True Evil Read Online Free PDF Page B

isn't it?" he said slowly. "Not a federal one."
    "Yes. But when you kill someone, you also deprive him of his civil rights."
    Chris knew this was true. Several decades-old race murders in Mississippi had been dragged back into the courtroom by trying previously acquitted Ku Klux Klan killers for violating their victims' civil rights. But still…something seemed wrong about Alexandra Morse's story.
    "The first victim you told me about—if these are murder victims—was your sister, right? Doesn't that create some sort of conflict? I'm not supposed to treat family members for anything serious. Should you be investigating your own sister's death?"
    "To be perfectly frank, no. But there's no one else I trust to do it right." Agent Morse looked at her watch for the first time. "We don't have time to get deep into this, Dr. Shepard. I'll speak to you again soon, but I don't want you to deviate from your normal routine. Not in any way that your wife or anyone else would notice."
    "Who else would notice?"
    "The person planning to kill you."
    Chris went still. "Are you saying someone might be following me?"
    "Yes. You and I cannot be seen together in public."
    "Wait a minute. You can't tell me something like this and just walk out of here. Are you giving me protection? Are there going to be FBI agents covering me when I walk out?"

    "It's not like that. Nobody's trying to assassinate you with a rifle. If the past is any guide—and it almost always is, since criminals tend to stick to patterns that have been successful in the past—then your death will have to look natural. You should be careful in traffic, and you shouldn't walk or jog or bicycle anywhere that there's traffic. No one can protect you from that kind of hit. But most important is the question of food and drink. You shouldn't eat or drink at home for a while. Not even bottled water. Nothing bought or prepared by your wife."
    "You're kidding, right?"
    "I realize that might be difficult, but we'll work it out. To tell you the truth, I think we have some working room, as far as time is concerned. Your wife just consulted this lawyer, and this kind of murder takes meticulous planning."
    Chris heard a note of hysteria in his laughter. "That's a huge comfort, Agent Morse. Seriously. I feel so much better now."
    "Does your wife have plans to be out of town anytime soon?"
    He shook his head.
    "Good. That's a good sign." Morse picked up her handbag. "You'd better write me that prescription now."
    "What?"
    "The Levaquin."
    "Oh, right." He took a pad from his pocket and scribbled a prescription for a dozen antibiotic pills. "You think of everything, don't you?"
    "No one thinks of everything. And be glad for it. That's the way we catch most criminals. Stupid mistakes. Even the best of us make them."
    "You haven't given me a card or anything," Chris said. "No references I can check. All you did was show me an ID that I wouldn't know was fake or not. I want a phone number. Something."
    Agent Morse shook her head. "You can't call anyone at the Bureau, Doctor. You can't do anything that could possibly tip off your killer. Your phones may be tapped, and that includes your cell phone. That's the easiest one to monitor."
    Chris stared at her for a long time. He wanted to ask about the scars. "You said everybody makes mistakes, Agent Morse. What's the worst you ever made?"
    The woman's hand rose slowly to her right cheek, as though of its own volition. "I didn't look before I leaped," she said softly. "And somebody died because of it."
    "I'm sorry. Who was it?"
    She hitched her handbag over her shoulder. "Not your problem, Doctor. But you do have a problem. I'm sorry to be the one to turn your life upside down. I really am. But if I hadn't, you might have gone to sleep one night thinking you were happy and never woken up."
    Morse took the prescription from Chris's hand, then gave him her taut smile. "I'll contact you again soon. Try not to freak out. And whatever you do, don't ask your