Because I'm Watching (34 page)

Jacob said, “I'd say you'd better do an autopsy on the neighbor.”

Sheriff Kwinault nodded. “That's my opinion, too.”

“I don't understand,” Bergen said. “Do you believe Mrs. Butenschoen was killed?”

Sheriff Kwinault bent her gaze on her deputy. “When a seemingly healthy woman who spies on her neighbors dies suddenly, I'd call it suspicious.”

Bergen promptly answered, “The note on the computer said she had cancer and couldn't face the treatment.”

“I've known that woman my whole life,” Dr. Frownfelter said. “She went to church, she obeyed the rules, she made sure everyone else did, too. And one of the first rules is, ‘Thou shalt not kill.' Most especially not yourself.”

“Makes you think,” Sheriff Kwinault said to Bergen.

Bergen frowned. “Who would kill her?”

“Yes, Sheriff.” Jacob grinned in a twisted way. “Who's your suspect? Me or Maddie?”

Sheriff Kwinault opened her mouth, shut it, and shook her head.

Jacob said, “You don't really think it's me or you wouldn't have told me.”

Sheriff Kwinault met his gaze straight on. “It's not that I don't think you're dangerous. I think you're probably the most dangerous creature on this block. I know PTSD can exhibit as violence. But you're so locked in the horror of the past, you can barely function.”

He was functioning now. His brain was working again. She merely hadn't realized it.

She continued, “I simply can't see you sneaking around. Maybe you've got me fooled, but if you ask me, you're not underhanded, not a guy who plots and schemes.” She finished and leaned back.

“You mean you don't think I'd murder a dog and a nosy neighbor.”

“That's right.”

“
There's
a compliment.”

Sheriff Kwinault smiled. “I'm keeping an open mind. Could be you or Maddie or both of you. Could be Dayton Floren. He has motive, he's all lawyered up, and he's over there peering out the window. Could be someone else entirely, although I don't know why.”

“Could be coincidence,” Bergen said.

“Could be,” Kateri acknowledged. “Which brings me to my current question. Do you believe Mad Maddie Hewitson poisoned that dog?”

Jacob and the two other men turned to look at Maddie weeping quietly in the back of the patrol car.

“No!” Kateri's voice lashed at them. “Don't look at her. Look at me. Tell me whether you think she poisoned that dog.”

Jacob would never forget the smell of that coffee, the bitter poison that permeated each drop. “Yes. She did it.”

“You seem very sure, Mr. Denisov. Are you telling me what you know with your mind?”

“Yes.”

“What does your gut say?”

He knew what she meant. Facts change. Truth is eternal. And a mind only interested in facts made a poor judge of character.

“Mind and gut,” Dr. Frownfelter said, “Madeline Hewitson is innocent.”

Jacob wanted to object, to point out that Dr. Frownfelter was a basically decent guy who believed in the goodness of humanity. Usually Jacob blamed that on innocence. But in Dr. Frownfelter's case, that wasn't possible. Physicians saw the worst of people. They saw the suffering caused by those people. If Dr. Frownfelter believed the best of everyone, that was his choice. Jacob simply didn't know how valid that made his opinion.

But Kateri nodded and pointed at Deputy Bergen. “What do you think? Guilty or innocent?”

“Guilty as all heck.” Bergen looked disgusted with the whole interrogation. “After seeing poor old Mrs. Nyback crying over that stupid little dog, how can you even ask?”

“That doesn't mean Madeline Hewitson did it,” Dr. Frownfelter said.

“Who else could?” Bergen replied.

Jacob contemplated Maddie's house. He didn't mean to say it. It sounded too stupid. But the words popped out of his mouth. “She's being gaslighted.”

 

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

“Gaslighted? Like in the old movie?” Dr. Frownfelter rumpled his hair again. “Yes. I like that. Smart deduction. In the circumstances, it makes sense.”

“What are you talking about?” Bergen shifted impatiently, straining to understand.

Sheriff Kwinault said, “
Gaslight.
It's an old movie with Ingrid Bergman and Charles Boyer. He's the husband trying to put her into a mental institution by convincing her she's crazy.”

“What?” Bergen clearly thought someone was crazy. Probably all of them.

