Evil Never Dies

Lizzy walked to the door, and then turned to face him one more time. “If you change your mind and decide to do the decent thing, let me know. I don’t plan to stop gathering evidence against this man until I have enough proof to put him away for a long, long time, but I sure could use a little help. If your conscience ever speaks to you, you know where to find me.”

After shutting the door behind her, Lizzy wove around desks and people until she was walking through the main door. She marched across the pavement until she reached her car and climbed in behind the wheel.

Her hands were shaking. She’d never felt so angry, so confused, and yet so determined to see one man put away. Her outrage and resentment bubbled inside her, so close to the surface. Her fingers curled around the steering wheel. Everywhere she looked—narrow-minded, prejudiced, biased people.

Evil.

The world had never felt so stifling and restricted, so small.

And Hayley.

Would Hayley ever step that far over the line?

Maybe.

Yes, there were times when she appeared to be a walking time bomb, but she was also, without a doubt, one of the most caring people Lizzy had ever met. Unless it was in self-defense, Hayley would never take a life. And yet something niggled deep down inside Lizzy . . . something coarse and foul, something that smelled a lot like doubt.

CHAPTER SIX

Lizzy had been sitting at her desk inside her office on J Street in Sacramento, doing nothing but listening to the sound of her breath, when the door opened. A wisp of cool air and the smell of coffee and doughnuts followed her sister, Cathy, inside the office.

Her morning was quickly going from bad to worse.

Cathy set a cup of coffee and a white paper bag on the corner of her desk and then pulled the strap of her purse up higher around her shoulder. “Are you here alone?”

Lizzy managed a nod, wishing her sister would go away and not come back some other day.

“You haven’t returned my calls.”

Lizzy said nothing.

Her sister took a seat in the chair facing Lizzy’s desk. “I’m sorry. About everything . . . about Richard and all the ugly things he said to you . . . but mostly I’m sorry I haven’t been there for you.” Cathy reached out and put a hand on top of Lizzy’s. “Talk to me. Please.”

Lizzy didn’t like seeing her sister in pain, and yet she felt helpless to help her feel any better, afraid to say the wrong thing, afraid that in the end, no matter how hard they both tried to say and do the right thing, they would both be eaten alive by past events and crippling guilt.

“I’m the one who should be apologizing,” Lizzy finally said.

“Why? What do you mean?”

“I’ve done nothing but cause trouble since the day I was born. I’ve left a clear path of destruction: Mom and Dad, you, Brittany, Hayley, Jessica, Kitally, and Jared. If it weren’t for me, Jared would still be alive. Do you have any idea what that man did for me?”

Cathy watched her closely as she waited for her to continue.

“Jared lifted me from the depths of hell. That man asked for nothing in return. He would have been happy to live a nice, quiet, simple life . . . just the two of us. He talked about having kids someday, taking them camping, watching them play sports, a normal everyday life. But when it came to settling down, I fought him—why? What was so important about my work that I couldn’t fathom a simple life?” She looked around the office, held her arms out wide. “Look around you. What do you see? I’m not exactly changing the world, am I? I gave up a beautiful life for this.” She forced air through her nose. “I let Jared die for this.”

“Lizzy, it wasn’t your fault. You were both in a dangerous business. You both knew the chances you were taking. And I’m sorry, but this is no time to feel sorry for yourself. If Jared were here now, he would want you to pick yourself up and carry on. You know he would.”

“I think you should go.”

“No. I’m not finished. I know you’re hurting, and I know you don’t want to hear about what Jared would do or not do, but it’s the truth.”

Lizzy fiddled around with the papers in front of her.

“I kicked Richard out of the house,” Cathy blurted.

And there it is, Lizzy thought. One tiny step for mankind. One itsy-bitsy teeny-weeny drop of hope amid a lifetime of despair. She looked up at her sister, away from all the mounds of paperwork and meaningless notes. “I’m glad.”

“I was hoping you might consider moving back into the house with me.”

Lizzy shook her head. “No. You and Brittany need time to yourselves.”

“Brittany will hardly look at me,” Cathy told her.

“All the more reason for you two to spend time alone, without Richard or me to complicate matters. Talk to your daughter,” Lizzy said. “Be honest. Tell her the truth. Brittany deserves to know everything.”

“She keeps asking about you, Lizzy. She wants to see you. Brittany needs to know that you’ll be all right.”

“Not now,” Lizzy said. “Not yet.”

Cathy released a weighty breath. “Brittany was accepted into Sac State. You know how creative she is, and, well, it turns out she’s interested in studying art. She won’t start until the fall, of course, but she’s been invited by the famous artist Ian Berg to take an art class. There will be other artists helping out, but Ian Berg will be overseeing it all.”

“I’ve heard of him. That’s really great. Tell her congratulations.”

Cathy sat there for a moment longer, waiting for something more. Finally, she came to her feet and headed for the door.

“I will call her,” Lizzy said. “I promise.”

“Eat a bagel, Lizzy. You look as if you’re trying to starve yourself to death.”

And that was it. She was gone, leaving Lizzy alone to punish herself with her self-hatred and dark thoughts of the past and future.

For the rest of the day, Lizzy did her best to lose herself in busywork. At three o’clock, an elderly man came through the door with a file tucked under one arm. His walk was slow, his back hunched, his cane trembling as it fought to keep him upright.

Lizzy stood, ready to help.

“Sit down,” he said. “I’ll get there.”

Lizzy did as he said. She folded her hands on top of her desk and then watched him closely, ready to jump up and help him after he fell. But against all odds the old man made it all the way to the chair in front of her desk without any mishap. He took a seat and then tucked his cane between his knees.

“What can I do for you?”

“Thought you’d never ask.”

Lizzy gave him a smirk.

“I have a job for you and your girls. Are they around?”

“Nope. It’s just you and me. Why don’t you tell me what the problem is?”

“Somebody killed my wife.”

Lizzy released a steadying breath. She hadn’t thought the old man could surprise her, but she’d been wrong. She had no words.

“Aren’t you going to ask me who did it?”

“Who did it?”

“I’m not sure yet, but I intend to find out, and I’m hoping you will help me.”

Lizzy scratched a nonexistent itch on her neck. “Mr. . . .”

“Call me Gus.”

“Gus. How old are you?”

“Why? Do you have some sort of age limitation?”

“No. Never mind. I don’t think I’m the person you should be talking to.”

“The police have swept away my concerns as senility and paranoia. Is that what you’re doing?” He handed Lizzy a thin manila folder that looked as if it had survived two wars. “Don’t just stare at it,” he told her. “Open it up.”

Despite his crotchety tone, she did as he said. A medical report sat on top of the pile of papers. She skimmed through it. “It says here that your wife, Helsie, died of chronic heart failure.”