I stared back. “It all depends. Is any of it the truth?”
He laughed, and so did Sandy. “Nah. Not a word. How could someone like me not do well in life? I have money, and now I have fame. Even Kyle Craig is a fan, and we’re fans of Kyle’s. Talk about a small world.
“Kyle Craig is a hero of ours, just like Bundy and Gacy. And Gary Soneji. When Kyle got slammed into ADX Florence, we figured out how to make contact. He wanted to hear all about what we were up to; we felt the same way about him. There are a lot of us out there, Doctor. The ones who
kill, and the ones who only wish they could. Kyle’s lawyer was a fan too. A devoted fan, you’d have to say. And now Kyle Craig is following our story the way we used to follow his. He’s right here in Washington. That’s exciting, don’t you think?”
Chapter 119
I WATCHED DCAK’S LIVE PERFORMANCE, because that’s what it was—a calculated act—but something else was happening here, something much more interesting to me right now. It all went back to that camping trip at Catoctin Mountain Park.
Bree’s hands worked steadily behind her back, mostly indiscernibly, from what I could tell. She was trying to undo the ropes around her wrists—my view of the laptop let me know that much. It also told me I needed to keep Anthony and Sandy face-to-face—focused on me, not on what Bree was trying to do.
“But Tyler Bell gets the credit for all this? Not the two of you? Especially not Sandy?” I asked, as if I cared.
“You’re not paying attention. All this”—he swept his arm around the room—“is just today’s mindfuck. Once we’re gone, once everyone sees the story, then it happens all over again. Maybe with a new cop stooge. Or maybe a news reporter. A news anchor? A big shot at the Washington Post or USA Today.”
“You know you’re not the first to run something like this, right? Colin Johns? Miami, 1995?”
And here, Anthony’s veneer cracked just a little bit. “Never heard of him.”
“That’s my point exactly. Colin Johns was famous for about, oh, five minutes. And he was a lot better at this than you are—either of you.”
Anthony stood there with his arms folded, shaking his head back and forth. I could tell he was angry at me now. “You’re really pretty bad as a shrink, you know that? This is supposed to—what? Make me not kill you?”
“No, but it might take some of the enjoyment out of it.” Confidence was the game here, not facts, not the techniques of therapy. I was making it up as fast as I could.
I asked, “How about Ronny Jessup? Three homicides, all of them on live TV. He even used his real name. You ever hear of Ronny Jessup? You, Sandy?”
“No, but a dirty little birdie told me that you’re about to die,” she said, and grinned. “I can’t wait.”
In two strides, Anthony crossed the floor and smashed me in the face with the butt of his gun. “Keep it up, Dr. Cross!” He loomed there, ready to swing again, but I figured he wouldn’t want me unconscious now.
I was here to watch!
I spit a mouthful of blood on the floor. “Madeline Purvis. Boston, 1958.” I threw out another psychopathic killer’s name for him.
“All right, that’s it. I’m invoking the gag rule.” He stormed over to the “props” table, tucked the gun in his waistband again, and picked up a roll of duct tape. It crackled loudly as he tore off a length, then started back to me.
I turned my head away, not to stop him but to get him into a better position. One way or the other, this was it. Either Bree was ready or she wasn’t.
As Anthony stepped in close with the strip of tape, Bree’s hands flew up from behind her back.
Sandy saw it too. “Bro, look out!”
Bro? The two of them were brother and sister? That was a twist that I hadn’t seen coming. Maybe because of the sex scene on the couch in my office. But possibly they were lovers too?
Chapter 120
WHOEVER ANTHONY WAS, he wheeled on Bree as she managed to pull away his gun. He caught her face with a fast, hard backhand. The Glock fired—missed Anthony—but Bree went spinning to one side. She hit the wall behind her overturned chair.
Suddenly Sandy had a gun in her hand, and it was aimed at me.
Bree managed to level the Glock at her and fire. Twice! She wasn’t fooling around. Both shots struck Sandy Quinlan in the chest. Her mouth opened wide in shock, and I think she was dead as she stood there with the gun in her hand. Then Sandy crumpled like a marionette, and that didn’t make me feel very good. I’d spent too much time with Sandy; I thought I knew her, even if I hadn’t. She’d been a patient.
I was struggling to my feet now, pulling with all my might on the spike in the floor, which started to give. It had to give.
Bree fired again!