Maura gave a final push, and the drawer clattered open. It was empty.

“Shit,” Maura murmured.

With the top drawer open, the bottom offered no resistance. She slid it forward. Nothing was inside.

“We’re coming up snake eyes, kiddo. But he had something in here.”

Jennifer saw wisps and shavings of paper scattered inside the drawer, and a few loose paperclips and bent staples. “He must have moved them.”

“Why would he do that?”

“We talked about the papers the other day. He was very paranoid about them. And last night, on the phone, he evaded my question when I asked about them.”

“You talked to him on the phone? Is he okay?”

“He’s never okay.” She looked around the bedroom, trying to imagine what Richard would have done with the documents. Her glance fell on a metal wastebasket used as a doorstop.

The bottom of the basket was dark with a coat of ash. Slivers of charred paper clung to the sides.

“He burned them.” The unidentifiable smell was the lingering odor of smoldering paper and scorched metal.

“All your family records? A whole file cabinet’s worth?”

“Looks that way.”

“Just because he was paranoid?”

“Or because he was covering something up.”

“Like what?”

Jennifer looked at her. “Crimes,” she said.

***

She sat with Maura in Richard’s living room, explaining it all. She left nothing out. She talked about the note on her windshield, the unsolved murders, Richard’s paranoia about the wanted posters. The contents of the diary, and the confirmation of the essential elements of Edward Hare’s tale by an online source. The family history, and how Richard’s illness and her father’s might be traceable to Edward Hare.

“So you’re telling me,” Maura said when she was through, “you’re Jack the Ripper’s great-granddaughter?”

Jennifer rubbed her forehead, fighting a headache. “I hadn’t thought of it exactly like that.”

“I don’t know, kiddo. Sounds like you’re reaching.”

“You didn’t read the diary.”

“The diary might not be what it’s cracked up to be. And you can’t be sure your ancestor wrote it.”

“The house goes back a long way in our family. I know my great-grandparents lived there.”

“Were they the original occupants?”

“I don’t know. The family papers might have told me. Why would Robert burn them unless there was something in them he needed to cover up?”

“He’s irrational. He could’ve torched the papers for any number of reasons. He could’ve done it just because you were asking about them.”

“So you think I’m overreacting?” She hoped so. She wanted to believe she was making too much of this.

But Maura disappointed her. “Given everything that’s happened—and especially that creepy note you found on your car—I’d say you might not be reacting enough.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means it’s time to call the cops.”

“No, I can’t do that.”

“Why the hell not?”

“Because if I’m wrong, I’ll have exposed Richard to all kinds of trouble. Legal trouble. They could lock him up. If not for any crimes, then just for being a danger to himself and others.”

“Maybe he is a danger.”

“But we don’t know that. Not for certain. And there’s a chance he’d resist arrest. He’s not thinking clearly, he’s sure everyone’s out to get him. He could fight the police if they try to bring him in. He could be killed.”

“If he’s responsible for even one of those unsolved homicides, then you need to get him off the street before someone else is killed.”

“He’s my brother. I’m supposed to take care of him. I’ve always taken care of him.”

“It might be time you stopped.”

“That’s the second time you’ve said that today.”

“Yeah, and it didn’t go over so hot the first time, did it? Even so, loyalty to your bro only goes so far.”

Jennifer touched her left arm. “Not for me it doesn’t. For me it goes all the way.” She took a breath, knowing she had to ask the question she’d been dreading. “Why did you leave him?”

“He cheated on me. And he didn’t much care if I found out. Actually I think he wanted me to find out.”

“That’s crazy. Richard’s not like that.”

“Yeah, kiddo. He is. And it wasn’t a one-time thing. A few months later I ran into another gal who was with him before I came into the picture. Guess what? He cheated on her, too.”

“You’re saying it was a pattern?”

Maura nodded. “He wasn’t interested in a long-term relationship. In fact I’d say he was terrified of it. Didn’t you ever wonder why he went through so many girlfriends?”

“He was popular—a good-looking guy, smart, a doctor—”

“Amen to all that. But he was also a guy who never had a relationship that lasted more than three or four months. Am I right?”

Jennifer thought about it. “Probably. I mean, it’s not as if I ever quizzed him on his love life.”

“I didn’t have to quiz him. I lived it. Here’s the deal, Jen. He sabotaged his relationships. When they started to get serious, he went out and found himself a new girl, and made sure it didn’t stay a secret. And as long as I’m being brutally honest, I’ll tell you something else. He enjoyed it.”

“Enjoyed...what?”

“Humiliating me. And the others. He got a kick out of it.”

“No way. He would never...”

“Your brother has issues with women, and they started long before he showed any symptoms of schizophrenia.”

There was that word again, the word Casey had used in discussing Draper. Issues.

But of course Richard had issues. How could it be otherwise? Growing up fatherless in the House of Silence, enduring constant run-ins with their mother, hiding in his room and nursing grudges...

Throughout his life he’d dated women who were slightly older. Mother figures. With each new relationship he was trying to heal the breach with his mother. And failing each time, because it was a breach that couldn’t be healed.

Then lashing out, finding a new lover and humiliating the one who’d disappointed him. A compulsive pattern.

She was trained in psychology. She should have seen it long ago. Only, she hadn’t wanted to see it.

When Richard’s illness began to change him, did his resentment of women metamorphose into rage? Into violence?

“I’m sorry I had to tell you,” Maura said. “I never wanted to. But with all that’s happening, maybe it’s for the best if you know.”

“Nothing about this is for the best.”

“You need to bring in the police.”

“Not yet.”

“If he’s dangerous, he could come after you.”

“He wouldn’t,” she said, thinking of the open gate, the shoe print on her windowsill, the misplaced files.

“You don’t know what he’s capable of. You don’t know him. You only know what you want him to be. Not what he is.”

Jennifer felt a sting of tears. “Stop.”

“Promise you’ll go to the cops.”

“Not until I’m sure.”

“By then it could be too late.”

“He won’t hurt me. He would never hurt me. He saved—he saved my—” She couldn’t talk about this. “He’s not a killer.”

Maura took her hand. “Kiddo, I hope you’re right.”

twenty-six

The TV studio was on the twelfth floor of a Sunset Boulevard high-rise. The receptionist cleared Jennifer and Maura, then directed them to a small makeup room, where Sirk was seated grandly in a barber’s chair, “enduring the ministrations of my cosmetician.” The cosmetician in question, a petite redhead, was dabbing liquid foundation on Sirk’s face. “She is a genius in her way,” Sirk added. “With her charms and spells this wee sorceress can almost conceal the ravages of my debauched life.”

The makeup artist showed a diplomatic smile, but her eyes were flat. Jennifer had the impression she didn’t like Sirk. Given his behavior yesterday, it was easy enough to guess why.