Inside Out (35 page)

“She’s been given a shot of Demerol for the pain. Between the medication and the blood loss, she’s not going to be up to talking for at least a few hours.”

Oates stepped in. “It’s very important.”

“I’m sure it is, Detective,” the young doctor said. “But she’s truly out. It’s going to have to wait. I’m sorry.”

Oates and Nat walked over to Jack Dwyer. Chances were Nat was not going to make it back to the center by the time the news of Suzanne’s suicide attempt spread, so she wanted Jack to be prepared. There’d been a riptide of tension among the inmates since the attack on Lynn Ingram. It was not going to get any better when they heard about Suzanne.

“Well?” Jack asked, rising from a waiting-room chair.

“We’re on standby,” Oates muttered. “At least a couple of hours.”

“And the sister?” Jack asked despairingly. “Still heard nothing on her? She’s gotta have a phone, right?”

“Hey, come on. We don’t even know if her last name
is
Varda. She could be married for all the fuck we know,” Oates said. “Or using an alias.”

And then it came to Nat: life insurance. Varda worked for the Commonwealth. As part of the package, they got life-insurance policies—and had to list beneficiaries. Odds were Varda had made his sister his beneficiary. Her name would be on the policy.

She looked over at Oates. “You going to wait here?”

He nodded, eyeing her warily. “Why? What are you going to do?”

“I have an idea. I want Leo in on it, Mitch. I want you to get him released from house arrest.”

Oates scowled.

“The Bells haven’t pressed charges,” she reminded him, although she was still worried they would. “And you don’t have to worry about him going off after anyone now that Varda’s dead. ”

Oates was frowning now. “He might go after me, and I wouldn’t blame him, when he hears how I drove Varda out that window before I got the bastard to tell us where he stashed Jakey.”

Nat put a hand on Oates’s arm. “There’s nothing to be gained from him knowing that.”

Oates made no response. Nat guessed he’d tell his partner what had happened. But he might wait for a bit.

“I’ll drive you over,” Jack offered.

“No, that’s okay.”

Her deputy didn’t hide his disappointment, but he didn’t argue.

thirty-one

Lynn is terrified to let herself love again, but she is slowly making strides in this area.

Dr. Ross Varda (therapy notes)

IT WAS SIX in the morning. Nat was back in Varda’s apartment, this time with Leo. Despite looking haggard, at least the haunted expression was gone from his face. He had a sense of purpose. There was something he could do. And at least now they knew what they were looking for: a term policy for Ross Varda issued by Federated Life Insurance Company. Leo took the bedroom. Nat tackled the living room. Given that it was a three-room apartment, the only room after these two was the kitchen, since Nat seriously doubted Varda kept important papers in the bathroom. What worried her was that he probably kept them in a safe-deposit box at a bank.

It was over an hour before she accepted that there was no insurance policy in that room. But she did find something. A small address book tucked away in a cupboard. Maybe Varda had put down his sister’s address or her phone number.

No such luck. But Nat did come upon one interesting address: that of Beth and Daniel Milburne. Of course, she realized in hindsight, Varda must have written that letter to Beth. He knew all about Bethany from his therapy sessions with Lynn. And the phone call from the girl? Nat figured it must have been Varda’s sister, disguising her voice to sound like a child’s.

Nat tucked the address book into her pocket and walked into the bedroom to check on Leo’s progress.

He was sitting on Varda’s bed, head in his hands.

Nat walked over and sat down beside him. She wanted to say something. Something to ease his pain, his panic, his despair. She wanted to say something that would ignite his sense of hope. But anything she might say would sound hollow not only to Leo’s ears but to her own.

“What if they concocted a signal between them, Natalie? What if he told his sister that if she didn’t hear from him by a certain time, she should—”

“Don’t, Leo. Don’t do this to yourself. Come on. Get up. Help me take apart the kitchen. My mother used to keep a manila envelope stuffed with receipts, insurance policies, birth certificates, in a kitchen drawer.”

Nat got up and dragged Leo to his feet. Then she literally led him by the hand into the kitchen.

Unfortunately, every drawer in the kitchen had already been taken apart, much of the contents now scattered on the green-and-white-tiled kitchen floor. Leo looked around glumly at the mess. Then he slumped into a chair at the kitchen table that was covered with a plain white vinyl tablecloth.

