Page 29

Stella wished Journey Russo was with them as they parked outside Dr. Bill Silow’s house late that afternoon. And Lucas Sullivan. Not just because she missed working with her new professional friends, but because she wanted a third opinion. And a fourth, if possible.

She stepped out of the SUV and tightened her coat. “I hope it’s not him. I really hope not. He’s too nice to be the guy we’re looking for.”

Hagen gave her a short nod as he locked the door. The shallowness of his movement suggested acknowledgment rather than agreement.

“Yeah, Bill’s a nice guy. But that doesn’t mean he can’t also be nasty. You and I have met enough killers to know looks and behavior mean very little. Not every murderer broadcasts his intentions with blood-curdling threats and sinister stares. Remember Rhodell? He was nice too.”

Darwin Rhodell had been an artist, all sweetness and charm, until he’d tried to make art out of the body parts of his murdered victims. Stella and Hagen had caught him in the end, but only after he’d almost killed her. Some murderous psychopaths really were hard to spot.

Stella followed Hagen to the path that ran up to the house. Dr. Silow had cleared away the snow, leaving a route to his door as straight and dark as a surgeon’s cut. She stood there for a moment and shuddered.

Dr. Silow was friendly, kind, and charming.

But the Administrator in the Dispatch group had to be all those things, too—enough to inspire people to murder their friends and loved ones. And more than anything, Stella wanted to catch the killer tonight, even if it meant cuffing the kind doctor and reading him his Miranda rights.

There was no more time to waste.

The door swung open. A breath of warm air drifted over the welcome mat, inviting them inside.

Dr. Silow stood in the entrance, a broad smile on his face.

He’d changed out of the dark suit he usually wore at the hospital into a thick Aran turtleneck that his potbelly only slightly stretched out of shape.

Though Dr. Silow’s house was always a little too dark for Stella’s taste, the Christmas decorations brightened it up and made his eyes twinkle.

“There you are! How wonderful to see you both again. Come in, come in. Out of the cold. That’s it.”

He took their coats and hung them on a stand, an old-fashioned thing with too many hooks from which far too many hats hung.

Fishing hats with lures pinned to the sides ready to tempt trout.

A baseball cap with a New York Yankees symbol embroidered on the front.

Even a pale-blue beanie, which Stella couldn’t imagine the man wearing.

Dr. Silow moved the cap to make way for Hagen’s coat. Hagen straightened the sleeves behind him.

“I didn’t know you were a Yankees fan, Bill.”

“Me? No, no. Never really saw the point of baseball. Picked it up in New York just now. A souvenir from the Big Apple. Come on in. You’ll take a glass of wine, of course. White or red? I have both.”

“Not for me, thanks. So what were you doing in New York?”

“Hm? Oh, the usual. Sightseeing. Visiting my daughter.”

He led them into the living room. A fire crackled in the grate next to a small worktable. An overstuffed sofa took up most of one wall, and a pile of printed pages lay on the coffee table in front of a rocking chair.

Dr. Silow lifted a bottle of red wine from the sideboard beside a two-liter bottle of Coke.

He showed the wine label to Stella. She shook her head.

He poured himself a glass. “Suit yourself, but you’re missing out.

It’s a good one. Anything else I can get you?

Coffee? Tea? Cocoa? I think I might have some schnapps somewhere. ”

Stella thought of taking the cocoa but decided she’d had enough chocolate for one day. And they were here to work, not relax. “Just a Coke. How long were you away?”

“Left on Saturday and got back around midnight last night. My daughter’s taking a sabbatical at Columbia this year, so I just went for a short visit.

Had a wonderful time. Lots of beautiful nature here in the mountains, but not very much art, unfortunately.

Unless you count the patients’ landscapes.

Which are…well, at the moment, the most I can say is they try.

I do miss museums and galleries and so on. She brought me to an opening.”

He held out the glass to Stella. The almost-black drink was made darker by the house’s low light and the mahogany frames that held more of Dr. Silow’s insects.

A blast of “Flight of the Valkyries” trumpeted through the room. On the worktable, a phone screen flashed.

“That’ll be Melanie, making sure I got home okay. Excuse me one moment.” Dr. Silow picked up the phone and took the call. “Everything’s fine, my dear. Home safe and sound.”

As he reassured his daughter, Stella took her glass and approached the table. Black pins were piled in the corner. A frame ready for hanging held a praying mantis carefully arranged on the end of a twig. A gooseneck lamp stretched over the body of a large beetle that gleamed in the light.

Insects didn’t really bother Stella. She’d never been the kind of person who’d screamed at the sight of worms at the edge of a playing field or panicked at the appearance of a wasp at a picnic or a spider in the corner of her bedroom.

But there was still something strange about the idea of handling and displaying dead creatures.

As Dr. Silow slipped his phone into his pocket, Hagen joined Stella. He lifted the frame. “I see you’ve been busy.”

“That thing?” Dr. Silow squinted from the other side of the room.

“Beautiful, isn’t it? Ordered it online.

You can find anything online these days, and I’ve always wanted a praying mantis.

I know people tend to compare them to priests making their prayers, the way they hold their little hands together.

But I’ve always seen them as more like royal advisors rubbing their palms as they plot their power grabs.

I suppose that says something about me, doesn’t it? ” He laughed.

Stella sipped her Coke. She pointed at the beetle, which seemed huge—almost two inches long, reddish-brown, with a pair of sharp pincers. “And this?”

“Oh, that I picked up in the woods here. Pretty little fellow, isn’t he?”

Hagen wheeled away. To him, the desk must’ve looked dirty, filled with dead bugs that needed to be swept into the garbage. “Where did this interest come from?”