Yet now that Sheriff Kwinault had explained, now that the words were out, Jacob felt sure he was right. “Gaslighting explains everything. The illusions, the paranoia, the moves to isolate Maddie.” He started toward the patrol car.

Sheriff Kwinault blocked his way with her walking stick. “Why do you think that? Have you seen something?”

“I've seen plenty.” Jacob gestured to his house. “Until yesterday I haven't had a front door or, for that matter, a front wall.”

Sheriff Kwinault pulled her stick back to her side. “All the incidents could also be explained by the fact Maddie's nuts.”

“If she's being gaslighted, why poison the dog treats?” Deputy Bergen sounded reasonable, a man explaining the obvious to the oblivious.

“To isolate her from the people who could be her friends, who might provide support for her.” Jacob had it figured out now.

Why poison her coffee?

Because she didn't drink coffee, but if she had a guest, she would serve it and poison them—not fatally, but enough to make them sick—contributing to her seclusion and the legend of her madness. “I have wondered if someone had the key to her house. Someone does. Someone must have. Someone has access.”

“That's stupid.” Deputy Bergen was clearly exasperated. “What reason would someone have to gaslight Madeline Hewitson?”

“The usual.” In Jacob's mind—
Kaching! Kaching!
—it was adding up. “Money.”

Bergen's exasperation grew. “How are you going to get money out of gaslighting Madeline Hewitson, the woman who depends on her brother to support her?”

Kateri viewed Jacob with an intuitive gaze. “I believe Mr. Denisov is saying there's something about Madeline Hewitson that we don't know.”

“I guess I am.” Jacob wasn't going to tell them about Maddie's writing, not until he looked up a few things, such as how well her books were doing. If a lot of money was involved, and Jacob guessed there was, then her brother was guilty of terrifying Maddie because … he wanted her to return to Denver and live close, where he could control her.

But would her brother torment her like this? Maddie thought he loved her. Was she wrong? Was Andrew driven by jealousy? Did he truly hate her so much? “Sheriff, you said you wanted me to vote with my gut. Here you go. Maddie's innocent.”

Kateri surveyed the three men. “So guilty, not guilty, not guilty.” She pointed to herself. “Not guilty.”

Bergen clearly didn't care what Dr. Frownfelter and Jacob thought. But he just as clearly thought Sheriff Kwinault needed to be brought back to reality. In the sharp tone of an annoyed father, he asked, “May I remind you of her overall history of murder and madness?”

“Nothing was ever proved,” Dr. Frownfelter said. “If she is innocent, she has been much maligned.”

“And if she's guilty, she's gotten away with murder!” Bergen waved at them all to let him finish. “That aside, let's examine her history here in Virtue Falls. Madeline Hewitson has been nothing but trouble from the moment she moved here.”

“That's not true,” Sheriff Kwinault said. “For months after she arrived, she caused no trouble and I didn't know who she was.”

Bergen put his hand on his service pistol. “You know now.”

Jacob wondered if the man knew how hostile he appeared, and he wondered, too, if this overt display of manly domination was prompted by a real belief in Maddie's guilt … or by his intent to dominate in the upcoming election.

“She's trouble. That doesn't mean she's a killer.” Kateri got to her feet. “Bergen, it's getting ugly in the street. Better get her out of here, take her to the station, book her on charges of cruelty to animals. Put her in a cell overnight and put a watch on her. If anything happens to Mad Maddie Hewitson while she's in our custody, I'll hold you personally responsible. At this point, we have to save her from the mob of angry Virtue Falls citizens and their flaming torches.”

Everyone looked toward the incensed Dogwood Blossom Historical Neighborhood residents. Word had spread about Mrs. Butenschoen and about the dog, and citizens from surrounding neighborhoods now also milled around on the street, muttering angrily.

“We also need to save her from whoever would kill a little dog in pursuit of”—Sheriff Kwinault turned to Jacob—“money? Really?”

“Money,” Jacob confirmed. To Bergen he said, “Check her for drugs.”

“We always do,” Bergen said acerbically.

