“What? How? Don’t you knock?” Lyla finally blurted out in false indignation.
“I figured since you were busy listening to everything we said, that I wouldn’t catch you indisposed.”
Lyla crossed her arms against her chest as she sat on the corner of her bed. But as guilty and embarrassed as she was, her lips were stuck in a smile. It was odd to see the incongruence of the look in her eye and that grin. The image reminded Kent of the Joker from Batman. No matter how he felt, his lips were locked in a permanent smile.
Was this how she coped? Did she stuff all the fear and rage behind that smile? Did everyone else in her life believe the expression? He glanced around the room. It looked like the typical preteen girl’s room. Or at least what someone thought a preteen girl’s room should look like. Posters of the current boy band, bedazzled pillows, glitter, and feathered pens. There was lots of pink, with some blue and green mixed in. He seriously doubted if Lyla had picked any of it out. The walls were covered in bright dynamic colors to distract from the darkness hanging over the house.
“You wanted to talk to me?” she asked. Now her tone matched her smile. Like a doll, Kent thought. Saying and acting the way she thought she should.
Kent went over to her too-neat desk, turned the chair backward, and sat down. “You’ve talked to a lot of cops, haven’t you?”
The girl just nodded. They both knew the answer to that question.
“Well, I’m different,” Kent stated. “Actually, I only have one question for you.”
Lyla’s eyes narrowed a bit. “Only one?”
“Yep.” He watched closely for her reaction to his question. “Do you know who wants you dead?”
The girl blinked twice, opened her mouth, and then shut it again before she spoke. “If I knew, wouldn’t I have told someone?”
Kent shrugged. “You tell me ...”
Lyla took a deep breath, and then grinned. A real grin. “I just answered a question with a question, didn’t I?”
“Yes, you did.” Kent leaned forward against the chair’s back. “Do you know what that means?”
“I was lying or evading the truth?”
“Or you were just taken off guard, and are a nervous twelve-year-old.”
He had already liked Lyla just from the case file. A tough, smart young lady. Meeting her, though, his respect only increased. Kent would never tell Nicole, but he actually liked working with kids. They had far fewer barriers than adults. Simply put, they had less time on this earth to learn how to lie effectively.
Adults put up artificial wall after artificial wall to mask their true feelings. Now, he could try to break those walls down, but Kent preferred to seduce his way around them, slipping and sliding between the cracks.
With children, though, there was an even more effective means. You simply allowed their own curiosity to expose their true intent. Even the most refractory child psychopaths usually were their own undoing. They had to know what you knew. They had to test limits. It was in their nature. And with a witness such as Lyla? It would do no good to try to storm her defense. They were there for a reason. Far better to let her slip out the back door she had created for herself.
“No, I don’t know who is after me,” she stated, maintaining eye contact.
“All right, then,” Kent said as he scanned the room. “So, do you have a PS3 or Wii lying around?”
“No,” Lyla answered cautiously. “My parents won’t allow me anything with access to the Internet. You know, for ‘security reasons,’ ” she said, making air quotes.
“Oh, too bad,” Kent replied.
Silence stretched out. Kent rode with it. The more the girl drove the conversation, the better. And sure enough, Lyla finally asked, “Why?”
Kent rolled his head from side to side trying to get the kink out that he had gotten while watching the Suttons for four hours through the crack in the closet door. “I was just trying to find something to kill the time.” He pointed toward the door. “I can’t exactly go out there, so quickly. Your parents probably want to proverbially ‘get their money’s worth’.”
“You do realize that ‘different’ is not necessarily better?” Lyla asked, playfully.
Kent chuckled. “My partner could not agree more.” He cracked his neck. “No worries, though. I’ll just hang out for a few minutes, and then leave.”
The girl swung her legs back and forth like a metronome. He could practically see the gears cranking away in her head. Kent just pretended to study the walls when Lyla suddenly planted her feet on the floor.
