He took a wild guess…
Wealthy daddy. House in Pacific Heights. Tennis and the beach all summer. UCSC in the fall. All set for a big exciting career in Daddy’s L.A. office.
Maybe…
Not anymore, though.
With that black hair…she’d’ve always been evil…Doin’ bad things the resta her life…
He’d done the world a favor.
He’d gotten rid of one more Tania.
Hate twisted his face. His teeth clenched.
He turned away. Busying himself with his holdall, throwing in the almost empty vial of GHB, the syringe…
He brought out the Nikon and began taking shots. Full-on. Sideways. Then zooming in for a close-up of that gaping “mouth.” It’d be a real change from the others in his scrapbook, he told himself.
A medical shot. Like a do-it-yourself tracheotomy guide on the Internet.
He gave a short laugh.
His bloodied fingers stained the camera.
Streaks of blood smeared his face.
Tugging the knife from the body, he threw it into the holdall. The Nikon followed, clattering against his spare service revolver, more vials of GHB, the pack of unused syringes.
Then, picking up opposite corners of the bedsheet, he pulled them across the body, knotted the ends, top left to bottom right. Top right to bottom left. A slim hand, slack and bloodied, slid out through a gap. He shoved it back inside the bedsheet.
Hoisting the bundle off the bed, he paused for a moment. Figuring out the means of disposal. He could stash it in the wardrobe. Leave it in an underpass. Or wait till dark, put it in the car trunk, and toss it over a cliff someplace.
Slumped in an armchair, a can of beer in one hand, the TV turned low, he waited till dark.
SIXTY-FIVE
Sheena stared at her reflection in the dresser mirror.
She looked pale, shaken; felt chilled to the bone.
She’d been stroking her hair with an ebony-backed brush. Now it lay where it had fallen, in her lap.
Slowly, she set the brush on the crystal tray in front of her. The tray held combs, bobby pins, and a couple of hair bands.
Her eyes went to a small wooden doll, hand-carved, dark with years of handling. The doll stood propped against the mirror.
She was seeing a brightly painted wagon. A woman, passing the doll to a small girl perched up front. The child was maybe two, three years of age. A man and woman sat either side of her. The shackled horse stamped and snorted, anxious to be gone.
Sheena sniffed. She smelled the horse’s breath, grassy, steamy, hot. Felt the child’s wonder, excitement at sitting up so high, at the horse shifting around. All the time wary of those strange people wrapped in furs by her side…
The thin-faced woman in the long gray dress wore an apron tied at the waist. She was saying, “Here, child. Don’t you forget this, now. It’ll keep ya company in the long nights ahead…”
Sheena began to shake. Her breath hissed out low and shallow…Sweat beaded her forehead, her upper lip. She felt its flush warm her armpits, then spread hot and slick down her body.
She went over the scene again. Recalling each detail. Figuring out its purpose, its meaning.
Knowing full well…
She was that child.
The doll was hers.
The thin-faced woman, her ma.
Edith Payne.
Her mind was picking up on something else.
A different scene this time.
The cold, dark place where Deana was.
Familiar territory…
Wild. Isolated. High in the mountains.
Along a rough dirt path.
One of many such paths.
Water thrashed and rumbled below.
She reached out, touching the girl on a mattress…
In that cold, dark place…
She was the girl on the mattress.
Feeling confused, in pain, desperate, knowing she couldn’t hold out much longer…
I’m gonna die and nobody’ll ever know…
Sheena leapt up.
Raced into the living room.
“Hey, bro!” she called out. “Make it snappy. We’d best take the Chevy.”
Warren looked up, his face pale.
“You’ve ‘seen’ Deana? Where is she, sis?”
“I know the area, Warren. She’s a few miles from here. Somewhere in the mountains. In Santa Cruz country…”
SIXTY-SIX
“You comin’ with me?”
“I’m not sure, Mattie. There could be news of Deana…Do I have to be there?”
“Shitski, Leigh. You gotta be there!”
Mattie drove Leigh to the Bayview.