“Do a thorough screening.” Jacob stood and faced the deputy. He was—had been—Bergen's equal, an officer in charge of enforcing military law, a man responsible for lives and rescue. “Look for hallucinogens. Drugs that would amplify illusions. Drugs that cause anxiety and hyperactivity.”

At once Dr. Frownfelter displayed his expertise. “Good. Yes. That makes sense. Look for Haldol. Old school, but still used. Stelazine, Thorazine, Navane. Lithium. Alone and in combination, all of these drugs, if injected into a patient without mental issues, could actually cause hallucinations, both visual and auditory.”

Bergen considered them as if he could not believe they were serious. “You can't inject someone and they not know it. She would have to inject them in herself!”

“She fights sleep. When she finally goes down, she sleeps hard. And let's face it, if I'm right, if someone has access to her, they could feed her the drug orally or inject her and then sit back and watch the fun.” Jacob surveyed the scene, and for the first time, he felt like himself again. He couldn't, he realized, stuff himself back into the black hole where he had been hiding. Life was here, demanding to be lived. Maddie was here, needing to be helped.

Who was Jacob Denisov?

All his life, he had been the man who helped people find their path.

Despite Dr. Kim's best efforts to twist and subvert him, he remained Jacob Denisov, and the bedrock of his nature remained unchanged.

“I'll post bail for her,” he said.

“Or I will,” Dr. Frownfelter agreed.

“Gentlemen, while I appreciate the sentiments, we'll need a court hearing before she's released. She's going to spend the night in jail.” Sheriff Kwinault started down the stairs toward her vehicle.

Deputy Bergen ran past her and worked his way through the crowd, speaking to each angry individual, shaking hands when he could, campaigning even now.

Jacob jumped off the porch, swerved around Sheriff Kwinault and Deputy Bergen, and got to the patrol car. With one hand on the roof, he leaned into the backseat.

Officer Knowles caught his arm. “I'm sorry, sir, I can't permit you to speak to the prisoner.”

Jacob looked at him. Just looked at him.

Knowles released him and moved out of the way.

Jacob stuck his head into the car. “Maddie, listen to me.”

Her relentless sobs tore at his heart.

“Damn.” He slid into the seat beside her. As she had once done for him, he stripped off his T-shirt and blotted her face, held it to her nose, and said, “Blow.”

She did. She turned tear-filled eyes to him. “They're going to put me in a cell like last time, like in the mental hospital, and I can't stand it. I … can't … stand it.”

“Yes, you can. You're the strongest person I know.”

“No, I'm not. I'm a coward afraid of shadows.”

“They're not shadows. They're projections—”

Beside him, Deputy Bergen said, “For Pete's sake, Mr. Denisov, you cannot do this!”

“Right.” Jacob heard the crowd's increasingly loud hostility and spoke more quickly. “Maddie, my mother always told me—when you're having a nightmare and the monster is chasing you, you have to turn and face it. That was the only way to triumph. You have a lot of monsters chasing you. Promise me you'll face them bravely.”

“I can't!”

“You will.” Gently he wiped her face one last time, climbed out of the car, nodded to Bergen, and stepped away.

Bergen shut the door on Maddie and climbed into the passenger seat.

Officer Knowles got into the driver's seat. He put the car in gear and carefully maneuvered through the people.

Maddie turned to look behind her.

Jacob stood still and waved, then gave her two thumbs up.

Did his gesture give her the encouragement she needed to survive the trial of disapproval and outrage she would face?

He could only hope.

 

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

That afternoon, for the first time since he had moved in, Jacob deliberately turned on the overhead light in his bedroom.

In here he had suffered his most terrible nightmares. Yet it didn't look like a torture chamber. It was merely small and dusty, decorated with starched, crocheted doilies created by the lady who had lived and died in this house. He fingered one. The stiff lace reminded him of his great-grandmother.

In his tiny walk-in closet, he pulled the chain that turned on that light. He looked around at the chaos of clothes and bags. He extricated his overnight case and in a return to his military training, he precisely folded and packed a change of clothes. He found his cell phone. The battery was dead; he hadn't charged it in months. So he plugged it in. Going out to the living room, he picked up the old push-button phone and put the receiver to his ear. The dial tone hummed in his ear, waiting for instruction. He pushed zero and waited.