“Well, I do have an iPod touch,” she said as she fished around under her bed then pulled the device out from between the bed frame slats. “It doesn’t have much on it, though.”
“Angry Birds?” Kent asked.
“Well, duh! Of course Angry Birds,” Lyla said, rolling her eyes as she turned on the iPod.
Absolutely no electronic devices? Airtight security, huh? What kid these days didn’t have one or more cell phone, MP3 player, or video camera at their fingertips? Was this iPod Lyla’s only act of defiance that threatened her security, or had there been more?
Kent held out his hand. “Great. We’ll take turns.”
“And why should you be first?”
Spunky. He liked that.
“No reason at all.”
The girl grinned and turned on the game. Kent watched the graphics reflect in her eyes. She seemed just an ordinary girl stuck in such an extraordinary situation. Her eyes flickered back and forth as she tried to kill the evil pigs by hitting them with flightless birds. Obviously one’s only option in the face of evil pigs. But it wasn’t the game he was interested in. It was her eye motion.
It was the reason video games were so addictive. Sliding eye movement could induce a trancelike state. Hypnotists had been using the principle for centuries. Psychologists used it to unlock buried memories. He was using it to lower her defenses. To allow her to speak more freely.
“No!” she yelled as the screen showed her loss. Lyla handed the game over to Kent.
He wasted no time digging in and perfecting his slingshot skills. One had to be on top of his game, no matter the platform. Kent didn’t bother to watch Lyla out of the corner of his eye. For one thing, he needed full concentration, since this level had armored pigs. But the second was that he knew she was studying him. Weighing how much she could trust him.
“You didn’t even ask me about my suicide attempt,” she said softly.
“Nope,” Kent answered, barely salvaging his bird.
“You really don’t want to know?”
“Please. Just look around,” Kent said as he nodded to the walls. “Between the bedazzling and glitter, the retinal pain alone would have driven me to it.”
He risked a sideways glance. Lyla’s lips were turned up into a sad grin. At the least, they had broken down the habitual “everything is okay” smile.
“Honestly though, to be shut up in the house, with no hope of ever returning to a normal life?” Kent said. “I get it. I get why that would feel like an option.”
He didn’t share with Lyla that he had contemplated that option several times while locked up in a psych ward, but he really didn’t think she needed to hear about that now.
“Do you really think you can catch him? I mean, today?” she asked, her face pinched with worry. Clearly, she had overheard everything said in the living room. Like he said. Smart and tough.
“Yep,” he said as he won the level. “The white bird lays explosive eggs. Very helpful when the pigs are hidden in a bunker.”
She reached out her hand, but Kent did not give the game back to her. Lyla’s hand dropped. “You are going to have to tell my parents about the game, aren’t you?”
“No,” Kent answered. “But I am going to have to take it. At least for today.”
“I swear, I only text to my friends, and only about school stuff.”
“I believe you.”
Lyla cocked her head. “Then why ar
e you taking it?”
“Because I am not altogether sure it is your friends who are always talking back to you.” Kent rushed on, “But I promise, I will not divulge any secret boy facts. If you like a guy in your algebra class, that will be between you and him.”
The girl was smart enough to know that she had no play here. The FBI profiler was going to take her game. But he didn’t like leaving her feeling vulnerable. Chastised.
He pulled a phone from his pocket. “And to keep me to my word, here’s this.”
Lyla held the phone in her hand as if it might bite her. “You are giving me a phone?”
“Sure. Just don’t answer it unless the call or text is coming from Detective Usher’s phone.” Kent stood up and stretched his slightly cramped left thumb. He had been playing way too many video games this week.
As he walked to the door, Kent turned back. “Oh, and you might want to change the ring tone. Gipsy Kings doesn’t seem to suit you.”
Lyla raised an eyebrow, but he didn’t elaborate. It was an inside joke. One Nicole probably wouldn’t appreciate.