They were quiet, their faces tense, serious.
Thinking about Deana.
And the upcoming meeting with Ava Sorensson.
Hoping she’d come up with some clues for them to work on. Any clue, however small, would be welcome. So they’d know where to start.
The cops had gone through Mace’s Tiburon apartment with a fine-tooth comb. Apart from his dabs, some photographic equipment, and the goddamn scrapbook, the place was clean.
He’s still out there, though.
Leigh shuddered.
And Deana…tortured, abused…Christ knows what by now…
She stifled a sob.
Please God she’s still alive.
Life just couldn’t get worse.
Like a survivor clinging to a shipwreck, she clung to the knowledge that Deana was strong, athletic. She was also feisty, resourceful, intelligent. Leigh gave a wry smile. She’d just described herself at that age.
Yeah, she acknowledged. Deana’s tough. But would she be a match for Mace…?
Leigh gave up trying to banish the scary scenarios playing in her mind. She felt shot to pieces. Her head throbbed. She hadn’t slept again last night. Nor for nights, it seemed, before that. Not since the day Deana disappeared.
Mattie swung into the Bayview parking lot. The old Ford shuddered to a halt. They climbed out and made their way to the front door on Main Street.
Ava Sorensson was already there. Seated at a window table overlooking the harbor. Outlined against the daylight, her profile was lean, clear-cut. She wore her fair hair smoothed back from her brow.
Now forty years of age, Ava had gone to law school, gained a master’s degree in criminal psychology, and then had set up a lucrative practice in Boston. The black pinstriped pantsuit and black-framed eyeglasses added to the crisp DA-in-waiting look.
Turning, she met Leigh’s gaze.
Nodding to Mattie, she rose from the table and held out a hand to Leigh. “Ms. West. I’m Ava Sorensson. I guess Mattie’s filled you in as to why I’m here?” Her mouth curved in a friendly smile. Leigh’s eyes focused on the bright red lips and straight white teeth. As well as being the best in her field, Ava Sorensson was also a looker.
“Please sit down, Ms. Sorensson.” Leigh returned the smile and sank into a wicker chair at the table. “It’s Leigh, by the way. May I call you Ava?”
“Why, of course.” The psychologist settled back into her chair.
Mattie made a grab for the menu. “Let’s eat,” she said. “Then we get down to business.”
Mattie and Ava chose baked swordfish with a salsa garnish. Feeling shaky and vaguely nauseous, Leigh declined food but ordered a bottle of chilled chardonnay. Playing around with the bread sticks in a basket Tony placed before them, she hoped her tension wasn’t showing too much.
Halfway through coffee, Ava dipped down and rummaged in her briefcase. She hauled out a sheaf of papers.
“So,” she said, looking over her eyeglasses, first at Leigh and then Mattie. “We have a rogue cop on the loose. A rogue cop with an unusual history. An ethnic, superstitious father, who was also a drunk and a potential child killer.
“Way I see it, our subject, given away as a child, swears vengeance on the mother who slew his father. The mother who later farmed him out to s
trangers.
“He’s also seeking the sister his father set out to kill.”
Ava took a sip of coffee, glanced at Mattie, and said, “Long and short is, we have a serial killer here—any update on where he might be?”
“You mean, you have no idea?” Leigh burst in. She’d been waiting for this “brilliant” criminologist to come up with some wonderful clue. And now she’s asking us where Mace could be?
Diners began to sit up and take notice.
Leigh lowered her voice.
“You’re the expert,” she said tersely, across the table. “We thought you’d point us in the right direction. You’ve done profiling Mace, now you tell us where he’s likely to be. My daughter’s out there…and Christ knows what he’s done—is doing with her.”
“That’s understood, Leigh.” Sorensson was sympathetic. She’d experienced the wrath of anguished family members in the past, so she was more than ready for Leigh’s outburst.
“I’ll do my best,” she said gently. “I haven’t encountered many such cases, but having studied this guy’s history, I found it…quite interesting.” She paused, then said, “His crimes are symbology-based.”
Mattie raised her brows.
