by Karen Rose
“Is it always the shoes, Micki?” Abbott asked, exasperated.
“Christy’s shoes might be important,” she insisted stubbornly, “no matter what Dr. Pierce said. Noah, are you okay?”
Noah had brought the picture to an inch from his eyes, still squinting. “Is this still on the memory card of Farmer’s camera?”
“Yes.” She began scrolling back through the pictures Farmer had taken. “Why?”
Noah could feel each beat of his heart. “Just enlarge it. I want to see his hand.”
Noah took the camera, willing his hands not to shake. “He has a ring like mine.”
“So?” Abbott said. “He showed us his ring yesterday.”
“Those are Eve’s keys in his hand. Somebody stole Eve’s keys that night.”
Abbott frowned. “You can’t be serious, Noah.”
“Eve dropped her keys. Micki, you said CSU combed the area and didn’t find them.”
Abbott still shook his head. “Assuming those are her keys, just because he took them doesn’t mean anything.”
“They’re hers,” Noah said stubbornly. “When we were searching for her keys, she said she had a police whistle on her key ring, and there it is. Somebody broke into her apartment that night while she was here, with us, but there was no sign of forced entry, because he used her keys. Later that night I changed her lock, and a few hours later that person came back. We assumed it was Buckland.”
“You mean Dell,” Abbott corrected.
“Whatever. Listen to me. When I got to the Bolyards’ last night, my first thought was how did someone know to kill them? Could it have been one of us?”
“That’s absurd. Bolyard confronted Don…” Abbott’s voice trailed. “He never talked to Donner. Donner was being set up. Whoever made that call to the TV news, lied.”
“Exactly. Bolyard might have told someone else, but the only person that would benefit from their murder was the one he’d seen in the coffee house. It wasn’t Donner. Also, Pierce was at Christy’s scene Monday night because he was here when I got Eve’s call. He was at Virginia Fox’s this morning, but he wasn’t here when Natalie called. How did he know to come to Virginia’s house? Did you call him, Bruce?”
Abbott slowly shook his head. “I thought you did.”
Micki and Kane were shaking their heads as well. “Liv didn’t,” Kane said. “We were together until I…” He swallowed. “Until I took Eve to the garage.”
Noah nodded grimly. “So none of us called him and Virginia’s name wasn’t on the list. But he knew we’d go there. Sonofabitch wanted to watch us.”
“I can’t believe this,” Abbott said. “It is too incredible. I’ve known Carleton Pierce for years. Years.”
Noah leaned in close. “Think about it, Bruce. He was there at Virginia’s when you said Kane was taking Eve to the safe house. Then he was gone. Twenty minutes later, Eve is gone.”
Abbott pursed his lips. “He was more upset about Donner’s suicide than Virginia Fox’s murder. He set Donner up, but didn’t know he’d killed himself.”
Kane went still. “Right before he hit me, Eve and I were talking about her study. She said Donner had appointed an independent third-party counselor in case anyone in the study became unstable or suicidal. She didn’t know who that was. I’d just asked her if that person would have access to the subject list.”
Abbott’s jaw twitched. “Donner knew. Who else would know?”
“Jeremy Lyons,” Noah said. “But he’s missing. Where is he? Did we get his LUDs?”
Abbott riffled through the papers on his desk. “Yeah. Faye gave them to me before my meeting with the brass, but we rushed to Donner’s.” He handed the papers to Noah.
“These are home LUDs,” Noah said. “We asked for Jeremy’s cell, too.”
“Cover letter says no cells in his or his wife’s name,” Abbott said.
“They had pay-as-you-go phones,” Kane said. “Mrs. Lyons said they were counting pennies.”
Noah scanned their home LUDs and a number jumped out. “This is the same number that called Eve’s cell—twice. One was a text, the other a voicemail.”
“That number called the Lyonses’ home phone at least once a day up until Monday, right at 5:00 p.m.,” Abbott said, looking over Noah’s shoulder.
“When Lyons picked up his kid from day care,” Kane said. “That’s Jeremy’s cell.”
“What text and voicemail did he leave for Eve?” Micki asked.
