Fixed in Fear Read Free

from deposits of various amounts. The deposits had begun when Ann Louise left the company and were added to on a weekly basis for nineteen months. The last deposits were made nine days before Dennis was killed.
    And now the accounts were closed. Emptied with cashier’s checks in random amounts over a six-week period that ended just as the trial meant to bring Dennis Chait’s murderer to justice was beginning.
    Eddie Dirkin had been as careful closing them as he had been opening them.
    Ann Louise waited nearly two years before reaching out to The Fixer. She said she prayed each day the police would find Eddie. But as the months dragged on and the trail got colder, Ann Louise could sense the hopelessness in the detectives’ voices. More months passed without a lead and she heard a growing irritation whenever she called.
    “I guess I can understand it,” she said. “Every time I call them, their noses get rubbed in a flaming trash pile of failure. But I have to try. My husband’s dead, and Eddie’s dancing on all of Dennis’s hard work.”
    The Fixer had high fees. Ann Louise was back at work as an office manager with a small insurance company. Lydia told Ann Louise that The Fixer wouldn’t be taking the case. She wished her luck and never contacted her again.
    But Lydia continued to monitor all correspondence related to Dennis’s murder within the Minneapolis Police Department. From her communication console she secretly accessed emails, status reports, and monthly updates. Anything submitted electronically was hers to review. She learned Edward Dirkin’s name was placed on no-fly lists across the country and in every nation listed in Eddie’s computer search history. Banks around the globe were asked to notify local authorities should someone matching Eddie’s description try to open an account.
    Lydia focused closer to home. Eddie would have sacrificed his passport when he was granted bail. She was betting Eddie, with his good-time reputation and his lifelong aversion to hard work, wouldn’t assert the effort necessary to build a new identity deep enough to support a valid passport.
    Eddie was somewhere in the United States.
    As a clinical psychologist, Lydia was a trained researcher. The same investigative abilities that led to an award-winning dissertation, dozens of scientific papers, and expert clinical diagnoses proved invaluable as she set about learning all she could about Edward David Dirkin. Within a week she knew his childhood history, his tastes in music, his hobbies, and what he liked to eat. She learned about his health, the kind of movies he rented, and what kind of wine he drank. She gained access to his school and medical histories. His credit cards provided insight into everything he consumed.
    Lydia also monitored Juror Number Three, Janice Gleason. She followed the woman’s electronic and phone communications. For three years there was nothing to indicate Eddie had been in contact with the violinist. But Lydia was patient. Eddie wasn’t built for the isolation of an underground existence. When Janice received an email from a Bill Smith, complimenting her on her jury service, Lydia knew instantly it was Edward Dirkin reaching out for human contact. She tracked the source to an address in Westbrook, Maine: a small rented house overlooking the Presumpscot River.
    Lydia stared at the face on the screen. Dennis Chait was dead. Ann Louise and her young son deserved to know that the man who stole everything from them would not enjoy one more breath bankrolled by their misery. A calm, steadying warmth settled across her shoulders.
    “I’m coming for you, Eddie.” She laid her hand across the face of the man on her computer monitor. “I’m going to fix this.”

Chapter 3
    Rita Willers, chief of police for Enumclaw, Washington, waited until the second patrolman finished adding his details to his partner’s description of the crime scene. The two men had radioed in a request to speak with her