like to see?'
How long had he been following her? And why hadn't she seen him?
Walter seemed to be waiting for her to answer.
What had the writer in the notebook said? That's what feeds him, talking. He needs to talk, needs to connect.
Hannah wanted him to leave so she could get back to the notebook and read what else this woman had written about Walter. Maybe there was something in there that could help her figure out a way to escape – and she would escape. She would find a way. Hannah Lee Givens knew she wouldn't live down here forever – and she sure as hell wasn't going to be used as a punching bag. She just needed to figure out a way to survive until she was found.
'You're still upset,' Walter said. 'I understand. I'll come back later with your dinner. Maybe we can talk then.'
He took out his wallet and waved it in front of the card reader. The lock clicked back. He didn't punch in a code. He opened the door but he didn't leave.
'I'm going to make you very happy, Hannah. I promise.'
36
Monday morning, while driving to work, Darby received a phone call from Tim Bryson. The commissioner wanted to meet at nine.
'I've also got a copy of the murder books from the Saugus cases Fletcher worked on back in the eighties,' Bryson said. 'Why don't we meet early? That way you'll have a chance to read it over.'
Darby found Bryson seated in the waiting area outside the commissioner's office. On his forehead was a gauze pad wrapped under two Band-Aids. The previous night, while searching one of Sinclair's lower levels, Bryson had whacked his head on the edge of a steel beam.
'I'm guessing six stitches,' Darby said, sitting next to him.
'Try ten. How are you feeling?'
'My back and legs are sore. I've never done so much crawling and bending in my entire life.'
Along with assistance from Danvers police, a dozen search groups, aided by Reed and his security men and architectural blueprints of the hospital floors, had examined a portion of Sinclair's lower levels all night Saturday and throughout Sunday, calling off the search at a few minutes past midnight. Absolutely nothing was found.
'I told you he was playing us,' Bryson said.
'We still haven't searched the basement fully.'
'You really believe that woman is lying somewhere inside the hospital.'
'I believe Fletcher wants us to find something.'
'I still think you're wrong.'
'If I am, I'll buy you a drink.'
'No, you'll buy me dinner.' Bryson's smile wiped away his years. He handed her a thick folder. 'Here are copies of the murder books for the two strangled women from Saugus. Go ahead and read. I'm going to get some coffee. How do you like yours?'
'Black,' Darby said, opening the cover.
On the evening of 5 June 1982, nineteen-year-old Margaret Anderson, from Peabody, was last seen leaving a friend's party. The next morning her partially nude body was discovered along the Route One highway in Saugus. Three weeks later, a twenty-year-old Revere woman named Paula Kelly left her shift at a diner. Kelly's body was found dumped on the highway less than a mile away from Anderson's, a man's leather belt, size 38, wrapped around her throat. Both women were raped, but no semen was found.
Nineteen-year-old Sam Dingle lived at home with his parents and his younger sister and worked at the Saugus mall at a music store that both women frequented regularly. The store manager said Dingle had spoken at length to both women on several occasions and had even asked Paula Kelly for her phone number.
Saugus police had recovered a partial thumbprint from the belt around Kelly's throat. The print came from Sam Dingle's right thumb.
The belt never made it to the state lab for further testing. The evidence room at the Saugus police station had lost its key piece of evidence. Sam Dingle was never arrested.
While Saugus police tried to build a case against him, searching for more evidence, Dingle, according to his sister Lorna, suffered a nervous breakdown and was admitted to the Sinclair Mental Health Facility. Six months later, Dingle was discharged. He lived at home with his parents for a week before hitchhiking out west.
Bryson came back and handed her a cup of coffee with a plastic lid. 'You're the first woman I've ever met who drinks her coffee black.'
'Why ruin a good thing?'
Bryson nodded with his chin to the murder book. 'What do you think?'
'I think I'd like to talk to Sam Dingle.'
'So would I,' Bryson said. 'We're looking for him. His parents are dead, and his sister doesn't live in Saugus.'
'I'll call the state lab and see what they have for evidence.'
Bryson sipped his coffee. 'A call came in this morning from two girls living in Brighton,' he said. 'A college student named Hannah Givens was reported missing. Her roommates called it in. They all go to Northeastern. According to the report, Hannah Givens was supposed to come home after her Friday shift at some deli in Downtown Crossing. They called her cell and left messages. Givens hasn't come home or called.'
'Is she local?' Darby was thinking maybe the student had gone home for the weekend to visit her parents.
'Her parents live in Boise, Idaho,' Bryson said. 'I don't know all the details yet, it's just a preliminary report. Watts is on his way to Brighton to look into it. We have some other missing-person reports from the past month, but none involving female college students.'
The commissioner's secretary was a thin, neat man with long, manicured fingers and blond highlights in his gelled brown hair. 'The commissioner will see you now.'
37
Christina Chadzynski sat behind a wide mahogany desk, reading a file under the soft light of a lamp. Her office, wide and airy with windows overlooking the grey sky hanging over Boston, was decorated with nautical antiques and replicas of old wooden sailing ships.
Four chairs were set up in front of the desk. Darby took the seat next to Bryson and waited for the commissioner to finish reading his report detailing the events from Friday night until Sunday evening.
Chadzynski closed the file. 'I don't even know where to begin.' She took off her glasses and massaged the bridge of her nose. The corners of her eyes were lined with wrinkles. Even with makeup, the woman looked tired. 'Let's start with the man you met Friday night at Emma Hale's home.'
'Malcolm Fletcher,' Darby said.
'You're sure this man is Fletcher?'
'Detective Bryson showed me his picture from the FBI website. That's the man I met. Fletcher was here in eighty-two, consulting on two strangling cases for the Saugus police. We're investigating a possible connection.'
'And we still don't know what Fletcher was doing inside Emma Hale's home.'
'No. Mr Hale claims he doesn't know the man.'
Chadzynski's brown eyes were as cold and unforgiving as an X-ray. 'Are you suggesting that Jonathan has hired the services of a known felon?'
'Do you know Mr Hale?' Darby asked.