“Rob Winters’s last words,” Noah murmured. “Eve’s worst fear. We thought it was Dell Farmer, but it was Jeremy Lyons.”
“It was Jeremy Lyons’s phone,” Kane corrected.
Noah looked at Kane. “You think Jeremy’s dead.”
Kane looked miserable, but he nodded. “He was a weasel to Eve, but everyone swore he loved his kid. He never picked her up on Tuesday and never called home.”
Noah stood up. “I’m going to his house. Pierce’s house.”
“And then what?” Abbott said. “A shoe next to Eve’s keys isn’t enough for a warrant.”
“I don’t care.” Noah grabbed his hat, but Abbott grabbed his arm.
“Sit down, Noah.” His voice was like a whip. “We’re not going to run off half-cocked. We’re going to call Ramsey, see what we need to get a warrant. In the meantime, Kane and Micki, go to Marshall, serve the warrant on Donner’s office, see if he mentions Pierce anywhere. A known association would get us a warrant for Pierce’s house and office. See if anybody saw Pierce with Donner. Take his picture in a six-pack of mugs.”
“I’m not going to just sit here,” Noah said. His voice trembled and he didn’t care.
“Yeah, you are. But we’ll call Donner’s wife. See if he had a calendar or diary. We’ll ask if she’s seen Pierce with him. We’ll follow the law. Mick, you drive. Kane still looks a little dazed. Call me when you find anything, even if it’s nothing. Go.”
Thursday, February 25, 1:05 p.m.
“That was good work,” Brian Ramsey said as the officer led a grumbling Damon to a cell. “I didn’t have to deal as low as I wanted and you got what you needed.”
Olivia looked at the license plate number Damon had provided. “I hope it’s legit.”
“Well-heeled gentlemen venturing to the wrong side of the tracks for tricks make good blackmail victims. Nobody wants their wives to know they’ve been trolling.”
“Thanks, Brian. I’m going to call this in, see who it belongs to.”
He put his briefcase back down. “Have to say I’m curious.” Then he rolled his eyes when his own cell rang. “I miss the days of bad reception.”
Olivia moved to one side of the room to give him privacy. “Hey, Faye, I’ve got a Wisconsin plate for you to run.”
“You need to get back here, girl,” Faye said. “It’s a zoo.”
Olivia straightened, her already queasy gut churning. “Why? Is it Jack? Eve?”
“No. No news there. They looked through those pictures and think it’s Dr. Pierce.”
Olivia sank back against the corner of the steel table. “What?”
“You heard me. Carleton Pierce. So give me the plate. I’ll run it.”
Stunned, Olivia did and felt the table shudder when Ramsey sat on his corner. She turned to find him looking at her, looking as poleaxed as she felt.
“It’s Abbott,” Ramsey said. “He wants us both in his office.”
Keeping her phone to her ear, Olivia made her feet move and was in the hall when Faye came back. “Got a name for you. Black, Irene, age sixty-two. The address is a PO box, Eau Claire, Wisconsin. Mean anything to you?”
“Yeah. It does.” Irene Black got around. “Give the info to Abbott. We’re coming.”
Ramsey glanced at her as they jogged to the exit. “Who does the SUV belong to?”
“Our Shadowland hunter.”
“So now we have an address?” he said, but she shook her head.
“A PO box. He’s done this before. It’s a shell game. I’l
l meet you at Abbott’s.”
She was three steps from her car when her cell rang again. “Sutherland.”
“It’s Tom Hunter.”
He didn’t know about Eve. Neither did David. Dammit. “Not a good time, Tom.”
“Wait. I tried to call Liza, but she’s not answering her phone. I got worried and called the school, but she never showed up today.”
Olivia rested her pounding forehead against her car. “I’ll send a car to her address.”
“I’m here now. Olivia, she’s gone and her neighbor says her mom died last year. She was living all alone with her sister.” She heard him suck in a panicked breath. “I knocked on every door in her building, showed a picture I took from her apartment. One old lady said she saw her getting into a car with a man. She said Liza looked sick.”
Olivia felt sick. “What kind of car?”
“Black BMW.”
