Olivia exchanged a look with J.L. He’d told her a month ago that his investigation had cleared Harrison.
“No,” the guard replied. He looked at the sign-in sheet. “J.L. Wang and Olivia Sotiris.”
The second guard, Joe, peered out of the adjoining room. Even though he kept his face blank, Olivia could sense a frisson of alarm sizzle through him.
“Is there a problem?” she asked.
“No,” Joe said quickly. “I’ll get Crump ready.” He slipped back inside the adjoining room, and they heard the banging sound of a metal door shutting.
“It’ll be a few minutes,” the guard told them.
“We understand.” J.L. dragged Olivia across the waiting room. “You stiffened up,” he whispered.
“The other guard lied,” she whispered back. “And he’s seriously freaked out about us being here.”
“That’s…interesting.” J.L.’s eyes narrowed.
Olivia could sense his growing concern. “Are you sure Harrison checked out?”
“Yeah. I came here a month ago and asked to see the videotapes of every interview he had with Crump. The last one, he threatened to do some nasty things to Crump if he didn’t leave you alone.”
“That’s all?” When J.L. nodded, she continued, “Then why did Harrison lie about seeing him?”
J.L. shrugged. “His threats weren’t exactly ethical behavior for a special agent. And I don’t think he wants you to know that he was standing up for you.”
Olivia sighed. “Why was that guard upset that we’re here? I’ve been here before, so it’s not that strange.”
“But it’s been a long time.” J.L. rubbed his chin while he considered. “I might have made a mistake asking to see only the Harrison videos. I should have asked to see yours.”
“Mine? Believe me, you don’t want to see them.”
J.L. walked back to the counter. “I need to see all the interview videotapes of Ms. Sotiris and Otis Crump.”
“Just a minute.” The guard retrieved the log-in book from beneath the counter and set it down. He thumbed through a few pages at the back of the three-ring binder and shook his head. “Ms. Sotiris declined to have her last interview taped.”
“What?” Olivia strode to the counter. She’d always had her interviews taped, and yet she could tell that the guard was telling the truth. “What date was that entry?”
“Last Monday.”
Her breath hitched. “Let me see that.” She rotated the binder and found her name listed on last Monday’s sign-in page. The signature resembled her own. “This wasn’t me.”
The guard’s surprise and confusion was genuine. “We always check IDs before anyone signs in.”
“Were you working the desk when this woman signed in?” J.L. asked.
The guard frowned and studied the log-in sheet. “It was after eleven. I was on lunch break. It would have been Joe.”
Olivia’s heart rate sped up. “We need to talk to him.”
The guard nodded and punched a button on a walkie-talkie. “We need Joe Kitchner at the front office.”
“Look at this.” J.L. had flipped back a few more pages in the log-in book. Four weeks earlier someone calling herself Olivia Sotiris had signed in. He kept turning pages. Every four weeks, Olivia had supposedly visited Crump.
“Check November,” she said.
J.L. found an entry for the eighteenth of November. “You weren’t even in the country. Harrison should have caught this. The moron spent more time threatening Otis than actually investigating.”
Olivia motioned to the surveillance camera in the corner. “Whoever impersonated me was recorded when she signed it.”
The guard groaned. “It’ll take a while to find the right tape.”
“We’ve got all day,” J.L. muttered.
The guard’s walkie-talkie made a clicking noise. “Crump is ready,” a voice declared. “He’s in Visitation 3.”
“Is that you, Chip?” the guard asked over his walkie-talkie. “Where’s Joe?”
“I don’t know,” Chip replied. “He told Bob and me to move Crump, then he left. Do you need me to escort the visitor?”
“I know the way,” Olivia said.
J.L. dragged his gaze away from the log-in book. “Do you want me to come with you?”
“I’ll be okay,” she said. “You find out who’s been impersonating me.”
“I think I already know.” He grimaced. “I hope I’m wrong.”
Olivia hoped she was wrong, too. No doubt she was suspecting the same person. There was only one woman in the office who had access to her ID and her signature.
She strode to the visitor door and waited to be buzzed in, then walked down the plain hallway, her steps echoing on the shiny linoleum floor. She halted outside the door labeled VISITATION 3 and took a deep breath.
Otis Crump was a master at detecting weakness and exploiting it for his own sick pleasure. She needed to be calm and stay in control. If all went well, she’d never have to see the bastard again.
He was standing in the small room, plain walls on all four sides and a fortified Plexiglas wall dividing his half of the room from hers. There was a metal door behind him, and beside him, a plain metal chair was bolted to the floor.
