“FBI. You’re under arrest,” she said.
“For what?” their suspect asked indignantly.
“Failing to register as a sexual predator. Get up.”
“I can’t. I was in a car accident. I can barely walk.”
“That’s nonsense. Get up.”
“I told you, I can’t.”
Daniels barked a command, and two of the agents pulled Rhoden to his feet.
“I’ve been looking a long time for you,” Daniels told him.
The other three agents had entered the house to arrest Butler. An agent named Moore appeared in the doorway with his sidearm held loosely at his side. It was a sign that Butler had been contained. The situation was under control, and Lancaster felt himself relax. He had expected Rhoden and Butler to put up more of a fight.
“Special Agent Daniels, you need to come inside and see this,” Moore said.
Rhoden noticeably stiffened and stared at Daniels. The two agents holding Rhoden’s arms sensed he was going to attack, and they tightened their grip. Daniels shot their suspect a contemptuous sneer before heading inside.
“Care to join me?” she said to Lancaster.
Daniels was savoring the moment and had a real spring to her step. Lancaster followed her into a foyer, which led to a low-ceilinged living room with a collection of matching chairs and a sofa that had grown old together. A porno movie played on the muted TV starring a barely legal Asian girl. On a TV dinner tray sat a laptop computer on which a second porno movie played, the girl clearly not legal. Moore and the other two agents who’d come into the house stood on the far side of the room in a circle. With them was a shriveled man in a wheelchair with a plaid blanket draped over his legs.
Daniels stopped so quickly that Lancaster nearly ran into her from behind.
“Where’s Butler?” she asked.
“You’re looking at him,” Moore said.
“This can’t be him. You searched the rest of the house?”
“Yes, and we didn’t find anyone else. This is Butler,” Moore said.
Daniels drew closer to the suspect, as did Lancaster. The man in the wheelchair resembled Butler but wasn’t a perfect match, his face a sickly yellow as if jaundiced. There was no life in his eyes, neither of which was discolored, and he did not acknowledge the FBI agents’ presence.
“Are you Jack Butler?” Daniels asked.
The man in the wheelchair gazed at the pornographic images on the TV and smiled. Daniels picked up the remote off a coffee table and killed the picture.
“Answer the question,” she said.
The man in the wheelchair wasn’t going to play ball, and Daniels angrily tossed the remote onto the coffee table. It slid off and went under the couch. A black Persian cat bolted out and made for the door. Daniels intercepted the animal and scooped it off the floor, holding it by the nape of the neck. The cat let out an ear-piercing yowl.
“You’re hurting her,” the man in the wheelchair protested.
“What’s her name?” Daniels asked.
“Her name is Samantha. Stop hurting her.”
“Does Samantha like to play in traffic? If you don’t start talking, I’m going to take her outside, and let her loose in the street.”
“You can’t do that.”
“Oh yes, I can. In fact, I can do any damn thing I please.”
“Give her to me.”
“Will you answer my questions?”
“Yes. Just give her to me.”
Daniels passed him the screaming feline. The man in the wheelchair held the pet against his chest and lovingly stroked its fur while talking to it in a tender voice.
“Is your name Jack Butler?” Daniels asked.
“It was the last time I checked,” the man said.
“Did you once live in Hanover, New Hampshire, and work as a nurse at Dartmouth-Hitchcock Medical Center?”
“I did.”
“Have you ever been arrested for possession of child pornography and for soliciting sex with a minor?”
“Yes, I have.”
It was him. Daniels paused before asking the next question. The expression on her face bordered on defeat, but she still asked it.
“Why are you in a wheelchair?”
“I was involved in a car crash seven years ago, right after we moved here,” Butler said. “A drunk kid ran a red light and T-boned our car. I was driving, Rhoden was in the passenger seat. He recovered, I didn’t.”
“You’re saying you don’t have the use of your legs,” she said.
“I’m paralyzed from the waist down.”
A tiny scream escaped her lips. They all heard it, but no one acknowledged it.
She yanked away the blanket covering Butler’s waist. He wore a pair of green shorts, and his legs were visible. They were milk white and sickly thin, with no muscle hanging off the bone. She spent a long moment composing herself. “You’re under arrest for failing to register as a sexual predator and for the possession of child pornography.” She gave him his rights, reciting them from memory. When she was done, she said, “Do you have anything to say?”
“Screw you, bitch,” Butler said.
Daniels raised her arm as if to strike him. Lancaster stepped between them and escorted her out of the house and onto the front lawn. The darkness was a shield to hide behind, and she dropped her chin onto her chest and began to weep.
“It’s not them,” she said.
“I know,” he said.
“What do we do?”
“Our killers are nurses who worked in Hanover,” he said. “They have to be. There are no other suspects that could have done this. We must have missed them in the list the hospital sent you. We start over.”
“Are you going to help me?”
“Yes. We’re in this together, Beth.”
In times of defeat the simplest things often give us strength. Daniels straightened her shoulders and sucked up her rage.
“Okay. Let’s go back to your place,” she said.
They went to her rental parked at the curb. Rhoden stood on the sidewalk in his bathrobe holding his handcuffed wrists by his waist with two of the FBI agents guarding him. Rhoden stepped forward. The agents grabbed his arms and pulled him back.
“You’re Elizabeth Daniels,” Rhoden said.
It had been a night filled with surprises. Daniels cautiously approached him.
“How did you know that?” she said.
“I guess you don’t remember me. I treated you at Dartmouth-Hitchcock after those two men tried to abduct you. You were in shock and crying hysterically when you came into the ER. I stabilized you and got you calmed down. While we waited for the police to come and take your statement, I asked you if you wanted anything. You told me you were hungry, so I went to the hospital kitchen and got you a cup of chicken noodle soup and a roll. I stood next to you while you ate it. Do you remember?”
Daniels swallowed hard. “I do. You were very kind to me that night.”
“That’s why you came here, isn’t it,” Rhoden said. “Because of what happened in Hanover. You think that Jack and I had something to do with those girls’ killings.”
“Did you?”
Rhoden visibly shuddered and shook his head.
“No,” he added for emphasis.
“Do you know who did?” she asked.
“I have no idea,” Rhoden said. “A local reporter wrote a book about the killings. His theory was that a pair of cops were behind them. I think he was right.”
“Why do you think that?”
“I dealt with the cops often in the ER. A couple of them were real sick bastards. They liked to hang around and watch patients suffer.”
“Do you remember their names?”
“No. It was a long time ago.”
“What did they look like?”
“They were white, in their late twenties. One had a scar on his chin and blond hair. The other, I think it was his partner, was Italian and had a mustache.”