Paige drove back into town, still feeling uncharacteristically shaken. She needed to get back to the shop. She needed to get back under control. But first, she needed to do this. She parked down the street from Sinful Desires and took her phone out of her purse.
It took some research, since she still had Lily’s phone and Lily’s contacts rather than her own, but in ten minutes, she heard the voice at the other end say, “Miranda St. John.”
“Hi, Dr. St. John. This is Paige Hollander of the SFPD.” Well, not exactly, but there were times to follow the rules, and times when you had to drive off the edge of the map. “You worked with us on the North Beach Killer case last year.”
“I remember. I remember you, too. What can I do for you?”
“It’s a personal thing. I’m hoping it will only take a few minutes, and I’m prepared to pay your usual rate for your time.” The usual rate was probably enormous. She should have asked Jace if he were willing to pay it, but too late now. “It has to do with my twin. Indirectly.” She did have to play by the rules enough to say the “personal” part. Miranda St. John was a very eminent professor of forensic psychology at a very eminent institution, and the SFPD wouldn’t be amused if they got a bill for her services.
“You have a twin?” Dr. St. John asked. “I’m strangely interested. Is she a police officer as well? Identical or fraternal?”
“Identical,” Paige said, and could swear Dr. St. John purred. “And no. She owns a lingerie store.”
“Fascinating. All right. I have a seminar in… eighteen minutes. You have fifteen minutes. Go.”
Be fascinating. Be brief. “I’m switching places with my twin temporarily as a result of some threats she’s received. I’m wondering about the possible psychological profile of somebody who’s stalking a man I’ve become close with. I’ve become close with him while I’m being her to everybody else, I mean. So I’m concerned about the threat to both of them.”
“Interesting. Give me the details.”
“Right. The person started out writing erotic fiction about my friend, sending it to him.” Paige described the letters as best she could remember, then moved on to the hand-delivered thong and blindfold and everything that had happened since, including the attack on her. “Which could have been another perpetrator entirely,” she finished, “connected to the other threat I mentioned, the one to my twin, but the violence feels linked. You see my difficulty, though, with the blurring between the two cases. What I assume are two cases, because the one attack on me was violent, and the other threats I got seemed better thought out, milder, coming from a different mindset. My question is—what kind of a person might we be looking for with the stalker? And is it reasonable to think that this person would go after the target’s partner as well?”
Dr. St. John made a humming noise. “I’d like you to email me those letters. Stalker fiction sent to a novelist. Very interesting. And, yes, of course the violence could transfer. Sexual jealousy. Stalking’s all about exerting power and control. If this escalated after the man was instructed to respond by leaving the envelope visible, and he ignored the request and showed up with you at the meeting place? A stalker wants to matter. They want to change your life. They hate being ignored. This person has made no attempt to identify herself or himself?”
“No. Which seems unusual. It also feels like a woman, but I’d appreciate your opinion on that, too.”
“I’d like to look over those letters and give it some thought, do a little research. And, darn it,” Dr. St. John added, sounding much more like a Minnesotan than an eminent academic, “I have to get to that seminar. Send me the letters, and pictures of the damage to your friend’s house, too, if you have them. Also a description of your own injuries. It won’t be a psychological diagnosis, just my best guess, and maybe a consultation with a colleague. If you send it quickly, I’ll take a look after my seminar and let you know tonight, since it sounds fairly urgent. And since I’d enjoy doing it.”
“Your best guess works,” Paige said. “And thanks. Thanks very much.”
“No problem. Twin switch. I love it. Got to go.”
She hung up, and Paige texted Jace and explained. She added, Hope you kept copies. I didn’t think abt this being them trying to destroy evidence. Could be though. Hope you’re OK w/ sending. I doubt Worthington’s investing dept resources in a profiler.
The answer came straight back. Prob not. Worthless doesn’t like me. And do me a favor, of course I kept copies. Online backup. Give me ten mins to get it all off my phone.
Paige got out of the car. She’d sell some underwear. After that, she’d figure out who was targeting Jace. And then she’d get her.
She got the call when she was pulling up outside Lily’s barn at six-fifteen. Jace’s truck was already there. She had a feeling that he’d always show up first. He was over by the chicken coop, Tobias trotting at his side with his skinny tail sweeping back and forth in a slow, contented rhythm. The low, shining light of late afternoon slanted over the two of them, the shadow of the mountain looming above. All very serene, but Paige thought, Bees, and said into the phone, “Dr. St. John? Thanks for calling back. If you can hang on two minutes, I’m going to grab that friend of mine so he can hear, too.”
“I can wait,” the professor said, and Paige hauled herself out of the car and waved at Jace. He hustled over to her fast, and she told him, “I have Dr. St. John on the phone. Hop in the car so we don’t have to compete with the goats.”
He did, so did she, and she said, “Hi, Dr. St. John. We’re here. I’m putting you on speaker. This is Jace Blackstone.”
“Hello,” the professor said. “First—what kind of books do you write? I’d like to know, after reading those letters. Do you have a professional name?”
“Thrillers,” he said. “Under Jason Black.”
“Ah. Yes. That makes sense. I’ve read one of your books. The one about Iraq, since I prefer my fiction to take place at a comfortable distance from my job. I enjoyed it.”
