The Search

by Нора Робертс

  She started to stretch, then her gaze landed on the bedside clock. “What! Is that clock right?”

  “I don’t know. Who cares?”

  “But... Did I fall asleep? For an hour ? That’s like a nap.”

  “Fee, that is a nap.”

  “But I never take naps.”

  “Welcome to my world.”

  “Well, God.” She shoved up, pushed her hands through her hair. Since it was the closest to hand, she grabbed his T-shirt, dragged it on.

  It just covered her ass, he noted. Too bad.

  She opened the door, and the room was immediately filled with dogs.

  “Sorry, boys. Go on and talk to Simon. I need a shower.”

  She dashed into the bathroom. And all four dogs lined up on the side of the bed, tails whipping, eyes staring, noses twitching.

  “Yeah, that’s right. That’s right. I had sex with her. A lot of sex. What’s it to you? Only one of you has balls, and since everybody’s haranguing me, he’s not going to have them much longer.”

  He recognized the gleam in Jaws’s eyes. “Don’t even think about jumping up here,” Simon warned, but cupped a hand around his own balls, just in case. “Why don’t you go get me a beer? Now that would be a useful behavior.”

  Since none of them seemed inclined, he got up to get one for himself.

  Once he got downstairs, he switched it to wine. She’d said she wanted wine, he remembered. He might as well go that route, too. He poured two glasses and sipped the first as he opened the refrigerator to study the contents.

  They were going to starve to death, he decided, if one of them didn’t think about hitting the grocery store. He poked into the freezer and decided one of her frozen girl meals was better than starvation.

  Marginally.

  He picked up her wine and, with the dogs trailing him—again—started back for the stairs.

  Beside him, Newman let out a quiet woof seconds before he saw the woman walk onto his front porch.

  She beamed a smile through the screen door. “Well, hello.”

  Simon took a moment to think she was lucky he’d bothered to pull on his boxers. “Something I can do for you?”

  “I hope so. I’d love to talk to you for a few minutes. I’m Kati Starr, with U.S. Report. Isn’t that Fiona Bristow’s car—and her dogs, right?”

  Slick looks, slick manner, he thought.

  “Here’s what I’m going to do for you. I’m going to tell you, once, to turn around, get back in your own car. Go away. Stay away.”

  “Mr. Doyle, I’m just doing my job, and trying to do it as thoroughly and accurately as I can. My information is there might be a break in the investigation. As I’ve been told Ms. Bristow’s now living with you, I’d hoped to be able to get her thoughts on this potential break. I admire your work,” she added. “I’d love to do a feature on you sometime. How long have you and Ms. Bristow been involved?”

  Simon closed the door in her face, flipped the lock.

  He figured he’d give her three minutes to get the hell off his property before he called the sheriff and had the satisfaction of pressing charges for trespassing.

  But when he got back upstairs, Fiona, wet hair slicked back, sat on the side of the bed.

  “I saw her through the window, so you don’t have to wonder if you should tell me or not.”

  “Okay.” He passed her the wine.

  “I was going to say I’m sorry she came here, started on you, but it’s just not my fault.”

  “No, it’s not your fault. She said she had information that there’d been a break in the case. I don’t know if she was just fishing or if she’s got a source leaking her information.”

  Fiona let out a muttered oath. “I guess we’d better tell Agent Tawney, just in case. What did you say to her?”

  “I told her to go away, and when she didn’t, I just closed the door.”

  “Smarter than I was.”

  “Well, I considered giving her a quote, but I thought ‘Fuck you, bitch’ didn’t have any real creative zing. And it was all I could think of. If you’re going into brood mode, it’s going to piss me off.”

  “I’m not going into brood mode. I’m going into neener-neener mode by calling the FBI and the sheriff’s office and tattling on her. And I’m asking for a restraining order after all, just for the fun of it.”

  He reached out, smoothed a hand over her hair. “I like that mode better.”

  “Me too. Then what do you say we flip to see who cooks dinner?”

  “Buzzing up sissy frozen dinners isn’t worthy of a flip.”

  “I was thinking of the steaks we have in the meat drawer of the fridge.”

  “We have steaks?” The day got brighter. “We have a meat drawer?” She smiled and got to her feet. “Yes, we do.”

  “Okay, the meat drawer probably came with the fridge. How did we get steaks? Do you have a magic cow somewhere?”

  “No, I have a fairy stepmother, who delivers. I asked Syl if she’d pick us up a couple steaks, Idahos, some staples I needed. She dropped them off today, including a bunch of fresh vegetables and fruit because she thinks we need those, too. That’s why there are fresh vegetables in the crisper. And yes, we have a crisper.”

