The Second Man (22 page)

She slammed the door behind her, locking both locks as loudly as she could.
Some men did change, and some didn’t.
Andrew was definitely category two.

Her cellphone was ringing on the table in the kitchen and she picked it up. It was Carly.

Jill swallowed hard. She was going to have to toughen up and deliver a piece of gossip that might ruin her best friend’s life.

Chapter 21

Jill checked on Dorothy in the guest room. Her mother was mumbling in her sleep, but showed no signs of waking up. She closed the door and the chimes hanging from the knob tinkled softly in the night.

She had placed a string of bells on the handle to alert her if her mother tried to leave the room, but so far the last couple of nights Dorothy had shown no ability to get out of the house on her own.

With a sigh, she headed for her bedroom, her mind full of thoughts about Max. She had not heard from him since she saw him at the police station two days ago.

It seems like a month.
She slipped on a nightgown and opened both of the windows to let in some air. She kept her AC turned off because her mother seemed always to be cold, but the house was stifling.

She took out the bottle of sedatives and considered taking one, but decided against it and crawled into bed. Her sleep was fitful, filled with nightmare scenarios of crowded rooms and loud music, starring Max, Carly, and poor Marissa Pierce as partygoers she could not get though the dream room crowd to talk to.

Three hours later, Jill woke with a start, drenched with sweat. She lay still for a moment, controlling her breathing, quieting her nerves. Outside, a night bird called to its mate as a breeze rustled through the lemon trees on the patio.

She thought of her recent barbecue with Max and missed him so badly she ached.
If I call the jail, would they let me speak to him?

But what jail?
She didn’t even know where he was being held.

Rubbing her welling eyes, she dragged herself out of bed and checked her mother. Dorothy slept soundly, the sheet pulled up around her shoulders.

Jill headed for the kitchen. She grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and peered out into the night. No unfamiliar cars were in her driveway or on the street. She leaned against the counter and sighed. She was not one bit sleepy, though she had averaged only about four hours a night the last few days.

Next week school would be back in session, and she had not done any work to deal with that. Her students had two more weeks of lectures, which she had planned out and had given many times before, but she needed to re-design her final exam.

Deciding to try and refocus her attention on something normal, Jill tiptoed back into the guestroom and pulled her laptop and some folders off the desk, and then shut the door behind her. She was walking back to the kitchen when she stopped.

Was that a noise in the garage?

The sound of muted rustling did not fit the normal night sounds. She took a step closer to the garage exit opposite the front door. Slowly she leaned forward to listen, but all was quiet.

Tell me I didn’t forget to close the garage again
. She visualized coming in from errands earlier, but could not remember if she had hit the button before she stepped inside.

Jeez, maybe I’m getting Alzheimer’s.

This was a constant worry now, especially during times of stress, even if she knew it was surely not true. “This is ridiculous,” she murmured.

She set her laptop and paperwork on the kitchen table, turned on the teakettle, and headed resolutely back to the foyer.
I’ll open it a crack, confirm everything is closed properly, and then sit down and get to work.

She turned the knob and pushed the door open, and flipped the light switch. Her car was parked, and the garage was closed. But there was a cardboard box sitting on car’s passenger side trunk.

The top was open and several books were piled next to it.

“What the devil?” She stepped down onto the concrete and headed for the box.

“Hello, Jill,” Ben Pierce’s killer said.

She yelped and grabbed her throat.

A man rose from the crouch he was in beside the washing machine. He grabbed Jill with one hand, and aimed a gun at her head with his other. “Stand still and be quiet. I won’t hurt you unless you scream.”

Shock and bitter anger nearly brought her to her knees as she registered who he was, and what a massive betrayal he had pulled off. Furious, she slapped at the gun and twisted out of the man’s grasp, and turned to run.

Before she completely filled her lungs with air to scream, his pistol cracked against her skull and knocked her to her knees.

There was black, and then nothing.

From the depths of her consciousness, Jill imagined she heard her mother calling her for dinner.

Jill, Jill, come inside for dinner. It’s time to eat!

She opened her eyes slowly, as the dream images receded, but she couldn’t focus. Blinking, Jill turned her head and the room around her settled into view. She was in her own bed and the lamp next to her was turned on low.

The man who had bashed her senseless was standing across from where she lay, leaning against her dresser.