“Thank you,” Jace said. “Turns out I’ve read one of yours as well. The one about the Southside Strangler. I won’t say I enjoyed it, but it was useful. Took me to the micro level on my baddies, which isn’t something I’ve seen enough of for book purposes.”
“I’m remembering that you were a soldier. Instructive once again. Your dangerous job turns our stalker on. And the micro level. Hmm. Right.” Her voice turned businesslike. “You have an interesting adversary. I’m calling her ‘her,’ although of course I can’t say for sure. But the profile’s more of a female-on-male stalker. Prior acquaintance without a sexual history, and higher IQ and education level, as evidenced by the sophistication of the letters. And the sudden and total transition from romantic fixation to anger when she didn’t get the response she wanted suggests Borderline Personality Disorder.”
“Which is…” Jace said.
“Black and white thinking. Somebody’s in or they’re out, and it happens fast and completely. Everything’s the best thing ever until it’s the worst thing ever. A man’s your savior, and then he’s your abuser. Everybody and everything disappoints you. You yearn for attachment in your career and your relationships, and you destroy any chance at it with your behavior. Then you end the relationship or quit the job, and you’re furious at the partner, the friend, the boss who let you down.”
“Sounds pleasant,” Paige said.
“Very unpleasant indeed. Much more prevalent in women. And most importantly for us, it can be associated with a preoccupied attachment pathology. Not every woman with BPD is a stalker, of course, but a fair percentage of female stalkers are diagnosed as BPD. For our stalker, consider what she’s written. The woman in her story is anonymous in all but the last piece, and even there, she doesn’t describe herself. A female stalker isn’t nearly as likely to be motivated by narcissism, grandiosity, or explicitly sexual drivers as a male one. Instead, she’s motivated by the pursuit of intimacy with her victim and anger when she doesn’t achieve it. Sound familiar?”
“Sounds exact,” Jace said, his tone grim. “But the letters were sexual.”
“Because she thought that would work on you. She’s confusing you with your hero, I’m guessing. But here again—a female is also much less likely to risk a direct physical confrontation than a typical male stalker would be. Perhaps for physical reasons—not being as strong as you—and perhaps for psychological ones. You’re seeing the effects of an explosive temperament in both the attack on your house and the attack on Paige, but she didn’t personally attack you. She attacked Paige. And I’d expect that pattern to continue. She wants a connection, but she actually doesn’t try to connect in person. When there’s an obstacle in her way, though, she’s furious. She wants that obstacle removed.”
“So we watch Paige,” Jace said. “And her sister.”
“Her twin. They’re interchangeable?”
“They are.”
“Then they’re both in danger.”
“Who are we looking for?” Paige asked. Lily was taken care of, and she could take care of herself.
“Again—probabilities. You’re looking for an educated, intelligent woman who hasn’t achieved anything close to what that level of education and intelligence would suggest. Probably late twenties to late thirties. I’d expect her to have an erratic and unstable job and relationship history and an extremely limited circle of friends. If any. She’s met Jace, but she may not be openly engaging with him. Or rather—she probably engages with him, and then breaks it off rather than openly pursuing him. She’s built her fantasy life around him, but she doesn’t necessarily want it to ‘come true’ in the sense of actually getting together with him sexually. She wants him to think about her, and she wants to feel like he’s hers. She wishes he would engage her, but more in the way a teenager wishes it. Obsessive dreaming.”
“OK,” Paige said. “One more. The stalker refers to herself in her story as blonde and curvy. Is that true? And are the pictures of her?”
“It’s her idealized body image,” the professor said. “Whether she actually looks that way or not, I can’t say. But she’d like to. She imagines he’d find it sexy. And interestingly, other than the blonde part, the description fits Paige, which may also be fueling the stalker’s rage. Paige is where the stalker wishes she were in both her physical self and her relationship with Jace.”
“I’m blonde, actually,” Paige said. “Naturally. I’m blonde again now, because of the switch.”
“Oh.” Dr. St. John was silent a minute, then said, “So your sister is blonde as well?”
“Yes,” Paige said.
“Then be careful. Both of you. That’s about what I’ve got. I hope it was helpful. I also hope the police are aware of what’s going on, wherever it is you are. What’s that area code?”
“They’re aware,” Paige said. “I’m in Montana. And thank you so much. I think it will be helpful.”
“Good. Let me know where to send my bill.”
“To me,” Jace said, which was lucky.
“Thanks again,” Paige said after Jace had furnished his email address. “I still owe you.”
Dr. St. John said, “Well, I may ask you and your sister if you’d like to help out with a twin study. I have a colleague who’d salivate at the chance. That’s the risk you run when you say ‘identical twin’ to a psychologist.”
“I’ve found that out,” Paige said. “Just ask.”
In another minute, they’d hung up, and she looked at Jace and said, “Well, that was creepy. As expected. It makes sense, but…”
“But it doesn’t help much,” he said. “Except in possibly striking a few people off the list.”
She said, “I want to talk it over with you. I want to think it through. Where are we going tonight?”
“Right now,” he said, “up to the house.” The sun was setting in a romantic pink glow, and Jace smiled at her and said, “Lily made dinner.” Like this was normal, or he could make it that way. It was a seductive thought.
“We’re staying here?”
“No. We’re eating dinner here. And then you’re going to pack a bag, and we’re going to hide in plain sight. It was your sister’s idea.”