The Final Deception Read online

  “Sure, introduce us,” Craig said. “We’ll have to say who we are anyway.”

  Annie rose and walked over to the counter, approaching Candy Dryer first. The woman stiffened, frowning for a moment as she looked over at the booth where Craig and Mike were sitting. Then she rose and picked up her mug of coffee, bringing it with her as she approached the table.

  She was a no-nonsense woman, probably extremely beautiful when she’d been young, and still attractive, her wrinkles just seeming to add something that was dignified and serene to her look. “I hear you want to chat, that you’re FBI.”

  Craig and Mike both stood politely as she joined them, introducing themselves.

  She slid into the booth. “I wish I could help. Raoul was...polite, courteous, and dedicated. I just had no idea of just how dedicated,” she said.

  Mike glanced at Craig. He doubted they had found the person who had aided Raoul Nicholson in his escape.

  “I was a member once.”

  Mike had been taking a sip of his coffee. He choked, coughed, sputtered, and caught up a napkin just in time to cover his mouth.

  Candy Dryer smiled at that. “True Life. I thought it was what I needed. I’m a nurse in a ward where most of my patients are terminal, dying of lung disease, kidney disease, liver failure...dying. I’m good with people, taking blood, you name it. And I always managed well. Then my husband—who was a nonsmoker, nondrinker, jogger—dropped dead of a heart attack. We never had children. Suffice it to say we couldn’t, and while we talked about adopting, our jobs took over. We were incredibly happy.” She smiled, perhaps trying a little joke. “Maybe we were so happy because we didn’t have children. I do have friends who lose their minds over theirs. Anyway, what I’m getting to is that without Mel, I was lost. Completely lost. I picked up cigarettes—dropped them quickly. I guess we’re meant to be smokers or not. I’d tried drinking at night, and it just depressed me worse. Raoul told me about True Life. I was ready to try anything to get over the pain.”

  “So...?” Craig asked.

  “Well, they are a bit archaic. I guess it was okay for me to be a nurse, and I think if I’d been a teacher that would have been okay. Pink collar jobs, you know? But I found out that me joining the church meant I didn’t really go to any services. I prayed with Amy and a few other women, meeting at their apartment a few times a week. And while we were there, we knit or we sewed, always something constructive. I guess that part wasn’t so bad. Raoul saw to it we sent our work to areas that needed help, you know. We gave to cities when hurricanes hit, when fires destroyed a place.”

  “Are you still a member of the church, or how long did you stay?” Mike asked.

  Candy smiled sadly at them. “I guess I’m one of those people who is just more traditional. I certainly didn’t mind knitting sweaters for those in disaster zones, but... I wasn’t feeling any closer to God by listening to Amy Nicholson talk about a ‘woman’s place’ in the world.” She made a little face. “I’m one good nurse, have a half dozen degrees, and feel very much that my place in the world is—for so many hours per week, at the least—helping those in the hospital.”

  “How did Raoul behave when you quit?” Craig asked.

  “Well, I never told him that I quit, per se. I didn’t want to lie, so I changed my hours at the hospital so I was working nights. That was just a few months back. Raoul never challenged me, and I still asked him about his family and the other women when he came in and hoped that all was going well. He’d smile and tell me yes. I guess at that time his murders were progressing well,” she said, irony in her voice.

  “What about the other members of the church?” Mike asked.

  She shook her head. “Men and women didn’t mingle. Supposedly, there were certain occasions when they did, but I wasn’t around for any of them. But...well, the good things the man did were for real. I went to the post office often enough, sending off care packages.”

  “Do you know any of the other women through any other ways? Did anyone work at your hospital? Were there any other nurses or women you saw here?” Mike asked her.

  She shook her head. “At most there were ten of us. I can give you first names, but...not sure how that would help. I can describe them, but I think they were mostly moms, and their husbands were the breadwinners. One, Millie, worked at a day care center. I never saw any of the men—other than Raoul himself. I knew he had sons, but he said they were at the age when they found themselves, and learned the church gave them what they really needed.” She glanced at her watch. “My shift starts soon. I have to go.”

  “If you can think of anything else—” Mike began.

  “Oh, I’ve been thinking. And thinking and thinking!” Candy said. “I’ve thought of little else, especially since he escaped. But yeah, I’ll get in touch with you. And if you think there’s anything else I might answer, well, I am here every morning, or you can find me at the hospital.”

  “Just one more thing. Annie told us he often talked to Bethany Sears, the young woman at the counter now. Was she a member as well?”

  “No, but I think Raoul suggested to her she should be. Her parents died about a year ago, and she got mixed up with the wrong crowd. She was seeing a man who was bad news—a dealer. She almost went down with him, but...she would have joined, I think. Raoul made her feel better. But that’s all I know.”

  They both stood as she left. When she was gone, Craig saw that the man, Xavier Green, was standing just behind Bethany Sears. He nodded to them, and both rose to come join him and Mike. Introductions went around, and the two of them slid into the booth, taking seats.