Ava continued. “Let me explain. Psychopaths often identify with an aggressive role model—in this case, Payne Senior. It’s my guess that had he lived to tell the tale, he would undoubtedly have abused both Mace and his siblings.”
“So where’s this going, Ava?” Leigh asked, her voice beginning to rise again.
Mattie laid a restraining hand on her arm.
“As we know,” Ava continued, “Payne Senior was murdered by his wife Edith, and Jess aka Mace now appears to identify with the myth that is his father. He puts himself in his father’s place. Assumes the persona. Is Payne Senior.
“At the same time, hating his mother for killing his father, never mind for her rejection of himself—by passing him on to the family in Duluth. Because of these issues, plus the superstition surrounding his dark-haired sister, Mace sees women as evil, untrustworthy people.”
Ava paused, glancing at Leigh, assessing how all this was affecting her. Leigh was pale but seemed in control. She decided to continue. “All Mace’s pathological maternal hatred, plus the desire to avenge his father’s murder, is now directed toward his ‘evil’ sister Tania.
“In the absence of the real Tania, Mace is systematically working his way through a series of dark-haired women. With each killing, he’s avenging Payne Senior’s death and, in effect, carrying out his father’s plan to murder his sister…”
Ava’s eyes leveled with Leigh’s. “I’m sure you understand, Leigh. We’re dealing with a dangerous psychopath. A man with a mission. We desperately need to bring him in…” She bit her lip. “Like many psychopaths, Mace Harrison is an intelligent man. John Gacy, Ted Bundy, and others disguised themselves as law-enforcement officers in order to gain access to their victims. And very convincing they were, too. Mace Harrison doesn’t need to act that part. He already is, pardon me, was a well-respected cop, who did his job in exemplary fashion.”
Mattie’s face was taut. “Damn right,” she muttered. “That sick fuck was the cleverest sonofabitch I ever did meet!”
Leigh felt faint. Her head began to swim.
“Please, Ava,” she whispered. “Tell me where you think Mace is—and where he’s hidden Deana!”
Sorensson placed a warm hand over Leigh’s icy one. She smiled gently and said, “I’m afraid I can’t tell you where your daughter is, Leigh. But I think I know where Mace is headed. It’s my guess he’ll return to his roots, his old stomping ground…Go back to where it all began.”
“You mean…the lake? Lake Wahconda?”
Ava nodded.
Shaking, and on the verge of tears, Leigh looked at Mattie.
Then she was staring past Mattie’s shoulder, at two people entering the restaurant.
A red-haired girl.
And a big guy with a beard.
She blinked and swallowed, hard.
After all these years…
Cherry Dornay and her brother Ben.
SIXTY-SEVEN
Deana lifted her head.
Her face was a vague blur in the darkness.
Her stomach clenched; she stared at the door.
The crashing, splintering sounds got louder.
Oh my God! Who is it? What’s happening?
Nursing her head, she bit her lip, making her mouth bleed all over again. The blood tasted warm, salty…She felt it slide down her chin.
Then the door burst open, shattering the dark with a blast of light.
Outlined against the sun, a figure stood in the opening.
“Deana? Deana!”
A man’s voice.
She was almost sure it was Warren—coming to take her home.
What if it’s not?
She crouched back in the shadows, her eyes fixed on the man. He moved forward, peering into the darkness.
It could be Mace…
Said he’d come back. Use his knife on her. Cleanse her sins away. Rid her of her bad blood…
The man got closer.
She cringed, still not making out who it was…
Maybe a figment of my imagination—been having some really weird dreams lately.
A pause.
Yeah…That’s it. I’ve gone stark staring crazy!
Her hands shot up, covering her face, her fingers making a narrow V.
She squinted through it, breathing hard.
I might be in an insane asylum right now…
Cringing back, she saw someone else behind the man…a tall woman with long black hair. Dressed in black. Denim cutoffs. Iron Maiden T-shirt…Deana’s eyes leveled with the woman’s long, well-muscled legs.