Bile burned and Olivia swallowed it back. “Meet me at my office. Don’t ask questions. Just get in your car and meet me as fast as you can.”
“You know something. What? What do you know?”
“Tom, you need to stay calm. I need you calm. Eve’s gone.”
He sucked in another breath. “Does David know?”
“Not yet. Meet me at my office. Now.”
Thursday, February 25, 1:20 p.m.
Eve shuddered out a breath. It had been harder the second time, waking up. The images had been more intense, Winters’s voice more real. Because I wanted to. Because I could. She’d been helpless, unable to move, unable to scream.
Just like that night five years, eleven months, and eleven days ago, she thought and with sudden clarity realized she’d never screamed. Not once when Winters was killing her.
I never screamed for help. I lay there and let him do that to me. Today, in the parking garage, she’d run, but she hadn’t screamed for help. If I’d screamed…
Awareness was returning slowly, the fog clearing from her mind.
Back then, it wouldn’t have mattered. Back then, Dana’s Chicago apartment had been in such a bad part of town that nobody would have helped her. But today… Dammit. I was in a police parking garage and I never made a sound.
And none of that mattered right now. Her breathing had quieted from harsh pants to slow drags of air. The air was cold and dry. It stung her nose, burned her throat. Her mouth was like cotton. She smelled sweat. Vomit.
I’m cold. She let out a breath, struggling for calm when panic speared. I’m naked. Her wrists were tied behind her head. Her ankles were tied, together and to the bed.
She kept her eyes closed, afraid of what she’d see.
Next to her she heard the sound of metal clashing. Scraping. Swishing. She’d heard that sound before. Panic became a live thing when she realized from where.
He was there. Sharpening a knife.
“I really like your tattoos,” he said companionably. “It’s like a paint-by-numbers set.”
She kept her eyes closed. Why? she wanted to scream, but he’d already told her that. Because he wished it. Because it gave him pleasure. He knew her worst fear and was using it. He knew how. He studied the mind, behavior, phobia.
“You used their worst fears against them,” she said, her voice cracking from the dry air. “Martha and Christy and the others. Why? Did it make it more fun?”
“It did. And knowing yours will be even better.”
She flinched when he came close. She felt his heat, then smelled the metal of his knife beneath her nose. “Open your eyes, Eve, or I’ll open them for you.”
She remembered Christy Lewis’s eyes, glued open. Eve forced her eyes to open, holding her cringe inside. His face was inches from hers, his eyes bright with anticipation. He brandished the knife in front of her eyes, then trailed the tip down her face, over her old scar. She couldn’t feel it, but she wouldn’t tell him that.
“It’s like a road map,” he said, amused. “I just have to stay on the lines. Or maybe I’ll make a few new ones.”
She fought for something to say. Something to throw him off-balance. Anything to buy her time. Noah and Olivia were searching. She just had to give them time.
“I know who you are.”
“I should hope so. I did give you my card.” He smiled at this.
“No, I know who you are in the World. How many times did you beg women to buy them a drink? How many times were you rejected?”
He looked bored. “Avatars, Eve. It’s all in the appearance.”
“Not entirely. There is substance and there is style. You had no style. Dasich.”
His eyes flickered and she could see she’d surprised him, but he recovered quickly. “So I played a little poker. Greer.”
He took a step back and she had to control another cringe. She was naked. So was he. But he never sexually assaulted his victims. Noah had said so. But Pierce was erect. Aroused. Why had he not raped them?
“You never assaulted your victims,” she said levelly and he paused, studying her.
“No, not sexually,” he agreed. “Not those victims.” He smiled again. “But they were special. A project, if you will.”
Eve swallowed, forcing herself not to stare at his groin or his knife. She would not give him power over her fear. Instead she focused on his eyes. “You left those women hanging in their homes. Why did you bring me here? Wherever here is.”
“Like I said. The six were special. The rest were not. Dregs of society nobody cared about. I brought them here and here they died.” He grabbed her hair, forced her head off the bed, forced her to look at the wall. “Look,” he mocked, “and try not to be afraid.”
The strangled sound she heard came from her own throat as she stared.