Nat sat down across from him, pulling her chair in closer so that she could reach over for his hand. Her knee hit something knobby. For a second or two she don’t make anything of it.

And then—

Leo looked at her like she’d gone mad as she yanked off the tablecloth.

“There’s a drawer, Leo. The table has a drawer. We didn’t realize. We didn’t see it when we were all here before.” Her heart was racing. But she tried not to get her hopes up. Maybe the drawer was empty. Maybe it was filled with utensils or junk mail.

She was afraid to open it. Afraid to come up empty-handed again.

Leo came around to her side of the table and jerked the drawer open.

Inside was only one item. A manila envelope. Just like the one Nat’s mother used to have.

Her breath held as Leo uncoiled the string closure. Nat could see the tremor in his hand. She doubted he was breathing, either.

There it was. Right under Varda’s car-insurance policy. A Federated Life Insurance Company term policy. Policy holder: Ross Radway Varda. Beneficiary: Patricia Radway.

Nat snatched a Boston-area phone book off the counter.

There was one listing for a P. Radway.

The address listed for P. Radway was 432 St. Botolph Street, Boston.

Until he’d leapt to his death in the wee hours of that morning, Ross Varda had resided at 432 St. Botolph Street.

Ross Varda’s apartment was number 3C.

Leo and Nat checked the tenants’ roster outside the building’s front door. P. Radway’s name was neatly printed: P. Radway lived in apartment 5B.

No wonder no one had seen Ross Varda disappear from the building yesterday morning or the night before. He’d never left the building. He’d set the stage for his own supposed abduction, walked out of his apartment, and merely climbed up two flights of stairs to his sister Patricia’s apartment.

Leo started up the stairs, taking them two at a time. He reached reflexively for his gun, forgetting he’d given it up after the mayhem he’d caused at the Bells’.

Nat raced up the stairs after him, grabbed hold of his arm as they hit the third-floor landing. “Leo, we can’t just burst in there. What if she’s got a gun? Don’t forget, Claire was killed with a gun. I was shot at. Varda wasn’t carrying when he showed up at the hospital. Nothing on him or on the street where he crashed. And we didn’t find the gun in his apartment.”

He pulled his arm away. “My boy’s in there, Natalie.”

“And the last thing you want is for Patricia Radway to panic, grab up her gun, and shoot Jakey in the head.” Her choice of words was purposefully brutal, in an effort to penetrate his rage and urgency. Otherwise she doubted she’d get through to him.

As it was, it didn’t seem to work. He whipped around and tore up the stairs, Nat trailing breathlessly behind.

Gasping for air, Nat cleared the fifth-floor landing and saw that Leo had come to a halt. But he looked prepared for his final charge as Nat ran up to him.

“Please, Leo,” she pleaded breathlessly. “Let me go to her door. A woman is less likely to alarm her than a man. I’ll say

I’m a new neighbor. I’ll make sure there isn’t a gun in sight. If the coast is clear, I’ll cough. And then you can—”

“And if she opens the door with a gun in her hand?”

“I’ll think of something,” she said, already heading for the door.

The instant she rang P. Radway’s doorbell, a dog started barking wildly. Nat would recognize that bark anywhere. A wave of exquisite relief washed over her.

A couple of seconds later the door flung open.

“Ross—” Patricia Radway gasped when she saw it was not her brother at the door. “Where’s Rossy? Where’s my brother? I want my brother. Oh, hush up, doggy. Rossy bought me a new dog. And I have a new best friend, only he’s fast asleep. And Rossy says I can keep them both for a long, long time.” She had to shout because the barking didn’t stop.

It’s okay, Hannah, I’ve come to get you. You and Jakey. Nothing’s going to stop me. That goes double for Leo.

Nat’s whole body was trembling as she looked at this short, overweight, disheveled woman wearing a fuzzy pink robe and a pair of bunny-rabbit slippers. She appeared to be in her late thirties, early forties, but her mental age couldn’t be more than eight years old. Possibly younger. Nat was certain she had finally come face-to-face with the “little girl” who’d drawn that vile face and made that phone call to “Bethany” Milburne.

“Do you live here all alone, Patricia?” Nat asked, looking carefully around the living room just beyond the door. Nat’s tone was artificially bright, but she was quite certain Ross’s mentally retarded sister wouldn’t detect her deception. Especially as Hannah was barking so loud that Patricia could hardly hear her.