* * *
Nicole was doing her best to keep the Suttons calm, but as soon as they heard the creak of Lyla’s door they both shot out of their seats and rushed down the hallway. Kent had his usual swagger on as he exited the room. Actually, he had an extremely satisfied look on his face, one that seemed to have little to do with the interview. She would have to bust him in the car about it.
Lyla lingered at her bedroom door as her parents approached. It was weird to finally see the girl in person after only seeing grainy snapshots.
“Are you okay?” Mrs. Sutton asked her daughter anxiously.
“I’m fine, Mom.”
“Honey, do you want to talk to your therapist?” the husband asked.
“No!” Lyla yelled, showing the most sass Nicole had seen out of all the surveillance footage of the girl. Hanging around Kent tended to do that to you.
“I’m going to study,” the girl said, backing away and shutting the door behind her.
Mrs. Sutton turned on Kent. “She never treats us like that. What did you say to her?”
Kent, however, ignored the woman’s angry words and came down the hallway toward Nicole. The Suttons followed hot on his heels.
“Yes, what went on in there?” the husband asked.
“I’m not a snitch,” Kent said as he walked past Nicole to the front door.
“Her therapist tells us everything that goes in their sessions,” the wife protested.
“Great for her,” Kent stated, flashing Nicole the “what the hell does that have to do with anything?” look that the profiler should have patented.
“Where are you going?” Mr. Sutton asked.
Kent turned and spoke very slowly as if he were speaking to someone mentally impaired. “I am going to catch the killer.” Even more slowly and exaggeratedly, he said, “It is my job.”
It was actually Mrs. Sutton who looked ready to smack Kent. And Nicole did not blame the woman one iota.
“Okay, obviously Kent has a lead. Let’s run it down, and we’ll be in touch.”
Nicole grabbed her coat as she followed the profiler out the door. Mr. Sutton joined her. The husband waited until Kent was out the door and down the front steps before leaning into her.
“He does know what he is doing, right?”
“Yes,” Nicole answered emphatically. Hoping she was right.
Quickly she caught up to Kent as Mr. Sutton closed the door behind her. You could hear the five locks clicking into place. The only problem, as Kent had demonstrated, was that those five locks were not nearly enough.
Nicole opened the car door and got behind the wheel. “Where to now?”
“Her school.”
Lyla’s private school wasn’t far. Just two blocks down, a sharp right, and they would be there.
“Pay dirt, already,” Kent exclaimed, and then read a text out loud. “How are you doing? Haven’t heard from you. Worried.”
Kent pointed at the screen. “Like some teenager is going to know precisely the moment that a detective and special agent walk out of Lyla’s house.”
Nicole glanced over as she waited for a streetlight. Kent was looking at an iPod touch. Except Kent did not own an iPod touch. “Where did you get that?”
“Isn’t the more important question, who is texting Lyla?”
Of course it was, but with Kent on probation for shoplifting, and the Suttons already on edge about the profiler, the iPod touch was an important issue. “Did you steal that from Lyla’s room?”
“I wouldn’t steal from a twelve-year-old,” Kent scoffed. “I got it in an exchange.”
“Kent,” Nicole warned as she made the right turn.
“Fine. I did get the iPod in an exchange.” Kent pulled a mechanical pencil from his pocket. “But this was the only thing in her room that wasn’t all encrusted with gems and sparkly.”
Nicole rolled her eyes. Of course he had stolen something from Lyla’s room. Luckily, a mechanical pencil they could work around. But wait. What exactly did Kent trade for the iPod? Before she could ask, Kent got animated.
“No, don’t turn into the school.”
“But you said—”
“Down the block. By that van.”
Nicole turned her blinker off and cruised farther down the street. The van was easy enough to pick out. Probably because it looked like one of the department’s vans. “What is our tech support van doing here?” she asked as she parked behind it.
“Um, giving tech support?” Kent answered as he had the Suttons. “It is their job.”
