Page 135 of Hell Bent

Now Alex knew none of it would have worked for her because the Grays were real. No amount of medication or electricity could erase the dead. But at the time, she’d wondered.

Yale New Haven was at least trying to keep itself human. Plants in the corners. A big skylight above and pops of blue on the walls.

“You okay?” Turner asked as the elevator rose.

Alex nodded. “What’s bothering you about this guy?”

“I’m not sure. He confessed. He has details of the crimes, and the forensics all line up. But…”

“But?”

“Something’s off.”

“The prickle,” she said and Turner startled, then rubbed his jaw.

“Yeah,” he said. “That’s it.”

The prickle had never led Turner astray. He trusted his gut, and maybe he trusted her now too.

A doctor came out to meet them, middle-aged, with highlighted blond hair cut into fashionable bangs.

“Dr. Tarkenian is going to observe,” said Turner. “Alex knows Andy’s father.”

“You were one of his students?” the shrink asked.

Alex nodded and wished Turner had prepped her better.

“Andy and Ed were very close,” the doctor said. “Ed Lambton’s wife passed a little over two years ago. Andy came out for the funeral and encouraged his father to move out to Arizona with him.”

“Lambton wasn’t interested?” Turner asked.

“His lab is here,” said Dr. Tarkenian. “I can understand that choice.”

“He should have taken his son up on the offer. By all accounts, his doctoral candidates had almost no oversight. His head just wasn’t in it.”

Alex saw the way that assessment troubled Tarkenian.

“You knew him,” Alex said.

Tarkenian nodded. “I did my doctoral work with him years ago. I’m afraid you didn’t see him at his best.” Her expression hardened. “And I knew Dean Beekman too. He didn’t deserve that.”

She led them down the hall to a sunroom where a man in his thirties was seated, handcuffed to a wheelchair, his back to a spectacular view of New Haven. His lips were chapped, and his fingers flexed and unflexed on the armrests as if they knew a secret rhythm, but otherwise he looked fine. Healthy. Normal. He had dark hair and a close-cropped beard streaked with gray. He looked like he worked at a microbrewery.

That could be me, she thought. That was me. She’d met Dean Sandow in a hospital. She’d been handcuffed to the bed, no one yet sure if she was a victim or a suspect. Some people were probably still trying to figure that out.

Behind Andy Lambton, gray clouds hung low over the city. She could see the gap of the New Haven Green, East Rock in the distance, the big Gothic spike of Harkness Tower, though she doubted anyone could hear the bells from here.

“That’s quite a view,” Alex said, and Andy shuddered.

They sat down across from him.

“How are you, Andy?” Turner asked.

“Tired.”

“Has he been sleeping?” Turner asked the doctor.

Alex cut him off. “Don’t talk like he’s not right here. You sleeping okay?”