  He decided there was no point in telling her he’d looked in the fridge and seen none of those things. There’d just be some variation of his mother’s standard crack about Male Refrigerator Blindness Syndrome.

  “You make the calls. I’ll start the grill.”

  “Works for me. You do know you’re only wearing your underwear.”

  “I’ll put on the pants you’ve already picked up and folded on the bed you’ve already made. But that means if we have to have any of those vegetables, you’re dealing with them. I’ll take the steaks.”

  “That’s a fair trade. I’ll make the calls downstairs.”

  When she went down, he put on the neatly folded work pants she’d laid on the bed.

  Before he went downstairs, he stepped into his makeshift gym.

  Okay, maybe, like the rest of the house, the room smelled like a lemon drop. But his handprint was still on the window.

  It was, he supposed, a strange kind of compromise.

  He started down, cursed, walked back up and yanked open a drawer. He pulled on a fresh shirt.

  She’d gotten the steaks, he reminded himself.

  Steaks, fresh shirt. It was just another kind of compromise.

  Twenty-Six

  Tawney studied Perry on the monitor. He sat at the steel table, shackled, his eyes closed, the smallest of smiles on his face—as a man might when listening to pleasant music.

  His prison-pale face, doughier than it had been seven years before, expressed quiet contemplation. Lines carved brackets around his mouth, more spiderwebbed from the corners of his eyes, only enhancing the appearance of an ordinary, harmless man who’d use his senior discount for the Early Bird Special at his local Denny’s.

  The indulgent uncle, the quiet next-door neighbor who tended his roses and clipped his lawn meticulously. The simple Everyman people passed on the street without a second glance or particular interest.

  “He used that the way Bundy used his charming looks and fake arm cast,” Tawney murmured.

  “Used what?”

  “His I’m-somebody’s-grandfather mask. He’s still using it.”

  “Maybe. But he’s talking to us without his lawyer, and that has to be another device.” Mantz shook her head. “What’s he up to? What’s he thinking? Nobody knows him better than you, Tawney.”

  “Nobody knows him.”

  He kept his eyes on Perry’s face and thought, He knows we’re watching him. He’s enjoying it.

  “He’s good at making you think you do, saying what you want to hear, or expect to hear. It’s the layers that trip you up with him. The ones he has already, the ones he adds on to suit the circumstance. You’ve read the files, Erin. You know it was mostly just his bad luck and the heroism of a canine cop that we ca
ught him.”

  “You don’t give yourself or the investigative team enough credit. You’d have bagged him.”

  “He stayed in the wind nearly a year, a year after we had his face, his name. Fiona gave him to us, and still, it took months and the murder of a police officer before we took him down.”

  And for that he’d never completely forgive himself.

  “Look at him,” Tawney added. “A paunchy man past middle age, chained, caged, and still he finds a way. He found Eckle and lit the fuse.”

  “You’re not getting enough sleep.”

  “I bet that bastard’s sleeping like a baby. Every night, with that goddamn smile on his face just like he has on now. He’s got an agenda. He’s always got an agenda, a purpose to everything he does. He doesn’t need the lawyer to talk to us because he’s only going to tell us what he’s already decided to tell us.”

  “He doesn’t know we’ve got a line on Eckle.”

  “I wonder.”

  “How could he? And telling him what we want to tell him is our leverage. Eckle’s screwing up the plan, and that’s going to piss him off.”

  “Well. Let’s find out.”

  When they entered, Tawney nodded to the guard on the door. Perry remained still, eyes closed, the little smile in place as Tawney read the names, date and time into the record. “You’ve waived your right to counsel during this interview?”

  Perry opened his eyes. “Hello, Agent Tawney. Yes, no need for lawyers between old acquaintances. Agent Mantz, you’re looking lovely today. It’s so nice to have visitors to break up the monotony of the day. We’re chatting so often these days. I look forward to it.”

  “Is that what this is about?” Tawney demanded. “The attention, the break in the monotony?”

  “It’s certainly a nice benefit. How goes the hunt? I’m hungry for news. The powers that be have narrowed my access to the outside. Understandable, of course, but unfortunate.”

  “You get your ‘news,’ Perry. I don’t doubt your abilities.”

  Perry folded his hands, leaned forward a little. “I’ll say that before my current situation, I enjoyed the article that bright young woman wrote. Kati Starr? I suspect that’s a nom de plume, or a clever gift from fate. Either way, I enjoyed her slant, we’ll say, and was delighted to catch up a little with Fiona. You’ll have to tell her I’m thinking about her.”