The guards had started the videotape and agreed to wait outside. They could watch what transpired on the monitor in the hallway.
Otis must have been using the prison’s fitness room, for he’d put on some muscle. His jumpsuit was clean, his hair combed; his face shaved. In his narcissistic way, he’d always considered himself exceptionally handsome.
Olivia had always found his features too mellow. No doubt it was his soft look that had encouraged his victims to trust him. Brown hair, brown eyes, average height, good bone structure. But there was nothing striking about him. Nothing overtly masculine and memorable.
He made up for that with his personality.
He smiled as she entered the divided room, and she could sense he was genuinely happy to see her.
“Come in, Olivia. Sit down.” He sprawled in the metal chair. “I’ve been expecting you.”
Predictable. He’d started off with commands in an attempt to establish dominance.
“I’ll make this short.” She strode inside and stopped beside the metal chair in her half of the room. “I have a few questions—”
“And I have all the answers,” he interrupted her with a smirk.
“I expect your full cooperation.”
“Really?” He rubbed a hand up and down his thigh. “What can you give me to make it worthwhile?”
“I can make sure you stay alive.”
He grinned. “Oh, a threat. I like it. Strong women are so much more fun. They fight back and struggle till their last breath. Makes the final victory much more satisfying.” He held up a hand. “Don’t worry, darling. I would never hurt you. We’re destined to be together.”
She could point out that he was serving three consecutive life terms, but he never seemed to grasp that concept. “Since you’re so fond of me, I expect you to answer my questions honestly.”
“And I expect something in exchange. A token of your affection for me.” He lowered his hand to his crotch. “I want an eight-by-ten glossy of you so I can masturbate to it.”
“You’re wasting my time.” She strode back to the door.
“Wait.” He jumped up and followed her on his side of the glass. “Don’t go, Olivia. It’s been so long since I’ve seen you.”
She paused at the door, sensing his desperation. His emotional attachment to her always made her queasy in the stomach. “Are you ready to answer my questions?”
He smiled slowly. “You’ve learned to play the game well. I’m a good teacher, don’t you think?”
He was such a narcissist. Even when she took control, he took credit for it. She sauntered back to the center of the room to force him to follow her.
He did. “Did you enjoy your vacation on Patmos?”
“I’m asking the questions.” She rested her hands on the back of her metal chair. “Who is your accomplice? Who’s sending the apples?”
He lounged in the chair. “Don’t you enjoy the apples? You had so much fun peeling them for me. You could make it all around the apple in one long spiral.” He rotated a finger in the air. “I had to go through several women before I mastered that technique.”
She was careful not to show any emotion, but she could tell he was aroused. “Who is your accomplice?”
He smiled. “‘Quid pro quo, Clarice.’”
“This isn’t a movie.”
“It should be.” He stood and walked toward the glass. “Who do think should play me? Brad Pitt, maybe?”
“Who is your accomplice?”
He pressed his hands against the glass. “Nobody. She means nothing to me. She’s just a way to keep up with you. You’re the one I love.”
“Who is she?”
He stepped back from the glass. “I answered. Now quid pro quo. My turn to ask a question.”
His gaze wandered over her and lingered on her linen pants. “The first time you came to see me, you were wearing a tight black skirt, and your legs were bare. You would sit on that chair and cross your legs, and I thought I’d gone to heaven. I would have told you anything to keep you coming here in those tight-assed little skirts.”
The queasy feeling in her stomach grew. She’d sensed from the beginning that he lusted for her, and she’d used it to lure him into a trusting relationship. When he’d offered to tell her everything if she’d simply peel an apple for him, she’d gone along with it. And he had confessed to torturing and killing ten more women.
Otis planted his hands on the glass wall and leaned toward her. “It nearly killed me when you stopped wearing skirts. You know how much I love your legs.”
She’d started wearing pants when he’d told her what he liked to do to his victims’ legs.
“When you peeled that apple for me,” he continued, “I knew you were the one. No one understands me like you do. You can tell when I’m lying or being naughty, but you keep coming back to see me. Admit it, Olivia. You find me fascinating. When you fuck other men, you’re thinking about me.”
She swallowed hard at the bile in her throat. “You didn’t ask a question.”
He chuckled. “Fine. Tell me, did you peel the apples I sent you? Did you slide the knife just under the skin and hear that little pop when the blade breaks through? Did you skim the knife around and—”
“No. I threw the apples away.” She stepped toward the glass. “My turn. The name of your accomplice.”