He was holding her jewelry box.

Their eyes met. “I tried to find the locket in here last week,” he said. “When I couldn’t, I realized I better check the nursing home to see if your mother had it. I’m surprised you let her keep something so nice with her. Don’t those old bats misplace everything?”

Jill squeezed her hands into fists and only then realized they were tied together in front of her. Her feet were also bound.

I’m trussed up like an animal about to be slaughtered
.

Her body jerked as blinding pain, radiating from the side of her head, rolled through her, followed by a wave of nausea. She moaned and closed her eyes, for a moment blotting out the man’s traitorous face.

“Breath deep a couple of times and you’ll feel better. Well, at least a little better.”

She exhaled and opened her eyes. “Why?”

The intruder put the jewelry box down. “Oh, it’s a long story, Jill.” He slid a lighter out of his pocket, and picked up the lavender candle that had scented her recent joyous nights of love.

He stared at her hard for a moment, and then flicked on the flame and lit the candle. He sniffed it and set it gently on the dresser. “We don’t have time for the whole sordid tale, but I’ll fill you in on the highlights. I guess I owe you that.”

“You owe me a hell of a lot more than that, you son of a bitch.”

“No, I don’t.” He seemed weary. “But I can understand your anger.”

“I doubt that.” She strained against her ties. “How could you be such a filthy liar? How could you do this?”

“Surely you understand I have feelings, too?”

“You? You’re sick. And twisted. And hateful. Whoever the hell you really are.”

The target of her rage raised his silky eyebrows. “Well, so you finally understand you can't believe everything you see. Okay, well, I’ll start with my name, my real name. It’s Peter. Peter Cullen. I’m just a poor bloke from a poor family.” He grinned. “Hey, that’s almost a song lyric, isn’t it?”

“Untie me! And get out of my house”

“Come on now, really? You know I can’t do that.” He folded his arms, raking his eyes over her body. “Now, I’ve digressed. Back to my youth. I was poor. Dirt poor, as you Americans say. Only hope I ever had of being not poor was one blood relation, a Mr. Henry Stewart. You see, Henry fucked my mom for a couple of years pretty regular. He left me inside her during one of his visits, and to show his support he gave her a fiver now and then when he came to call, but when I was a young lad he decided he had enough of us.

“Poor mum died without a quid to her name, and I wanted to go to University, which was a joke, as I didn’t have much of an education to that point, nor any money. But I thought, when I was about sixteen, and my poor mum died, that I’d go up to visit old Henry, see if maybe he’d help out, considering he was my father.” Peter smiled sadly. “Sent me packing, saying I had no proof who my dad was, although he a good laugh out of the fact that I was a dead ringer for his only legitimate family, his orphaned nephew. He was so tickled by the fact he showed me a photo of the kid, and Henry was right. Hamilton Stewart, recent arrival at the Oxford I dreamed of going to, looked exactly like me.”

Oh my god
, Jill thought.
Can this be true?

Peter Cullen narrowed his eyes at Jill. “You following this okay, girl? That’s a bad bump you got on your noggin.”

She felt paralyzed, and wondered for a moment if she was dreaming. But the ties chaffing her hands and feet reminded her she was very much awake.

He’s a madman
. A madman she knew as Hamilton Stewart, her best friend’s husband. But this man was not Hamilton, not the Hamilton she had known at St. John’s College. Not Hamilton at all.

“What did you do to Hamilton?” she asked.

“Oh, the poor lad drowned sixteen, seventeen years ago now, I’m sorry to say.” He looked off into space, a rueful look on his face. “One lazy afternoon while on summer break. After old Henry died and left Ham all that money, I visited my dear cousin, told him my story. He was a sweetheart, actually. Said he would try to help if he could, that we would visit his solicitor and see if he could help with my university fees. He couldn’t get over how much we resembled each other, too. Only real difference was that I’m a leftie. No one remembered that Hamilton wasn’t I guess.”

A movement outside the window beside the dresser caught Jill’s attention. There was a shadow, a faint silhouette.
Who is outside?
Her body quivered with fear.

“Anyway, Cousin Hamilton invited me to stay with him during his holiday at the shore,” Peter continued. “He was working on his music, had started writing it as well as performing. Sat on his bum by the piano day and night. Except for when we’d go off for a swim. Quite boring.”

