Jasper was just about to undo his seat belt so he could go find the bastard when he heard a familiar voice.
“Jasper Moore? Get out of the plane and put your hands up. And if you’re very lucky, I won’t shoot you.”
Amarok! Jasper’s heart leapt into his throat as he looked out the window and saw the Alaska State Trooper standing on the tarmac with a rifle aimed at him. With the lights on the building and the ones that illuminated the runway, he had no doubt Amarok could see well enough to put a bullet in his brain despite the darkness.
How did the sergeant find him?
It had to be because he’d left his laptop behind. That was a catastrophic error.
Could he get out on the other side and make a run for it? There were some trees along the runway, set off a bit. If he could reach them, he’d have cover. But the pilot held a firearm, too, and he’d gone around to block that option.
“Give me the slightest provocation,” Amarok yelled, “I’ll shoot you and consider it a public service!”
Jasper glared down at him, but he could tell by the trooper’s stance that he wasn’t bluffing.
There was nothing he could do. It was over.
For now, he told himself.
*
Amarok took Jasper to the Anchorage jail, since they were better equipped to handle an inmate like him. Everyone who had a criminal complaint against him—in Boston, in San Diego, in Arizona—would be able to prosecute eventually. Amarok wasn’t worried about that. He was just glad he’d been the one to bring him in. There was something extremely satisfying, even cathartic, about snapping on those cuffs. He’d been waiting to do that for so long.…
“This isn’t the end,” Jasper hissed, twisting around to get a final glimpse of Amarok as they booked him.
“Yeah, I think it is.” Amarok grinned at him. “Have fun making new friends.”
The baleful glare he received could’ve cut through stone, but that didn’t bother Amarok. A huge weight had been lifted off his shoulders. Now, finally, maybe Evelyn and her family could get past what Jasper had done, since he could no longer terrorize them.
Amarok had the satellite phone in his truck, but he saw no point in paying two bucks a minute if he could use the pay phone at the jail for so much less.
He put in his credit card and dialed the number for Phil’s house. Phil had gone over to Amarok’s earlier to take a video and photos before the coroner removed Samantha’s body, but Amarok still had a lot of work to do at the scene. He wanted to make sure Jasper was convicted for Sam’s murder in addition to all the others. So he’d insisted that Evelyn go home with Phil and spend the night.
The phone barely rang before Phil answered. “Did you get him?” he asked without preamble.
The exhaustion of being up all night and of having so much adrenaline pumping through him hit Amarok hard. He leaned against the wall to help him remain on his feet. “I did.”
“It’s done,” Amarok heard Phil say, and rested his head against the wall, too, as the phone was transferred to Evelyn.
“He’s in custody?” she asked.
“They’re booking him now.”
“Was he surprised to see you?”
“Absolutely. But Fitz, the pilot, played it perfectly.”
“What’d Jasper say when you appeared?”
“Not a lot. He thinks he’s going to kill me one day, of course. Swears it’s not over between us. But he’ll spend the rest of his life behind bars.”
“You did it,” she said. “Thank you, Amarok. There were times, plenty of them, when I was afraid I’d never see this day. I can’t thank you enough.”
He grinned at her words. “I know of one way.…”
She laughed softly. “You don’t have anything to worry about. I’ll have to help my family from a distance, because I could never leave a man like you.”
EPILOGUE
Six months later …
Evelyn sat behind the plexiglass and studied her newest inmate. Jasper didn’t look particularly dangerous and never really had. He looked like a rather handsome but regular guy, one who was probably even a little frightened of what lay ahead but was trying hard not to show it. Prison wasn’t an easy place, even for a serial killer. Maybe he’d experience what it felt like to be raped—or worse. After all, the other men in Hanover House were just as bad as he was, and as much as prisons tried to protect their inmates, there was no question that some of that kind of thing went on.
“Welcome to your future home, Jasper,” she said once the CO who’d dragged him to the interview left. “I hope you’ll be comfortable.”
“I suppose you think it’s funny that I’m here, under your control, some kind of poetic justice,” he said.
She tucked the strands of hair that’d fallen from her messy bun behind her ears. “I suppose I do.”
So many friends and family members had expressed shock when they’d learned that he was coming to Hanover House. They couldn’t understand why she’d petitioned to have him transferred there and expressed concern that she might not be able to tolerate the daily reminder of what he’d done to her and those she cared about. But those people didn’t understand. What Jasper had done wasn’t something she could forget, regardless of where he was. And it was his brain she most wanted to study. Who knew more about him than she did? She could examine him in a way she wouldn’t be able to examine any other psychopath—because she’d been one of his victims. He’d revealed his true nature to her, and she was one of the few to live through the experience.
Besides, there was nothing he’d hate more than having her in a position of power over him. She finally had justice, closure, all the things she’d needed so badly but had been denied for so long. Not only that, she was as safe as she could ever be. At least she could keep an eye on him herself, because it didn’t matter what prison they locked him up in; if he ever got out, he’d come after her again. So what good would it do to incarcerate him somewhere else? She’d just have to wonder, constantly, how things were going.
She made a show of straightening the papers in his file. “My, how things have changed since you were Andy Smith. I hear your trial in Boston progressed nicely.”
He said nothing, just glared at her.
“Tim was sure grateful to be set free. I know that. And, if it’s any consolation to you, we won’t be seeing much of each other this coming year. Maybe longer. You’ve got quite a bit of travel on your calendar, what with all the trials that remain.” She ticked them off on her fingers. “Let’s see … you’ve been charged with killing those five women in Peoria. That trial will be next. Then you’ll be taken to San Diego to answer for murdering your parents. And, last but not least, you’ll stand trial here, for Katherine, Sierra and that poor prostitute you murdered last. Ruth was her name, wasn’t it? The one you dumped at the shack near the Barrymore cabin for Amarok to find? Oh, and Samantha, of course. The woman you murdered in my own bed.”
This elicited a small smile.
“I doubt you’d be feeling that smug if you knew there wasn’t another person on earth I liked less. I would never have wished her dead, because I’m not like you. I don’t wish terrible things, even on my enemies. But let’s just say … I feel worse about the others.” She clasped her hands on the desk. “So … will there be any surprises? Any other charges?”
“Fuck you,” he said.
“I’m guessing yes,” she went on, ignoring his vulgar language. “Police departments wherever you’ve lived are digging through their unsolved cases, trying to determine what other missing persons or murders you might be responsible for. I predict you’ll set a murder record at Hanover House—and considering the men we have here, that’s really saying something.”
Nothing. No response.
“You know … I realize I shouldn’t, but I actually feel bad for your parents. They loved you so much. What happened? They just became too much of a liability or what?”