  Xavier Green cleared his throat. “I knew Raoul because I liked to play devil’s advocate with him.”

  “How so?” Craig asked.

  “I’d challenge his beliefs, and he’d put me down every time. Nicholson believed this life was meant for us all to be in service. The body was like a suit we wore whether we liked the design or not. I talked to him about simple morality, about being the best human beings we could be. I loved to argue there were wonderful things to be found in traditional religions, like the Ten Commandments, loving thy brother as thyself, the peace tenet of the Buddhists. And I liked to argue I knew a bunch of atheists who were good people, too—who happened to live well in their earthly suits, and simply because it was the right thing to do, they were good to others. He never minded debating with me, but he was absolutely convinced some people weren’t people at all, they were demons in human suits and there was no saving them. There was only stopping them.”

  “Raoul was good in an argument,” Bethany said. She was in her midtwenties, Craig thought, with a freckled nose, a slim face, and amber eyes. She was plain in her manner and dress, and spoke quietly, without the electric enthusiasm that made Annie such an appealing person. “I would listen when he would argue with Xavier, and I loved the sound of his voice. He was hypnotic, and he was so kind to me. He knew I almost went to jail, big-time. But I was innocent of everything except for hanging on to the wrong guy because he actually paid attention to me. I—I don’t really date. I’m horribly awkward, and...well, I was going to join his church. I needed...”

  “Friends, but real friends,” Xavier said. He was closer to forty, his denim shirt and jeans suggesting he worked in one of the construction trades. He seemed protective of Bethany.

  She probably had no idea he really liked her, Craig thought. Maybe, because she’d had that bad relationship and in her mind only a drug dealer could love her, she didn’t realize someone else might care about her, too. “You never joined the church, though?” Craig asked.

  “No, but I thanked him often. I thanked him for talking to me, and I told him I was thinking about it, seriously. The only thing was...”

  “Was?”

  “I’m in banking—trust—and I just became an associate. That’s really not an acceptable job, not for a woman in True Life. Though
I bet with him out of the picture, there won’t be a True Life anymore. He was the power of speech and belief behind it all. I guess he believed in it all too much.”

  “There could still be a church,” Xavier said. “When he talked, he talked of his lieutenant, or his ‘right-hand man.’ Maybe he’s taking over. I’m thinking Nicholson’s wife, Amy, might know about that.”

  “She just might,” Craig said.

  “I have to get to work,” Bethany said.

  “Yeah, me, too,” Xavier told them.

  Craig and Mike stood so the two could leave, thanking them, and handing out contact cards. When they were gone, Mike sank back into the booth, looking at Craig.

  “Still no idea of where the man could be now,” he grumbled.

  “No, but we’ll have a nice talk with Amy now, and...” His phone dinged with an incoming message. He paused, checking to see what he’d received. It was an email from the prosecutor on the Nicholson case. “We just got our search warrant.”

  Mike nodded. “Great.” He lifted his hand, smiling over at their server. He motioned the drawing up of a check.

  “Interesting that Nicholson liked Kieran so much,” Mike said, standing to take the check as it arrived.

  “How’s that?” Craig asked, as they headed to the cash register to pay.

  “She’s hardly Miss Domestic. I don’t mean she’s a mess, or anything, but I don’t see her in any little basic ladies’ group, chatting away meekly while doing her obligatory knitting. I mean, knitting is great. I know a ton of professional women who knit. And a few guys. What I meant is, she’s not...”

  “Meek or mild,” Craig said. “I understand what you’re saying. And come to think of it, I never have seen her knit anything. She tends to be on the computer or have her head in a book during off-hours...or working at the pub.” He frowned and shook his head. “She definitely wouldn’t be a good candidate for Nicholson’s recruitment.”

  “So what about this lieutenant guy of his?” Mike asked.

  Craig shrugged. “There has to be a chink in all this church armor somewhere. Come on, let’s get over to Amy’s. Even if women are in the background in her world, she’d have to know more than the others. She was his wife. And if they went anywhere, on retreats, to pray... I have a feeling she knows where her husband might be, even if she doesn’t know it herself. We have to get through to her. Nicholson is out there somewhere, and we need to find him.”

  * * *

  Kieran had barely gotten into her office and logged on to her computer before the telephone rang.

  Her cell phone, not the work phone.

  When she picked up, all she heard was breathing.

  “Buddy, get a life!” she said, and hung up.

  The phone rang again. She glanced at the caller ID. The number wasn’t blocked; it was just a number she didn’t recognize.

  She answered.

  Again, the breathing.

  She was about to hang up when a man’s voice, low, husky, all but whispered, “I didn’t do it.”

  She frowned, and then bit her lip, knowing her next words were critical. “Raoul? I know you didn’t kill Olav Blom and Charles Mayhew. You’re not...you’re not really a killer. It would be against...against what you believe.”

  “Oh, thank you,” he said. “I’m... I was never afraid of meeting man’s justice, but now...”

  “Raoul, who did kill him?” she asked.

  There was silence on the other end. She heard strange scuffling noises, as if, perhaps, he had covered the phone with his hand.