Dr. Silow made his way around the rocking chair to stand directly behind Stella. He wasn’t a tall man, but his shadow fell over the table, dropping the dead beetle into darkness.

“Actually, my interest in entomology predates my interest in psychiatry. I was always fascinated by the idea that cockroaches could survive a nuclear holocaust.” He chuckled.

“I don’t know whether they really could.

It’s probably an old wives’ tale. But I spend all day helping the most fragile members of our society.

These things…” He pointed at a hissing cockroach in a frame above the desk.

“They’re the most resilient creatures on earth.

The world could end, and they’d still be crawling along. ”

The hairs on the back of Stella’s neck rose. Once again, here was someone mentioning the end of the world.

She returned to the sofa and placed her drink on the coffee table.

The coaster was decorated with a print of a long-legged spider.

The creature looked squashed under her glass, its legs stretching toward the pages printed from an online psychology journal.

“So how has the town reacted to the events of the last few weeks? It must’ve been quite a shock. ”

Dr. Silow eased himself into the rocking chair.

He rocked gently in the seat, his hands folded in his lap.

“Oh, yes. Those awful murders. First, there were the ones you two solved here in town. And just as we’re starting to recover, another member of our community commits more murders in Nashville. Terrible.”

The chair’s runners squeaked softly, rhythmic.

He was silent for a moment before continuing. “A thing like that can shake a community’s sense of self. What sort of town produces so much destruction? How did it find root here? When? And why here?”

Hagen was studying a large butterfly pinned above the fireplace. “You got any answers?”

Dr. Silow shook his head. “Some questions have no answers, Hagen. You’ve probably found the same thing in your line of work.

But just asking can help. I’ve been trying to encourage people to do that.

We started a series of discussions in the library just after you left.

I try to explain the effects of grief and shock, to rebuild people’s sense of security, their sense of who they are.

It’s not easy to trust after an event like this. Not easy at all.”

Frustration built in Stella’s gut. Dr. Silow’s job was to treat dangerous people. Even if he wasn’t the Administrator, she’d hoped for a bit more insight. “You treated Maureen before she killed Laurence Gill. And Mark Tully. And her husband. And you have no theories about why she did it?”

“Well, we know that she’d been…radicalized, if we can use that term. By Trevor, apparently. At least, that’s what I understand from?—”

“And you treated Trevor too.”

Dr. Silow blinked. He lifted his chin and said nothing at first. He looked at Stella as though he’d found some interesting new bug.

“I did. Does that concern you, Stella?”

“It makes me wonder. You treated two of the killers. They’re both now dead. And you can’t explain what made them tick, what made them kill? What was going on inside their heads? You were supposed to be their psychiatrist .” Her fist thumped onto the arm of the sofa.

Dr. Silow’s gaze flickered toward the movement. He stopped rocking in his seat. “You’re angry.”

“Yes, I’m angry. We have a pile of corpses. We get reports of new victims almost every day. And you didn’t even tell us that you treated two of the killers. How do you explain keeping that information a secret?”

He rubbed the back of his hand. “As I said, I only treated Trevor very briefly, and he said nothing of any use. He was very resistant to treatment. ”

“And you didn’t think that information would’ve been of use to us?”

“I’m sorry, Stella. I?—”

“Bill, you’re not a fool. Don’t act like one.”

Stella stood. She paced to the door, stopped, and turned around. Dr. Silow was watching her. He sat with the chair rocked back, one hand gripping the other. He looked uncomfortable. She was getting to him, rattling him. She had to push on, see if she could shake something out of him.

“And don’t treat us like fools. We know someone is behind all these killers. Someone charming. Inspiring. Someone clever and manipulative. You don’t know who that could be, do you?”

The psychiatrist took a deep breath. He spoke quietly, softly. “Stella, do you think that person could be me? Is that why you came here today?”

“You tell us. You’re the person who’s had the most contact with these killers. Are we wrong to suspect you?”

Dr. Silow eased his chair forward. He placed his phone on the pile of printed articles and leaned forward, his hands on his knees, as he looked Stella in the eye.

“I understand you’re upset. And I understand you’re struggling with this case.

It’s very difficult, and I’m sure it must be very disturbing.

” He glanced at Hagen. “For both of you. But I can assure you, Stella, I had nothing to do with these murders. I didn’t inspire them or encourage them.

And if I’d had any reason to believe that Maureen or Trevor was a danger to themselves or to others, I would’ve informed the authorities immediately as?—”

“Would you?” Stella snapped.

“Yes, of course, just as I’m required to do.

I didn’t realize it, and I was honoring their right to privacy.

” He took a deep breath. “We all have questions, including me. You have to ask who’s responsible for these deaths.

I understand. That’s your burden. I have to ask myself how I failed to prevent them. That’s mine.”

Next to the fireplace, Hagen shifted his weight. He’d said little during the exchange, allowing her to push Dr. Silow as far as she could. But Dr. Silow had held his nerve. Either he wasn’t the Administrator or he was too clever and controlled for them. Stella still wasn’t sure which.

Hagen spoke. “You were telling us about your trip to New York.”

She looked around. “Bathroom’s just next to the stairs, right?”

Dr. Silow nodded. “The light switch is outside, in the hallway.”

“I remember.”

She left Hagen to talk to Dr. Silow about his trip to New York, to prod around his relationship with Maureen and Trevor and look for any inconsistency. Any hesitancy, anything off, Hagen would tug hard in the hope that a single loose thread could unravel everything.

That would be Hagen’s plan now.

Stella had something else in mind. Something better.