and ragged, looking wildly around the room as if searching for an escape.

  “It’s all right,” Kim said soothingly. “Let’s talk about something else. I have an idea. Do you like to draw, Henry?”

  Scarlett brightened a little, nodding.

  “I was wondering if you might like to draw me a picture of the spaceship. Do you think you could do that?”

  Scarlett looked at her shyly. “I like to draw dogs,” she said.

  Kim handed her a pen and her notebook, turning to a fresh page. “I know,” she said, “why don’t you draw your spaceship with a dog next to it?”

  Scarlett gripped the pencil as a child would, in her fist, and bent her head over the notebook. The drawing that took shape was crude but identifiable: a balloon-figure dog next to a rounded cylinder with a pointed nose cone and some scratchy lines down the middle, like windows, or grooves in metal. Scarlett finished her drawing by scribbling a tiny 1998 on the body of the craft.

  “That’s very good, Henry. Now, can you tell me about when the bad man made you go into the spaceship?”

  “N-no,” Scarlett said, shaking her head insistently. “I don’t want to.”

  “I’m sorry, Henry. I know this is hard to talk about, and that remembering makes you sad. But we need to make sure that the bad man doesn’t hurt other little children. Don’t you think that would be a good thing?”

  Scarlett didn’t say anything, but she put her fist to her mouth and chewed on the knuckles.

  “Did the man push you, or hit you?” Kim said, as gently as she could. “Did he put something over your eyes so you couldn’t see, or—”

  “No!” Scarlett doubled over so her chest was on her knees, and she put her hands over her ears, trying to shut out Kim’s words. “No. No. No. No! Stop it, stop it!”

  Kim leaned forward in alarm. If the Henry alter didn’t stop screaming, one of the neighbors was likely to call the police—which would definitely not help her case. “Okay,” she said quickly, touching Scarlett’s shoulder gently. “It’s all right, Henry, we don’t have to talk about it anymore. In fact, I think you’ve done enough hard work for today. I really like the drawing you made for me. Let’s stop here and you can rest for a while.”

  Scarlett nodded, still snuffling, and allowed herself to be coaxed back upright.

  “Good-bye, Henry. It was nice to see you today,” Kim said. “Please do something for me—when you go back into the special room, will you please ask Izzi to come out? I promise I will keep watch and make sure you are safe there.”

  As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Kim regretted making promises that—despite all her best intentions—were beyond her control to keep. But before she could find the words to explain, Scarlett’s face had gone slack. Henry was gone—and Kim hoped he found some peace in whichever recesses of Scarlett’s mind he made his home.

  A shift in Scarlett’s breathing caught Kim’s attention. Scarlett’s brows knit together and her lips pursed, then her eyes opened and she scanned the room wildly.

  “Izzi?” Kim said. “Is that you?”

  Scarlett’s gaze fell on her. “Oh,” she said, in a tired voice. “You again.”

  “Yes, it’s me, Dr. Patterson. Thank you for coming out to talk.”

  “Whatever.”

  “I’m here to help you, if I can.”

  “Sure you are.” Scarlett’s eyes narrowed and her mouth twisted in a sneer. “I’ve heard that before, a few too many times. So excuse me if I don’t jump up and down with joy.”

  “Izzi,” Kim said, choosing her words carefully. “I know that something terrible happened to you, and I think I would have a hard time trusting, too, if I were in your shoes. But I really am here to try to figure out what happened to you. Anything you tell me—anything at all—might help the police punish the person who hurt you.”

  “Go to hell.”

  Kim blinked, surprised by the bitterness in Scarlett’s voice. She resisted pointing out the obvious—that no one could hurt Izzi anymore, since she was already dead—in fear of upsetting the alter further.

  “Izzi . . .”

  “Say I tell you who did it,” Scarlett continued angrily. “What’s to stop them from going after my family? Do you have any idea how much I’ve already put my parents through?”

  Comprehension dawned, along with renewed sympathy for the girl who, despite all her poor choices, had not deserved a violent death. She had loved her family, and now they were all that she had left to care about. The tense set of Scarlett’s jaw, the refusal to name names, was proof of how determined Izzi was to protect them.

  “I . . . understand your concern,” Kim tried. “I can promise you that the only people I will share our conversation with are those who can get justice for you.”

  “Like the cops?” Scarlett sneered. “Oh, because they’ve always had my back—is that it? Forget it, I’m not saying another word to you.”

  “Izzi, please—”

  “Forget about it,” Scarlett said, her expression already going slack. “Later, bitch.” Seconds later, Scarlett’s head dropped back against the couch, her eyes drifting closed.

  Disappointment weighed down Kim’s thoughts. She held little hope that further attempts would get anything more out of the Izzi alter, and she wasn’t sure she could justify putting Scarlett through further hypnosis in an effort to try. As she tried to think about how to proceed, there was a knock at her door.

  Damn. Kim willed the visitor away, but the knocking continued; if she had any hope of salvaging the session, she would need to send them away.

