Evil at Heart Read Online Free PDF Page B

I don’t think about her all the time?” Susan said. “I see her face everywhere I go. It’s on every channel. I saw a kid downtown yesterday selling RUN, GRETCHEN T-shirts. They sell these heart-shaped digital key chains that count the days since she’s escaped. In L.A., you can get a Gretchen Lowell manicure. French pink with bloodred tips.”
               
                The nurse stared at Susan. Susan didn’t care.
               
                “If she’s back in the area,” Susan said, “the people have a right to know. You have to go public.”
               
                Henry walked through the door.
               
                “I’ll wait here,” Susan said. The door closed. Susan sank back in her chair. If Gretchen was back, she’d pick them all off one by one, just for fun.
               
                She called Derek again.
               
                He didn’t pick up.
               
                Susan dug into her purse, pulled out her car keys, and checked the digital readout on the key chain. Gretchen had been at large for seventy-six days and counting.
               
                If she made it a hundred, a bar downtown had promised to serve free Bloody Marys to the first one hundred blondes who walked through the door.
               
                If you were going to be murdered, you might as well be drunk.
               
                C H A P T E R 7
               
                The clay was the last thing on Archie’s mind, but he rolled it under his hand anyway, until it was a smooth ball. They were ten minutes into morning craft period. Archie was sitting across the table from his roommate, Frank. Craft period. Gretchen was out there somewhere killing again, but safe inside the funny farm, he was playing with clay.
               
                Archie didn’t mind the craft projects. He didn’t mind Frank’s snoring, or the group therapy sessions, or the slippers. He had come to like being told when to eat and when to sleep. The fewer responsibilities he had, the less chance there was he’d fuck them up.
               
                He was locked up. And he was free. His team, the task force he’d led for the better part of his career, was out there looking for Gretchen Lowell without him. And for the first time in forever he didn’t care. If Gretchen wanted him dead, she’d kill him. It didn’t matter where he was. They wouldn’t catch her. Not unless she wanted to be caught.
               
                Then Henry walked in. And Archie felt, despite himself, a stirring of his old obsession.
               
                Henry dragged a seat over from another table and sat down with Archie and Frank.
               
                “Goat spleen,” Henry said. “Human eyes.”
               
                Most of the other patients were outside on the caged balcony smoking, and, except for the TV blasting Animal Planet, the common room was quiet. Archie looked across the table at Frank. He was concentrating on his clay and didn’t look up.
               
                Henry leaned forward and tilted his head toward Frank. “Can I talk in front of him?” he asked.
               
                “Frank and I don’t have secrets,” Archie said. “Do we, Frank?”
               
                “Clay feels like babies,” Frank said.
               
                Henry cleared his throat. “Okay, then,” he said. He scratched his ear and looked at Archie. “The ME says we’ve got three pairs of eyes.”
               
                “Pairs,” Archie said.