She gritted her teeth. The profiler was in one of those moods. Unfortunately, to catch a twisted pedophile, Kent had to be in one of those moods. As a matter of fact, they needed him to be every bit as smart as he thought he was.
They exited the car as a light sprinkle began to fall. Strange, she did not hear anything about rain today. However, Kent had his rain jacket on. Exactly how did he know that?
Kent opened the back door to the van, and then held it open for her. Nicole frowned. Chivalry wasn’t exactly his strong suit. Kent’s smile radiated back at her, though.
“Keep ’em guessing,” he whispered to her as she climbed into the van. His breath caressed her neck, reminding her of another reason she put up with his moods.
“Wow!” the techie sitting at a bank of monitors announced, his eyes sliding right past Nicole. “Special Agent Harbinger. To work with you? To actually be on a case with you? I mean, you are like the pope of profiling.”
“Jimmi,” Kent nodded casually as he sat down next to the Korean technician. The profiler was used to such gushing praise. “How’s everything going?”
The techie’s fingers flew over the keyboard as Nicole shut the van door. She was already forgotten—if she had been noticed at all.
Kent grabbed a file on the metal desk. “These are the family’s financials?”
“Yep,” Jimmi said without looking up from the monitors. “I sorted them by large, sporadic payments like you asked.” The tech fiddled with a few more settings, and then announced, “If you take a look at the central overhead screen …”
A picture of an extremely nondescript man came up. He had short dishwater-blond hair and appeared to be in his forties, with brown eyes that looked down from the camera. Anyone would walk right past him on the street without noticing him.
“That is the Academy’s afternoon and weekend janitor, Ronald Abbott.”
“And?” Kent asked, his eyes sharp and focused on the picture.
“And,” Jimmi said with a flourish as he split the screen to bring up another picture, this time a mug shot of the man. “This is Harold Madison, who just happens to be a sex offender from New York.”
“All right,” Kent said. “Then let’s—”
The technician rushed on. “Wait, wait, wait. Let me finish. He didn’t work at Lyla’s school in New York. However, he was a teacher at a public school not t
wo blocks from hers. And I can’t find any trace of him in D.C. However, he could have been using a different alias. And wait for it … his preference was prepubescent blondes.”
Jimmi’s face was filled with anticipation as he waited for Kent to answer. However, the profiler did not. Instead, he leaned back in his chair.
“Well?” the tech asked the profiler.
“I was just making sure you were done.”
The tech blushed while nodding vigorously. “Yes. Sorry, I am.”
“What I was going to say was that there is no way that Harold is our guy, so I wanted to move on to our other little project.”
“But …” Jimmi stammered, clearly not used to Kent’s “let’s move on past your stupid little theories” approach. Nicole was just glad she wasn’t in the hot seat this time. The technician couldn’t let it go, though. “Harold fits the profile to a T.”
Nicole actually felt sorry for the exuberant technician as Kent leaned forward in his chair.
“Look at him,” Kent instructed Jimmi. “Look into his eyes.”
The technician did as instructed but kept glancing over at the profiler. “Okay …”
“What do you see?”
“I don’t know … I mean … he is looking down in both pictures.”
“Exactly.” Kent said as he hit the metal countertop. “Looking down in shame. The guy is a pedophile, but my guess is he has tried to reform, unsuccessfully of course, but he has tried.”
Jimmi still seemed confused, though. “Couldn’t he be faking that? Couldn’t he be looking away to try to hide his identity? You can’t be that certain.”
Oh my, Nicole thought. Either this kid had no idea how readily Kent liked to slice and dice his intellectual opponents, or the kid was packing some serious heat below the belt.
Kent smiled smugly. “But, my dear Jimmi, Harold has been caught before.”
“Yes, but wouldn’t that make him all the more cunning?”
“Oh, it has taught him some skills like changing his name, but to take on a multicity, multi-victim killing carnival? No, the man, or woman, we are looking for would be staring straight into the camera. Daring us to find fault.”
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