“You’re despicable.”

Peter narrowed his eyes at Jill. “Now, now, let’s not be so judgmental. We can’t all be the kind, forgiving girl you are. Anyway, my plan came to me all of sudden. One day after lunch, dear Hamilton got a cramp while he was swimming, quite a bad one. His lips were blue and his eyes wild. He was thrashing around, calling for my help, and I realized, well now, here’s an opportunity.” He blinked. “So I stood by as he went under. I let him stay there long enough to get the job done, and then I hauled him out. I buried his body where, as far as I can tell, no one has found it yet, and went back to school in Oxford. And became him.” His eyes widened as if he was hearing the story for the first time. “Pretty amazing. A real life changing-places story, staring me.”

“And no one noticed?” Jill was mesmerized by his evilness. “No one realized you weren’t Ham?”

“No. And I was as surprised as you, Jilly girl. But then, Hamilton lived alone. Just him and the piano. Only one man seemed to have a doubt that I was him. I think the guy had been buggering dear old Hamilton, if you don’t mind hearing such a thing. The good professor showed up a bit tipsy one night, looking for a slap and tickle. Well, I might be a lot of things, but queer isn’t one of them. So it was sad when the unlucky bloke turned up the victim of a hit-and-run accident. Sad for him, anyway.”

Jill swallowed the sob filling her throat, distracted again by the movement of the curtain across from her. She kept herself from staring at it, but she was now sure someone was outside, watching.

Whoever you are, please call the police,
she prayed.

“So, how’s that for a dramatic twist? You didn’t notice anything different either, did you?”

“No. But your accent is totally British tonight,” Jill replied loudly, returning Peter’s unwavering stare. His hardened face did not look like Hamilton at all now.

“Yeah, well, no need to pretend now, is there?”

“You pulled off quite a scam.”

“I have, haven’t I? It’s amazing how most people take you at your word, face value, if you’ll forgive the pun. You say you’re someone with confidence, and no one doubts you. Must be how Max feels, huh? Showing back up in your life, not remembering you, but counting on you to trust what you remembered about him. Maybe he’s a killer, too.”

“That’s a terrible thing to say.”

“It is, isn’t it? But I’ll have to live with that. And I will.” He glanced at his watch. “I’m going to fly home in the morning and wait for the return of my dear wife and child.”

“Carly . . .” Tears flooded down Jill’s face as her rage turned to pain as she realized that her dearest friend was married to this monster, and there was nothing she could do to change that horrible reality. “You won’t hurt her . . .”

“Oh, no, don’t worry about that. Carly’s a love. She doesn’t suspect, because thankfully she really didn’t know Hamilton all that well. Hadn’t ever slept with him, or anything, score one point for the homo, thank you very much. And I am very grateful for that, you know, because I fancy her, I do. She and the wee one are a bonus. I got the education I dreamed of, and a great job and life, along with a perfect family. Great for a bloke’s confidence, too. Too great, actually. Because I thought if I’d fooled her, I could fool anyone Hamilton had ever known.”

“Did you?” Jill asked. From the corner of her eye, she caught another shift of light against the screen.
A hand? Was someone about to burst into the room?

She raised her voice.
“You seemed to have fooled everyone at the reunion.”

“Here? Yes, I did. But I messed up somehow, a few months ago when I was in Paris.”

“Ben Pierce.” She shuddered. “He guessed you were an imposter?”

“Ben. Yeah. I guess Andrew told you all about that, eh? He did, poor bugger.” Peter stood up straight. “Ben said he heard something in my voice. I did research later and found out our Ben studied linguistics in graduate school. I guess he pegged me pretty easy as not being a natural born Yank. So that was the end of him.”

“But why did you come to the reunion?” Jill’s mind turned to her mother’s safety. She had to keep Peter talking in the hopes whoever was outside would come to their rescue.

Delaying Peter’s plans, whatever they were, was her only chance to stop him.

“The biggest reason was that I needed a class ring, as old Ben had put up a bit of a fight and I accidently left mine behind in Paris. I knew that mistake might get people sniffing around our St. John’s alums, excuse me, your alums. See how well I’ve adapted to being Hamilton?” Peter grinned. “I knew people would show up here with their rings, and I needed to have one to be safe. I figured I could snag one from a hotel room. I’m good at getting in and out of places.”