“Deana! It’s me, Warren,” the man said gently. He was standing over her now. Then lowering himself, kneeling…reaching out.
Deana screamed.
“Don’t touch me. Please don’t touch me…”
Her screams trailed off into tiny whimpers. She pressed blood-streaked hands to her mouth, her eyes desperate, pleading.
“Warren? Is it really you?”
She peered at him through narrowed eyes.
“I guess they do things like this to mad people,” she said slowly. “Fuck about with their brains…Like get their hopes up, then…”
A cold, wet nose snuffled at her knees.
“Down, Sabre. Sit!”
Warren—and Sabre.
Oh thank you God thank you God!
Warren’s voice came low, urgent. “Gotta get you outta here, Deana. Fast. Can you walk?”
Dumbly, she shook her head.
“No? Then I’ll carry you…”
He bent down, lifted her in his arms.
She flinched as he held her, her body hurting all over…Still not believing Warren was here. That he’d found her. Just when she’d given up hope he ever would…
The woman’s voice hissed out.
“Gotta hurry, Warren. I can hear an engine…”
“Open the car door, Sheena. I’ll be right over.”
Sabre loped ahead with the woman.
Picking up speed, Warren ran the last couple of yards over dry, sparse grass roots and scrub snagging his boots, fresh mountain air keening at his lungs.
Frowning anxiously, willing him on, Sheena stood by the open door of the Chevy. The vehicle the other side of the ridge was getting closer. They heard its engine chugging, whining, the tires skidding over rough dirt road.
Hunching herself into the driver’s seat, Sheena revved up the Chevy, eager to be gone. Looking back anxiously as Warren laid Deana across the backseat, pulling a blanket over her.
He climbed up front beside Sheena.
Sabre, panting out hot steamy breaths, leapt in and curled around his feet.
Warren slammed the door shut.
Sheena, her white-knuckled hands clenching the wheel, stepped on the gas, swung the Chevy around, the t
ires squealing and racing as they hit ruts and rocks.
Then she let it ride, manhandling the wheel with strong, capable hands.
The black customized Commando mounted the hill. It headed toward them.
Through the dust-covered windshield, they saw Mace, his teeth bared, snarling. He was picking up speed.
Sheena drove at him hard and fast. Aiming to go straight through the Jeep or knock it off the mountain path. Mace hesitated slightly, then rammed the gas pedal to the floor.
Sheena yelled, “Hold tight!”
She went for Mace.
The Jeep swerved to the left, then skidded to a halt, showers of dust belching up behind. The left-hand door swung open. Mace slid out, jerking his revolver out of its holster.
Scurrying, crablike, darting behind rocks and bushes, he dropped on one knee, both hands on the gun. He got Sheena in his sight.
Aiming to take her out, he pulled back the trigger…
Warren ducked. Sheena drove. Smashing into the blacked-out Jeep. They watched it teeter, then topple over the ridge with a rattle of dirt and stones. Shots rang out. Whining by. Missing them by only a fraction.
Quickly, Sheena zigzagged the Chevy out of range. Hanging on to the wheel, speeding, slipping, sliding down the trail in a shower of dust and stones.
Warren straightened up.
He peered through the rearview mirror.
Mace was gone.
SIXTY-EIGHT
“Leigh, we got Deana.”
“Christ, Warren! You’ve GOT her?”
“That’s right, Leigh. Is Mattie there?”
“She sure is,” Mattie snatched the phone from Leigh’s hand and yelled into it. “I should tan your butt, Warren Hastings. Why the hell didn’t you tell me about this before you went chasing off? You coulda wrecked this case, y’know that? Coulda got Deana killed…”
“Sorry, Mattie. There just wasn’t time. We had to go. Anyway, we’re coming in now. And Deana’s alive, okay? She’s had a rough time, but s’far as I can see, her injuries look kinda…superficial. Can’t say for sure, though…She’s a little bewildered. Got an injured jaw. Black eyes. Otherwise okay.”
Wrapped in blankets, Deana lay on the sofa, Leigh by her side, holding and stroking her hand.
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