Page 50 of Closer Than You Know

“Night.”

He left. Vera closed the door and locked it. Then she dragged herself upstairs. One of these days she was going to shock the man by saying yes.

But just look how that turned out last time.

19

Friday, March 7Lincoln Medical CenterMedical Center Boulevard, Fayetteville, 6:30 a.m.

Vera parked around back of the hospital, in view of the maintenance entrance. When she spotted an opportunity, she entered with a member of the maintenance crew. She didn’t know him, but he recognized her from stories in theElk Valley Times. He thought the work she did with various police departments around the area was very cool. Sometimes the media and a reporter could be your friend—unlike the one she had come here to visit.

As she reached Nolan Baker’s room, the deputy on duty smiled. “Morning, Ms. Boyett.”

She tried her best to always be nice and friendly to the deputies. Those in uniform were an important resource. Particularly to someone who relied on assumptions as much as she did. Like the maintenance man, this deputy had seen her around the department enough to believe she was one of them. He obviously realized she was consulting on this case.

“Good morning, Deputy Houser.” She smiled brightly. “How’s our patient this morning?”

“Last time I checked, he was still sleeping like a baby.”

“Has the doctor been in yet?” Not likely, but it was the right question to ask.

“No, ma’am. A nurse checked his vitals at about five, and no one’s been in since.”

“Thanks.” Vera eased the door open and stepped into the room without hesitation—just like it was her job this morning. Deputy Houser wouldn’t think twice about it. She closed the door behind her and stood for a moment watching Nolan sleep.

Bent had warned all deputies with this particular assignment that no one outside the department—not even Nolan’s parents—was to be in the room with him alone. Whatever was done and said, Bent wanted to know it.

Vera had never appreciated the man’s prudence more. It would be just like Elizabeth Baker to try telling Nolan what to say and do going forward. The woman made helicopter mothers look like negligent free rangers.

She walked the short distance across the room, the only sound the monitors tracking Nolan’s vitals. His face was pale, his dark hair tousled. He lay on his side, probably in deference to the injuries on his back. The IV running to his left arm likely provided the fluids, antibiotics, and pain meds he needed.

No matter that Nolan could be a real shit, she felt bad for him. No one should be subjected to this sort of nightmare. But he was alive, which was far more than could be said for all but one of the Messenger’s other victims. Vera still tried on some level to rationalize the idea that this couldn’t be the serial killer’s work, but deep inside she understood that he had likely orchestrated it step by step, which ultimately made it his work and unquestionably made Nolan’s survival a near miracle. He was enough like his mother that he would probably turn the whole affair into an award-winning story.

When she drew closer to his bed, his eyes fluttered open. He visibly tensed. “Why areyouhere?”

Strike her previous assessment. He was exactly like his mother.

“You’re aware I work with the sheriff’s department and Fayetteville PD. I’m here to follow up on your interview with Sheriff Benton.”

His gaze narrowed. “I already told him everything.”

Last night Vera had spent a lot of time thinking about Nolan’s answers to Bent’s questions. He was lying. Had to be. It was the only possibility, given the events leading up to his discovery in her barn. Who else would want to leave her that particular message carved on the man’s damned back? It had to be the Messenger’s minion, and if that was so, then Nolan was not telling the whole story.

She figured she had his number.

“You think holding back is going to build the momentum for your big story.” Vera smiled. “All you’re going to do if you persist with this version of events is piss him off. He left you alive so you could tell me something.” Vera braced her forearms on the bed rail. “So do it.”

“He left you a message on my back.” Pain and fear or something on that order flashed in his eyes. He blinked it away. “I don’t know what else you’re talking about.” He closed his eyes. “Now leave me alone. I’m tired.”

“The Messenger gets off on watching his victims’ pain, so either this was not the Messenger’s commissioned work or you’re lying.” No response. “Torture is his thing. There’s no way you were unconscious all that time with him.”

Nolan said nothing. Time to stoop to his level. “Fine. I can go outside this hospital right now and tell all those reporters what I believe happened and steal your glory, or you can tell me, and I’ll keep it to myself. The choice is yours.”

His eyes opened, and his jaw clenched. He glared at her for a few seconds. “All he talked about was you.” He drew in an uneven breath. “The last few hours he said plenty. He said you took something from him, and he was going to make sure you paid for it.”

Vera’s pulse rate fired into high speed. “Did you see his face at any time?”

He squeezed his eyes shut once more. “No. He wore, like, this ...” He touched his face. “A mask. Like one of those characters in a horror movie. A hockey mask, I think.”

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