  “Scarlett, do you hear me? It’s time for you to come back now. Inhale again, and exhale on a count of ten,” Kim said. “I’ll be right back.”

  At her door, she squinted through the peephole and discovered that Kyle was standing outside, looking nervous.

  “Shit,” she muttered under her breath. She couldn’t allow him to see Scarlett—but taking her out of her semihypnotized state now would risk creating additional trauma.

  She’d just have to prevent him from entering. She opened the door a crack, and faked a sneeze. “Sorry,” she said. “I think I’m coming down with something.” Pretty weak, but the best thing she could come up with at the moment.

  Kyle sighed. “I probably deserve that. Please, just giv
e me five minutes. I’d like to explain. And apologize.”

  Not what she’d expected. “I’m sorry, Kyle, I just don’t think now is the time to—”

  “Oh, come on, Kim,” he said, his eyes searching hers. “I’ve been thinking. We’re both a little . . . uncompromising. It’s one of the things I love about you. But it doesn’t mean we can’t both learn to bend—without breaking what we have.”

  Kim blinked. For Kyle, that counted as downright poetic—and reminded her of what had drawn her to him in the first place. Kyle was the first man she’d been with who treated her as a professional equal, who didn’t seem intimidated by her abilities or by her outspokenness. But he had chosen the worst possible time to apologize. “I’m just confused right now,” she hedged.

  “Allow me to clarify,” Kyle murmured, and before Kim could stop him, he spun her into the apartment and up against the wall, where he proceeded to pin her with her feet an inch above the floor, his strong hands holding her hips.

  Kim pulled away, ever so gently. “I don’t want to get you sick.”

  Kyle closed the distance again. “I don’t mind.” Even closer. “I’ve banked a bunch of sick days.” Closer.

  Under any other circumstances—before recent events had cast shadows over their relationship—Kim would have been thrilled to find herself there. Even now, she felt her body responding with delighted pleasure.

  Until Scarlett coughed delicately from the couch.

  Kyle dropped her like a hot potato. “What the hell—?”

  He spun around to see Scarlett, who seemed to be fully out of her semiconscious state, sitting bolt upright and rubbing her eyes.

  “You brought her here?” Kyle demanded incredulously. “Not even a day after she was locked up in a holding cell, and with you on probation?”

  “This isn’t what you think it is,” Kim said, torn between going to Scarlett and monitoring her return to awareness, and keeping Kyle in the dark about what they’d been doing.

  “Oh come on, Kim, don’t patronize me. You’re not going to convince me you two were playing Chinese checkers.”

  “I wouldn’t even try,” Kim snapped, feeling her face heat with anger. “But you—and Dr. Graver and the cops—didn’t give me any other choice.”

  “That’s—that’s the height of arrogance,” Kyle said. “You’re doing what you always do—putting yourself above it all. Like the rules don’t apply to you. No other choice? How about, you insist on choosing your own path, every single time? Forget it—I’m not rehashing this same argument again. You can take it up with the review board instead.”

  Kim gritted her teeth. “Would you just listen to me for a minute? One of the alters, Henry—”

  Kyle shook his head in disgust. “Stop! This has nothing to do with one of Scarlett’s alters, whether it’s ‘Henry’ or ‘Bob’ or fucking ‘Sybil.’ It’s not about DID. It’s about you! It isn’t a game, Kim. You’ve got to know that the hospital has a huge interest in this case. Our exposure is potentially enormous. And don’t look at me like that. Yes, I care about our bottom line. It’s part of my job as department head. Part of how I make sure my employees continue to get paid. Part of—”

  “Stop it!” Kim yelled. “Please. I’m already on suspension. And your sanctimonious speeches are, frankly, a huge buzzkill.”

  “Oh, don’t worry,” Kyle spat back. “Consider the mood broken. My libido tends to retreat whenever I’m watching my career implode.”

  “Look,” Kim tried. “I didn’t want you to see this, obviously, because I knew you’d overreact. But I’m on performance review, and for the next two weeks what I do with my time is my business. I promised I wouldn’t treat Scarlett anymore. But Jarvis Regional doesn’t recognize hypnosis as treatment. So what I’m doing here can’t violate the hospital rules.”

  “You can’t seriously expect me to accept that bullshit excuse,” Kyle sputtered. “You know that what you’re doing is exactly the opposite of what Graver expects from an employee on probation, in danger of losing her job. You can’t possibly expect me to keep this between us.”

  “That’s exactly what I expect,” Kim said. Then she softened her tone. “At least, it’s what I hope. For Scarlett’s sake.”

  Kyle paused at the front door. He looked like he was working up the last word.

  In the end, though, he just shook his head and let himself out.

  TWENTY-THREE

  Zack was just getting back from lunch, chewing on a cinnamon-flavored toothpick from Stony’s Bar-B-Q, when Holt motioned him into his office. Too late, he spotted Kim sitting in one of Holt’s chairs.

  “Oh no,” he said, immediately backing away as Holt looked up.

