She lifted her chin in defiance. Now that concealing her true nature offered nothing to be gained—she was sentenced to ninety-nine years behind bars, which meant she’d never be getting out—she was more belligerent than Evelyn had heard of her behaving in the past. “You know what I’ve been convicted of, so it was a stupid question.”
“I’m trying to open a dialogue with you. I figured the beginning would be the best place to start.”
“A ‘dialogue.’”
“A conversation, yes.”
She narrowed her eyes. “And you hope to establish … what?”
Evelyn folded her hands in front of her. She didn’t admire any of her subjects. Almost all of them had committed heinous crimes. But she felt the most contempt for those who harmed children. “First and foremost, I’d like to determine if you’ve assumed personal responsibility for your crimes, and I want to do that because it’ll tell me a great deal about you as an individual.”
Mary obviously sensed a trap but seemed unsure how to avoid it. “I pleaded not guilty.”
“Is that the stance you’re taking today? Are you telling me you’re innocent?”
She thought for a second, smiled faintly and nodded. “Yes.”
“Despite all the evidence to the contrary.”
“I don’t care about the evidence.”
“You can’t just wipe it away. The number of babies who fell ill at the hospital in Milwaukee during the night shift when you were working is a staggering five hundred percent greater than at any other time.” Evelyn pulled out the chart displaying this information and turned it so that Mary could see it, too. They weren’t sure exactly how she was making the babies sick, but once she was caught and they looked back they found some astonishing statistics. “The spike in respiratory failure cases in the neonatal ward correlates exactly with when you started at the hospital and ends when you left.” Evelyn pointed at the spot where the graph evened out. “This part here shows where the emergencies go down to a normal level. That’s when you were fired.”
Mary Harpe shrugged, seemingly unconcerned with the lives she’d taken and the heartbreak she’d caused. “I worked at a hospital. Emergencies happen.”
“Then maybe we should talk about what went on after you moved to Richmond, Utah, and started working in Dr. Ivy Maxwell’s pediatric practice.”
“The hospital gave me a good recommendation!”
Or she wouldn’t have been able to get on with Dr. Maxwell. But those at the hospital hadn’t truly believed she was a good nurse; they’d simply been eager to get rid of her. That was probably one of the saddest aspects to this case. “I feel like whoever gave you that recommendation should be sitting in here beside you, facing several years in prison himself or herself. Because, according to what I’ve read, the ambulance was called to Dr. Maxwell’s practice seven times in the first month.”
Mary studied her nails. “Is there a point to all this? Because we’re wasting time.”
“You don’t want to talk about it.”
“No.”
“Do you feel any remorse at all? Two of the babies to whom you administered the succinylcholine couldn’t be resuscitated. They’re dead, their families devastated.”
Nothing. It was like staring at a blank slate.
“It says here that your own daughter, who’s eighteen now, was admitted for respiratory failure on three different occasions when she was an infant.” Evelyn held up the file. “And mysteriously—or not so mysteriously now, I guess—her respiratory problems disappeared the minute she went to live with her father.”
“I wasn’t convicted of that,” Mary said with a glower. “I wasn’t even charged.”
“But how do you explain what happened?”
Another shrug. “The air’s better in Arizona.”
Despite all the psychopaths she’d met with, who’d made similar jokes, Evelyn had to marvel at Mary’s callous disregard for those she’d harmed. “Do you ever think about why you did what you did? Do you ever consider what drove you to harm those innocent babies?”
Again, no response.
“Did Dr. Maxwell mistreat you? Did you dislike her?”
“She thought she knew everything,” she grumbled.
Evelyn slid her chair forward. “So you did dislike her.”
“Not really.”
“And yet you destroyed her practice and caused the community where she’d just opened it to revile and distrust her, all of which put such a strain on her marriage that she’s now going through a divorce.”
“You’re worried about her? At least she’s out there, living her life.” She gestured to indicate beyond the walls of the prison. “She can start over, find a new man. Why don’t we talk about what happened to me?”
Evelyn nearly laughed. This kind of extreme narcissism, paired with a lack of remorse, was so common among psychopaths. She’d never forget reading a statement from Diane Downs, a woman who shot her own children because she believed the married man she was having an affair with didn’t want the encumbrance. Instead of feeling any empathy for them, any remorse for what she’d done to them, she complained about the pain she’d endured because of her own gunshot wound, which she’d inflicted to make the whole thing look as though there’d been an attack.
“Yes, why don’t we talk about what’s really important,” Evelyn said, but she had difficulty listening after that. Brianne’s statement in the car yesterday kept echoing over and over in her mind. Whatever you’re doing doesn’t seem to be working.
Was she wasting her time here? Letting her family down by stubbornly resisting their entreaties to come home? Putting the people in this small, simple town at risk because of her determination to understand the kind of person who’d victimized her in the past?
Was she really doing good—or was she being selfish?
Somehow, Evelyn managed to finish that interview and get through the rest of the day, but it wasn’t easy. For every two steps forward, she seemed to take as many back. And that had never been more apparent than when she caught a ride home with a colleague and found another typed note on the windshield of her car, which was parked in the drive.
Can’t you see what you’re doing? You don’t belong in Alaska. Go back to Boston. No one wants you here.
She couldn’t help wincing. She’d become friends with so many of the locals, had begun to feel at home here with Amarok.…
She glanced around, wondering who might’ve left it.
She saw nothing. Nobody. Shoving it in her purse, she made her way up the walk. She didn’t want Brianne to know about it, didn’t want to add any more fuel to her argument that she should return to Boston. But once they started to talk, she realized Brianne didn’t need additional fuel for that argument.
She had plenty.
*
Jasper couldn’t believe it. Just when he’d thought everything was ruined, that he’d never get to use the “playground” he’d put in his basement, he’d had the good fortune of stumbling across Evelyn’s little sister. And she hadn’t recognized him! He hadn’t expected her to, of course. Not only did he look entirely different than he had more than two decades ago, he also hadn’t spent a lot of time with her back then.
Still, he always experienced a certain amount of anxiety when he came into contact with someone he knew from before. Had he approached Evelyn as anything other than a prison guard at her own facility, she might’ve taken a closer look at him or felt a vague sense of recognition. Maybe she would have, anyway, except he’d “saved her life.” Until that moment, he’d been just another CO. Getting hired at the prison was such a bold move no one would’ve expected it, including the great psychiatrist herself. And that put her at a real disadvantage. Even if there were odd moments when she thought she recognized him from somewhere, she’d never suspect he was Jasper, never realize how dangerous he was. He’d proven that.