Friend of the Devil

I’m here. People will come.”

“It doesn’t matter now.”

“I can understand why you did it, all those years ago. Really, I can. I was raped once, and almost killed. I hated him. I wanted to kill him. I felt such rage. I suppose I still do. We’re not that different, you and I.”

“Oh, but we are. I actually did it. I didn’t feel rage. And I didn’t feel guilt.”

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“Now I try to stop people from doing it, or bring them to justice if they do.”

“It’s not the same. Don’t you understand?”

“Why did you kill Lucy Payne? For God’s sake, she was in a wheelchair. She couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, couldn’t do anything. Why did you kill her? Wasn’t she suffering enough?”

Liz paused a moment and stared at Annie as if she were crazy. “You don’t get it, do you? It wasn’t about suffering. It was never about suffering. Certainly not about her suffering. I never cared whether she suffered or not.”

“So what was the point?”

“She could remember, couldn’t she?” Liz whispered.

“Remember?”

“Yes. That’s what they do. Surely you know that? That’s the whole point. They remember every moment, every cut, every thrust, every feeling they experienced, every ejaculation, every orgasm, every drop of blood they shed. And they relive it. Day after day after day. As long as she could remember it, she had all she wanted.” She tapped the side of her head. “Right there. How could I let her live with the memory of what she’d done? She could do it over and over again in her mind.”

“Why not just push her over the edge?”

“I wanted her to know what I was doing and why I was doing it. I talked to her the whole time, just the way Eastcote did to me, from the moment the blade touched her throat until . . . right up to the end.

If I’d pushed her, something might have gone wrong. Then I wouldn’t have been able to get down there and do what I had to. She might not even have died.”

“But what about Kevin Templeton?”

“Another mistake. Another casualty. I was trying to stop a memory from being made, and I thought he was the one. He shouldn’t have been there. How could I have known he was there to protect people? I think perhaps he’d sensed my presence there, and maybe he thought I was the killer. When he started to walk toward the girl, he was going to warn her to leave, but I thought he was going to attack her. I’m sorry. You’ve got the real killer now. He’s the same as Eastcote and Lucy Payne. Perhaps at the moment he seems contrite, remorseful, but you wait. That’s 3 7 0 P E T E R

R O B I N S O N

because he’s just been caught and he’s scared. Even worse, he’s beginning to realize that he won’t be able to do it again, to experience that bliss again. But he’ll still have his memories of that one glorious time.

He’ll be sitting there in the corner of his cell running over every detail.

Relishing the first second he touched her, the moment he entered her and she gasped with pain and fear, the moment he spilled his seed. His only regret will be that he won’t get to do it again.”

“You sound as if you know what it feels like,” said Annie.

Before Dr. Wallace could respond, footsteps sounded in the corridor, and Winsome appeared at the door with several uniformed officers behind her. Dr. Wallace lurched forward with the scalpel at her own throat. “Stop! Stop right there.”

Annie held her arm up and Winsome stopped in the doorway. “Get back!” Annie yelled. “All of you. Get back out of sight.” They disappeared, but Annie knew they weren’t far away, working out their options. She also knew there would be an armed response unit arriving soon, and if she had any hope of talking Liz into surrendering, she had to work fast. She looked at her watch. It had been half an hour since Dr. Wallace had picked up the scalpel. Annie had to try to keep her talking as long as possible.

Dr. Wallace glanced toward the door, and seeing no one there, seemed to relax a little.

“Do you see what I mean?” Annie said, trying to sound calmer than she felt. “People know I’m here. They’ve come now. They won’t just go away. Don’t make things worse. Give me the scalpel.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Dr. Wallace said. “It’s all over now, anyway.

I’ve done all I can do. God, I’m tired. Too many memories.” She was leaning back on the blood-filled gutter of the postmortem table, the half- sewn- up body behind her. Annie was about five feet away, and she calculated whether she could get over there and wrestle the scalpel out of Liz’s hand. In the end, she decided she couldn’t. The damn thing was way too sharp to risk something like that. She had seen what damage it could do.

“Look,” said Annie. “There’s still time. You can tell your story.

People will understand. I understand. I do. We can get you help.”

Liz smiled, and for a moment Annie could see the remains of what F R I E N D O F T H E D E V I L

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had probably once been a lovely young girl with a brilliant future, one who would take the world by the horns and go as far as she wanted.

Christ, she had been almost killed by a monster and had then taken her revenge, and after that she had reinvented herself as a pathologist. But she seemed weary now, and there