The Holiday Killer (13 page)

Liz opened her eyes and groaned. "I hate hospitals."

"Then maybe you should stop landing yourself in one."

Liz's eyes flicked open and she looked at her guest, unsure whether to smile or scream. "Phil?"

"Hey, Liz." The man was handcuffed to the bed, but he was smiling at her.

"What's going on? I thought you were part of the group killing me. Why are you here without protection?"

Phil sat back as far as the cuffs would let him, smiling sadly at her. "A lot of things went down after you fainted, Liz. I think you saw the end of it."

"You stabbed Lisa and injured Mark."

"I was the one who called the police, Liz. They have Lisa's body, and they have Mark here under armed guard—to protect him, as much as the rest of us."

"You know his lawyers will just get him off, right? And you'll be at the top of his shit list for revenge when he does get out?"

"I talked to some lawyers. Mark won't be getting out, ever again. I know enough from what Lisa said to drag his ass into the lowest cesspool of Hell."

"Then why are you handcuffed?" Liz asked, sitting up gently and noticing her heavily bandaged right hand.

The memories in her head were foggy, but she remembered Phil striding out of the bathroom, gun in hand. She remembered him saying something about being free of the others, but she couldn't remember more than the gist of what he said.

"You were being forced to help them."

"They threatened you, my dad, me, if I didn't do what they wanted. I couldn't let them hurt you." Phil nodded. "They're trying me as an accessory, Liz. I might have ratted Mark and Lisa—and the plot to use Rhys as a scapegoat for Mark—out to the police, but I knew about more than your kidnapping. At least, I guessed."

"What do you mean?" A thought crossed her mind and she went pale. "Jamie?"

"No, not Jamie." Phil shook his head. "If I had have known it was them that far back, I would have shot the lot of them as soon as I found out."

"Then who did you know about?"

"The boy that was taken while you were in here—Harry. I didn't know about it at the time, but they brought me in to help with the body. I stayed quiet about it, hoping to gather some evidence and plant it or something to get them arrested, but the next murder they planned was yours. They didn't have the manpower they needed anymore, and demanded I join them after you shot Steven. My cousin, who looks surprisingly like me. I introduced you to him, many years ago, but I hadn't seen him for … oh, fifteen years when you killed him. I don't think you recognized him."

Liz watched him. He had his head bowed, showing all the signs her police-trained mind knew indicated that he was telling the truth. But would it be enough to convince her of his innocence? She didn't think so. "You know they'll hang you for that, right? You've involved yourself in these brutal murders, whether for good or bad, and the public will crucify you for it. They went after
kids
, Phil, and you joined in for the ride! Surely you learned better than that in the time we were married!"

"You think I don't know that?" Phil snapped. "The prosecutors will paint me with the same brush as Mark and Lisa—as a child killer. Even if they manage to screw up enough to have me declared not guilty, the public will hunt me down and slaughter me."

Liz stared at him, not knowing what to say. He smiled sadly at her, then looked to the door. The police officer standing there came in and released his handcuffs, doing them up behind his back again once he stood.

"I'll see you around, Liz."

Phil leaned down and kissed Liz on the lips, careful of her facial burns, and allowed himself to be dragged away.

Liz lifted her bandaged hand and touched her lips, a tear leaking out of her eye.

Two years later

The psychologist waited, hooked on her words. She sat, silent, staring out the window, rubbing her mangled hand. Only her ring finger and thumb had survived the episode unscathed, though she retained the first knuckles on her other fingers.

"Did you see Phil again?" he finally asked, calling her out of her memories.

"Only once, in the courtroom. I was there to see the trial of Mark Windsor for the murders of all those children, and he was testifying against the man. He was bundled out of the courtroom before I could talk to him and enrolled in witness protection a few hours later. I haven't seen him since, which isn't surprising."

"What would you say if you saw him again, Liz?"

Liz was silent for a while, staring out the window again. The psychiatrist opened his mouth to bring her back to reality, but she beat him to it.

"Honestly, I don't know what I'd say. He played a part in my kidnapping and mutilation, but at the same time, he saved me and countless children by bringing the killers to justice—one of them, at least. I guess I'd ask him how he was doing, coping with having Lisa's blood on his hands, and I might ask him… I'd ask him why he didn't tell me what was going on, why he gave me those cryptic clues in the hospital. But I guess I know the answer. We were together for twenty years before Jamie was killed, so I like to think I know him very well. He didn't want to put me in more danger than I already was."

"You've thought about this a lot."

"Since …
it
happened, all I've had is time. It's not like they let me out on street duty anymore." Liz gave him half-smile, standing up and brushing off her pants. It was almost time to go back to work. There were a lot of cases that needed solving. "Thanks for listening, Michael."

The psychiatrist smiled, following her to the door. "That's what I'm here for. Have a nice day, Liz. I'll see you the same time next week."

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