Shoes. The wall was lined with shelves and the shelves were lined with shoes. Her breath was coming hard again and all she could hear was the pounding of her pulse in her ears. He leaned close and tilted her head higher. “See anything familiar?”
My boots. He had them arranged side by side, the calf folded over at the end of the top row. She sucked in a breath that made her cough. He grabbed a water bottle, held her nose until her mouth opened, and forced her to drink. “Normally I don’t give my guests refreshment. But I think you’ll be here for a while.”
He set the bottle and the knife aside and hoisted himself on the bed, straddling her. He leaned in close and put his hands around her throat. She realized then that he’d taken off her choker and her throat was totally exposed.
“I’ve always wondered,” he crooned. “What was it like to die?”
His hands had not tightened. He’s playing with me. Like he played with Noah and the Hat Squad. Hat Squad. The MSP article had filled Dell Farmer with rage. Pierce’s first victim had gone missing at the same time. It made sense.
“What was it like when the cops got all that attention in MSP?” she asked. Contempt. He needed to hear contempt. “They collect men’s hats.” She lifted one brow. “You collect women’s shoes. Tough guy you are. Where did you get the hat you wore today? EBay? Because you didn’t earn it.”
She grunted when he hit her with his fist. She tasted blood and felt satisfaction.
Astride her, his chest rose and fell with his angry breaths, but he calmed himself quickly. A quick glance showed much of his sexual prowess had also calmed.
“You think you’re smart,” he said, sliding his hands around her throat again.
“I’m just a grad student. You’re the professional. You’re the shrink.” She made herself smile, with pity. “And you just did.”
Her head swung hard to one side as he hit her again, then his hands took her throat and tightened. She couldn’t breathe. White lights danced in front of her eyes. Can’t breathe.
His face loomed close, his eyes dark with fury. “You are nothing. I say if you live or die. I hold the power here. You are nothing.”
She held still until the panic overruled and she bucked, trying to throw him off. The pressure on her windpipe increased and the frin
ges of her vision went dark. It all went dark, and then abruptly he let go.
She gasped, dragging in air.
He sat back, his jaw cocked, his eyes hard. “You are tied to a bed in a place where no one can find you,” he said flatly. “You are mine. I will have your respect.” He leaned close, his thumbs on her windpipe. “Even if I have to kill you to get it.”
Glad he’d made her drink, Eve found moisture in her mouth and spat in his face. His eyes flashed rage and he raised his fist. Then he lowered it and lifted his brows.
“Unwise, Miss Wilson. I hold the power here and I know how to wear you down. I will enjoy wearing you down.” He climbed off her and went to the wooden staircase where he’d hung his trousers. From one of the pockets he drew a syringe and she stiffened. He smiled. “What shall I whisper in your ear this time?”
She didn’t care, because every time he sedated her was time he wasn’t strangling her and time Noah could spend finding her. Still, she didn’t want to look too grateful.
“Please, don’t.” She shrank back. “Don’t drug me again.” Do it. Do it.
He leaned in, jabbed the needle in her neck. “When you wake, I’ll be carving your face like a Halloween jack-o’-lantern. No one will ever look at you again.”
She thought of Martha and Christy as the room began to blur. And Virginia. He’d do it, she knew. And he’d enjoy it. Hurry, Noah. Please.
Disgusted, he grabbed the knife from the table and turned to the stairs, stopping when he saw a slight movement from the huddled form in the corner. He crossed the room and backhanded her, taking pleasure in the whimper she emitted.
“You’re next.” Then he grabbed his pants from the newel post and went upstairs, slamming the door behind him. Broodingly, he sat in his kitchen and looked out the window at the woods surrounding his place. I underestimated her. I let her unnerve me.
She would pay. He pulled his laptop closer, searched, and found a photo a Chicago tabloid had printed after Winters had carved her up. He printed it out and slapped it on the table. He was a man of his word. When he was finished, she’d look like that again.
Immensely cheered, he made himself a sandwich and sat down to watch the news. It was all about Virginia Fox and the Red Dress Killer. There would be a press conference later. He’d have to make sure he tuned in.