  “Raoul, please...it’s important we get you get back into custody. Someone is killing people, trying to make it appear that it is you. Raoul?”

  “Kieran.” She heard his voice, and then he was gone again.

  She didn’t want to hang up; she wished she’d been at a police station or at FBI headquarters, somewhere a call could be traced.

  She knew even if the call ended, experts might get an idea of where he had called from. But by the time she could get that information, he might be long gone.

  “Raoul? Please, where are you? I want to help you.”

  “An—”

  His voice went away.

  What had he been trying to tell her?

  She thought about the man she’d seen standing on the corner watching her apartment building that morning.

  Not John Nicholson.

  Maybe, just maybe... Raoul?

  “I have to go...can you...help me. I need to...”

  He went away again. She heard a tone and glanced at the screen. The call had ended. It had been Raoul Nicholson, and he was gone.

  She stared at her phone; he’d called her. He wanted help. He wanted it proved he killed only those he saw as witches. He must feel outraged, of course. Others might not understand, but he had made himself clear enough—he killed only evil.

  And it sounded as if he was afraid.

  She hesitated just a minute, in case Raoul called back, but when the phone stayed silent she called Craig.

  “Hey, Kieran. I’m with Mike. I’m doing the driving—thank God—but you’re on speakerphone.”

  “No R-rated conversation,” she heard Mike say. “And definitely nothing rated X!”

  “You okay?” Craig asked.

  “I’m fine. I’m in my office, and Special Agent DeLuca is out in the lobby with Jake. The doctors are in, and I’m nice and safe. But Craig...Mike, I just heard from Raoul Nicholson.”

  “What?” Craig said sharply.

  She hoped he hadn’t driven off the road.

  “Nicholson—he called me. He sounds scared. He told me he didn’t do it. I mean, we’ve all thought as much. He didn’t kill Mayhew and he didn’t kill Olav Blom. I believe him, because he was ready to confess when it came to those he did kill. He doesn’t want to be blamed.”

  “Where is he?”

  “I don’t know. He started to say something, but I don’t know where he was. I don’t know if he was with someone who scared him... I just don’t know.”

  “Get your phone to the lab at headquarters. Marty Kim is a whiz with computers, phones, getting whatever data is possible. You said Milo DeLuca is with you, right?”

  “Yes. Let me just check with the doctors. I don’t think I have a session until this afternoon, but I can just give the phone to Milo and he can—”

  “No. See if you can both go. Let me know.”

  “Okay. Where are you going?”

  “Amy Nicholson’s apartment. She has to know something. I’m not hanging up now because I’d rather not answer while we’re there. Find out now and get right back to me.”

  Kieran ran out of her office, headed to see the doctors; they were together, going through court cases, new, closed, and those instances in which therapy had been court ordered.

  “I—I got a call from Raoul Nicholson. Craig wants me to get my phone down to his office where the techs can trace the area the call came from,” she said. “May I—”

  “Yes!” Fuller said.

  “By all means,” Miro told her.

  “I’ll be back before my next patient to look over her chart again before she comes in,” Kieran promised. She was counseling a woman named Jennie Peterson, who had started stripping as a way to pay for college. She hadn’t worked in the nicest place. She’d started on drugs to endure what she was doing, then she’d been booted out of school and life had gone downhill. She’d stolen from a mom-and-pop jewelry store—with cameras. Since the owners were good people, they had come to court and asked for probation, that Jennie work, do community service, and go to therapy.

  Jennie was likable, and really trying. Not just paying lip service. Kieran had also dealt with those who were only saying what they believed she wanted to hear. She wanted to see Jennie come through this with the tools to help herself. “Hey, plent
y of time to drop off that phone and have lunch out of the office,” Fuller said. “I see you with your tuna sandwiches often enough.”

  “Chicken salad,” Kieran said, grinning.

  “Pardon?” Fuller said.

  “My sandwiches. I do like tuna, but they’re usually chicken salad.”

  She left them and turned her attention to her cell, assuring Craig that she could get the phone to the FBI right away.

  Hanging up, she headed to the reception area to tell Milo they were on the road again.

  As they drove, she kept thinking about the call.

  An. What the hell had An meant? An what?

  And then, in a flash, she thought she knew.

  * * *

  “Amy, we know you love your husband. And we need your help.”

  Amy Nicholson had let Craig and Mike into her apartment with no argument at all. She had insisted on making them tea.

  Craig had insisted on helping her in the kitchen. She was, after all, the devoted wife of a convicted serial killer. He didn’t want to discover too late their tea had been drugged or poisoned. Not that he thought she shared any of her husband’s inclinations. The killing of witches or anyone else probably wouldn’t be in the category of what women were sanctioned to do in Raoul Nicholson’s heavily chauvinistic church.

  Craig had watched the Lipton’s tea bags come out of the box, and he laid out the home-baked little shortbread cookies on the tray himself, determined they’d watch her eat one before indulging themselves. Then they sat in the parlor and talked.