* * *
SAVICH HOUSE
GEORGETOWN
WEDNESDAY NIGHT
Ty set down her fork, sat back in her chair, and patted her stomach. “I’d drive to Maine for that lasagna, Dillon. It’s so much better than mine, I want to steal your recipe then shoot you so I’m the only one left who knows how to make it.”
Sala said, “You don’t have to worry about me shooting you, Savich. I’ll sign over my paychecks to you if you’ll cook for me.”
Savich laughed and looked at his wife, who was drumming her fingers on the table, lips seamed. He gave her a moment, knew she wouldn’t be able to help herself, and, sure enough, in the next second, out came “And what about the garlic toast? You didn’t think it was the best garlic toast you’ve ever eaten? And the Caesar salad? Wasn’t the dressing spectacular enough for you guys? Weren’t the croutons cheesy enough, crispy enough?”
Savich said, “Ty, so Sherlock’s hair doesn’t burst into flames, start with how you’d drive from Montana to eat her garlic toast and the salad. Go.”
Ty, no slouch, said, “Forget Montana. I’d sail over from Hawaii, Sherlock. I gotta say, your amazing Caesar salad left your husband’s pathetic attempt at lasagna in the dust.”
Sala said, “Your garlic bread, Sherlock, it was so good I didn’t want to eat anything else, especially Savich’s excuse for lasagna. What I said, ah, I was only being polite.”
Sherlock looked from one to the other, nodded. “Well done, both of you. Dillon, don’t you dare laugh,” and she threw one lone remaining crouton at her husband. “Yeah, yeah, you’re the king. And now I’ll have to listen to these two go nuts over your coffee.” She rose, hands on hips. “But you wait. In a little while, if I think you’re worthy, I’m going to let you try my apple pie. Picture it, hot and bubbling straight from my magic oven, topped with French vanilla ice cream.”
After the table was cleared and kitchen cleaned up, they adjourned to the living room with cups of Savich’s amazing coffee and Savich with his tea, which neither Ty nor Sala complimented since they weren’t stupid and they wanted Sherlock’s apple pie.
Sherlock said, “Let’s begin with Victor Nesser. We need some new eyes and perspectives on this problem. To catch you up, some more specifics about what happened in Winslow. Cindy Wilcox, the teenager who saved herself, said Victor was like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, one minute respectful and nice, but as soon as he stepped into her apartment, he turned into a monster, screaming at her, cursing her, intent on killing her.” She drew a deep breath. “Dillon believes he understands
what it all means and how it’s related to everything else that’s happened.”
Savich said, “Sala, remember the girl’s mad laughter you heard at Gatewood?”
“Not something I’ll easily forget.”
Savich leaned forward. “It couldn’t have been Lissy, she’s dead. I’m the one who killed her, so I didn’t understand what was going on. Dr. Hicks believes Victor was broken after Lissy died. His losing Lissy so devastated him that his mind fragmented. Now, given what happened with Cindy, I can think of only one answer. The only way Victor could deal with her loss was to integrate Lissy into himself.”
“A split personality?” Ty asked. “A Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde?”
Savich nodded. “I think the only way he could survive was to keep Lissy alive. I think Victor becomes Lissy and then himself again. That’s what Cindy told us, if you think about it. And that means they were already together in the psychiatric hospital. There’s nothing in any of the doctors’ records, which means Victor was able to hide it from them. And now, on the outside, Victor and Lissy each have his and her own scores to settle.”
Sala was shaking his head. “But the laughter, Savich, it sounded like a girl, a real girl, not a guy trying to imitate a girl.”
Savich took a sip of his Earl Grey tea. “That must mean she literally takes him over, that Victor becomes Lissy—not only her voice and the way she speaks, but also her way of looking at things, everything. I can’t explain it and neither can Dr. Hicks, but what other solution could there be?”
Ty said, “So Victor is somehow channeling Lissy Smiley? He becomes her?”
Savich said, “It’s tough to come to grips with it, but consider what happened. Victor stops for dinner at the diner in Winslow, Virginia. The pretty young waitress, Cindy, sees his big wad of hundred-dollar bills when he pays the check, and yes, obviously Victor wants her to see the money. She flirts with him, invites him back to her apartment. She wants to persuade him to take her with him and share all his money for a while.”
Sherlock picked it up. “It would have pissed off Lissy, and that’s why she appeared, tried to kill Cindy. Dillon hasn’t said it, but Lissy was a natural-born killer, a psychopath without a shred of conscience or remorse for her victims.
“Cindy described Victor’s voice becoming higher, crazy mad, out of control. She said he even looked different, his face changed, his eyes darkened. When Cindy kicked him, he screamed she’d kicked him in the staples, and he grabbed his belly and went down in pain.”
Ty’s eyebrow went up. “What staples?”
Sherlock said, “Lissy had major surgery to repair a ruptured duodenum. Her incision wasn’t healed yet when she died, and the staples were still in.”
Sala said slowly, “So Victor’s Lissy stayed frozen in time, so now when she takes over, she is exactly as she was before you shot her?”
“Evidently.”
“Now my brain is ready for a vacation. Or apple pie.” He looked hopefully at Sherlock.