“I have my doggy and my friend. Sometimes Rossy stays with me. Sometimes my friend Cindy visits. She’s a nurse. She wears a white uniform. She promised she’d buy me one, too, so I can be a nurse. Are you a nurse?”

“I’m a friend of. . . Rossy’s. Can I come in and visit?” Patricia pursed her lips. “Rossy says I can’t play with strangers.”

“I’m not a stranger, Patricia,” Nat said with false warmth. “In fact, I know your doggy and your best friend.”

Patricia’s mood altered in a flash. Her pupils dilated; her neck turned bright red. Nat berated herself for provoking her.

Patricia was glaring at Nat. “They’re mine. And I look after them real good. You can’t take them away. Rossy promised.” “Oh, I won’t. He told me they were yours, Patricia. I saw him just a little while ago.”

Patricia’s mouth instantly burst into a sunny smile. Nat tried to swallow back the lump of pity welling up in her throat. What would become of Patricia with her brother gone?

“Do you want me to draw you a picture? I can draw good pictures. Rossy says I draw the best pictures.”

Nat swallowed hard, remembering that horrible drawing she’d received as a warning.

“Do you know how to play checkers?” Patricia asked.

“A little. But you’ll probably beat me.”

Patricia eagerly tugged Nat into the living room and shut the door. Nat was relieved Patricia didn’t throw the lock. If there was trouble, Leo’d be able to get inside without a problem. Nat just hoped he wouldn’t jump the gun.

Seconds after Nat entered the living room, a door opened from across the way. A little boy clad in Spider-Man pajamas padded into the room, yawning and rubbing his eyes. “Hannah’s barking. She woke me.”

“Hi, Jakey,” Nat said softly, her voice flooded with relief.

Jakey’s hands dropped away from his eyes and they widened like saucers as soon as he heard Nat’s greeting. “Natalie! Natalie!” he shrieked, running to her.

Unfortunately, Jakey had to run right by Patricia. Despite her bulk, Varda’s sister moved very quickly, grabbing the boy up in her arms just as Leo came bursting into the apartment.

Hannah was now barking at a fever pitch, thrusting herself against the closed door in an effort to get to Nat.

“Daddy! Daddy!” Jakey cried.

Leo ran to him, but stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Patricia yank a gun from the pocket of her fuzzy robe.

“I can shoot,” she announced proudly. “Rossy showed me.”

Jakey began to cry uncontrollably. Nat was desperately close to tears herself. She could just imagine what Leo’s state of mind was at that point.

“Patricia, you’re making your new best friend cry.” It was hard for Nat to keep her tone sounding soft and unthreatening while at the same time having to shout to be heard over Hannah’s barks.

“She is such a naughty dog,” Patricia said.

“Daddy ... I want my daddy!” Jakey was wracked with sobs and trying, to 110 avail, to wriggle free of Patricia’s strong hold.

“He’s not your daddy,” Patricia snapped angrily. She was becoming seriously frazzled. Not a good thing. And Hannah’s frenzied barking wasn’t helping matters.

Nat took a cautious step toward the door behind which Hannah was now yelping. “I’m really good with dogs, Patricia. I bet I could get her to stop making so much noise.”

Leo’s eyes were glued to the gun. “Why don’t you put Jakey down, Patricia?”

“Why don’t you go away?”

Nat took several more steps toward the door.

“Jakey, if you stop crying I’ll let you play with Rossy’s gun,” Patricia said brightly. “But you have to stop crying.”

Nat’s chest constricted.

Leo cried out in desperation, “No. Please.”

Nat bolted for the door, threw it open. Lunging from her prison, barking frantically, Hannah bounded for her.

Startled by the dog’s arrival, Patricia let out a cry of alarm and confusion. Nat saw her start to point the gun at Hannah. Leo made a dive for Patricia’s legs. She dropped to the floor, still holding the gun, still clutching Jakey. Nat rushed over to help Leo. Hannah rushed over to protect Nat. The large dog went straight for Patricia, leaping on top of her, barking and snarling. Patricia burst into tears. Nat wrested the gun from the crying woman’s hand. Leo wrenched Jakey from her arms, clutching his son to his chest.

Patricia’s tears disappeared and she shouted angrily, “Bad doggy. Bad doggy. You are not nice. I don’t like you anymore. I don’t like any of you. I want my Rossy. I want my Rossy.”

epilogue

Being in prison has changed me. In what ways—only time will tell.