  “Ms. Patterson—oh, sorry, hon, Dr. Patterson—was just telling me about her session with Henry Beaumont this morning.” Kim gave him a grateful look.

  Great, Zack thought, so now she had Holt eating out of her hand. He paused, fingers drumming against the doorframe, contemplating how best to deal with this. “You are aware, Holt, that Henry Beaumont has been missing, most likely dead, for almost two decades,” he said. “Right?”

  “I brought out his alter,” Kim said impatiently. “Don’t play dumb. I’ve been telling you all along that he’s taken up residence in Scarlett, so you know that’s what Holt meant.”

  Zack refused to look at her, focusing on Holt instead. “So what you’re really saying is that Kim came in here to tell you about her session with Scarlett,” he clarified. “A potentially dangerous and almost certainly delusional suspect in our murder investigation.”

  “Would you just shut up for five minutes and let me tell you what happened this morning?” Kim said, raising her voice. Slightly embarrassed, she added, “Please.” Zack tried not to enjoy the way her face looked when she was upset, the flush in her cheeks and the glint in her eye as she stared at him.

  “We can spare five minutes,” Holt said firmly. “Go ahead, dear.”

  “Okay, well, I was talking to Henry,” Kim said, speaking quickly, as if trying to make the most of the time Holt had given her. “It wasn’t the first time his alter made an appearance.”

  “You mean, through Scarlett,” Holt clarified. “When you hypnotized her.”

  “Well . . . yes.” Kim avoided looking at Zack, perhaps annoyed at his incredulous scowl. He tried to rein it in, if only for Holt’s sake. “In the past, Henry told me he was in a spaceship, has been insisting on it, actually. I asked him all kinds of questions to see if I could get him to clarify, but he just said that it was dark and there wasn’t much room to move around. It was cold. I was thinking maybe he was in a closet, or even something like a freezer, but we weren’t getting any further, so I asked him to draw a picture.” She reached into her handbag and brought out a folded sheet, smoothing it flat on the chief’s desk. “Look, you can see that he’s got the nose cone, I suppose you’d call it, and the cockpit here. I don’t know what these squares are, but—”

  “Nineteen ninety-eight,” Holt interrupted.

  Kim was relieved that Holt’s voice sounded surprised, not derisive. And that surprise turned to recollection.

  “I think I know what that is,” Holt continued, sounding astonished. “I mean, I know he’s only five—but damn, that’s a pretty faithful rendition. That’s the time capsule we buried in front of City Hall to celebrate Jarvis’s centennial.”

  “When was that?” Kim asked.

  “Just three months into the year . . . 1998. Right there.” He tapped the scribbled 1998 on the drawing.

  “Nineteen years ago,” Kim exclaimed. “Exactly when Henry went missing.”

  “So the timing works,” Holt said thoughtfully.

  “That picture could be anything,” Zack argued, taking it off the desk. It was just a stick figure, really, jammed into a rectangle with a triangle at one end. Any kindergartner could have drawn the same, asked to illustrate an astronaut blasting off to the moon. Was Holt really buying this?

  “Still, it wouldn’t hurt to
follow up,” Holt said.

  “Follow up how? The only way to know if there’s anything to this theory would be to dig the damn thing up.” Surely Holt wouldn’t take things that far, Zack reasoned.

  “Yeah?” Holt said, giving him a placid grin. “Might go fetch a shovel, then.”

  “Very funny,” Zack muttered. To Kim, he pointedly added, “Anything else before I walk you out?”

  Kim held his gaze. “I get a police escort to the front door?”

  He smiled, but he didn’t mean it.

  Zack only walked her as far as the reception desk. “Make sure she doesn’t come back in,” he told the receptionist. “No more hall passes for the good doctor today.”

  After he was sure Kim had left, he went back to Holt’s office. “You can’t be serious about digging that thing up,” he said.

  Holt pretended to look around in consternation. “Am I still the chief around here? Or did you guys stage a coup at lunch?”

  “It just seems like a total waste of time. I mean, come on. You heard her. The doctor’s crazier than her patient.” Why was he the only one who could see that?

  “What did I always tell you the key to effective policing is, son?” Holt said patiently.

  “Keeping an open mind,” Zack answered robotically, and sighed. “Speaking of which, there’s an angle I want to run by you. For the sake of argument, could you just for one minute assume Scarlett had something to do with Izzi’s death, instead of pretending she’s some kind of shaman or witch doctor, speaking for lost souls? Let’s say, for the sake of argument, that she’s the killer . . . and let’s add the argument that someone helped her. Who else, besides Brad Chaplin, could that be? Who in her life is strong enough to help her hide the body—and is devoted enough to her to cover it up?”

  Holt leaned back in his chair with his hands behind his head. “You want me to say Pete? Peter Hascall?”

  “I know he’s your friend. But he’s got a boat. Isabel’s body was found in the bay. Might have helped Scarlett hide the body to protect his daughter. It explains why he’s been so volatile lately—I mean, beyond the fact that his daughter’s been in all sorts of trouble.”