  “I bet you are. It’s hard to forget a woman who kicked your ass.”

  “My face, actually.”

  “She’ll do the same to your apprentice,” Mantz put in. “If he’s stupid enough to try for her.”

  “You give me too much credit.” Perry’s chains rattled as he waved the comment away. “I’m hardly in any position to train anyone, even if I were inclined. Which I’m not. We’ve talked about this before, and as I said then, you can clearly see from my record in this institution, I’ve accepted the punishment the courts, and society, meted out. I obey the rules here. Rather than look for trouble, I avoid it. My life on the outside being what it was, I don’t have many visitors. My sainted sister, of course. Or maybe you think she’s taken up where I left off.”

  Saying nothing, Tawney opened a file, took out a photo. He tossed it on the table.

  “May I?” Perry picked up Eckle’s photo, examined it. “Now, he looks very familiar. Give me a minute. I never forget a face. Yes, yes, of course. He came to teach here, several times. Literature and writing. You know how interested I am in books—and I do miss my work in our library. I took his courses. I hope to take more. Incarceration shouldn’t preclude education.

  “I found him an average teacher. No spark, really. But beggars can’t be choosers, can we?”

  “I bet he found you a better teacher,” Mantz said.

  “That’s sweet of you. Is that your way of saying you believe I inspired him? That would be fascinating, but I can’t be held responsible for the actions of others.”

  “You don’t owe him anything either,” Mantz pointed out. “We’ll stop him. We’ll put him in a cage just like yours, but you have an opportunity, and that should appeal to you. Give us information that leads to his arrest, and we can make things a little less monotonous for you.”

  A thin shell of hard slid over his face. “What? You’ll see I’m served ice cream every Sunday, given an extra hour a week in the yard? There’s nothing you can do for me, or to me, Agent Mantz. I’ll spend the rest of my life in this place. I accept that. If beggars can’t be choosers, I choose not to be a beggar.”

  “When we catch him, he’ll talk. Just like the minister you conned talked,” Mantz added. “It didn’t take us long to persuade him to admit he smuggled letters in and out for you, for more than a year.”

  “Correspondence with my prayer group.” Perry folded his hands piously. “Reverend Garley sympathized with my need for spiritual comfort—and privacy for my soul, which the system fails to respect.”

  “Everyone in this room knows you don’t have a soul.”

  “Eckle will roll on you,” Mantz continued, “and you’ve already considered that. When he does, your life in here will get a little more—how did you put it?—narrow. You’ll be charged with multiple counts of conspiracy to murder. The years added to your time won’t mean a damn, but we’ll see to it your time in here is a fucking misery.”

  Perry only continued to smile at her in his calm, pleasant way. “You think it’s not already?”

  “It can be worse,” Tawney promised. “Believe me when I tell you I’ll make sure it’s worse. And for what, Perry? For this.” He flicked a hand at the photo. “He’s a screwup. Impatient, careless. You stayed ahead of us for years. We’re breathing down his neck within months. He’s not worthy of you.”

  “Flattery.” Perry sighed. “I am susceptible to flattery. You know my weaknesses, Don.”

  “He tied a red scarf to Fiona Bristow’s mailbox.” With her eyes trained on Perry’s, Mantz saw the quick flicker of irritation in his. There was something he hadn’t learned yet. “He’ll never get her for you now, never finish it for you.”

  “That was... immature of him.”

  “You know what he did to Annette Kellworth, beating her half to death before he ended it.” Tawney shook his head with a disgust he wanted Perry to see, a disgust he understood Perry would share.

  “Not your style, George. Not your class. He’s losing control, and showing off. You never stooped like that. If we get him without your help, you’re going to pay a heavy price for his mistakes.”

  “You know my weakness,” Perry repeated after a moment. “And you know my strengths. I’m an observer. I observed Mr. Eckle. Took an interest in him as there’s so little of interest here. It may be those observations would be helpful to you. I might have theories, speculations. I might even remember certain comments or conversations. I might remember something helpful, but I’d want something in return.”

  “What flavor ice cream?”

  Perry smiled at Tawney. “Something a little sweeter. I want to speak with Fiona. Face-to-face.”

  “Forget it,” Mantz said immediately.

  “Oh, I don’t think so.” Perry kept his eyes on Tawney. “Do you want to save lives? Do you want to save the life of the woman he’s stalking even now? Or will she die? Will others die, all for the lack of a single conversation? What would Fiona say to that? It’s her choice, isn’t it?”

  “We should push him harder,” Mantz insisted. “Dig under his skin. He responded when you said Eckle wasn’t worthy of him. It fed his ego.”

  “It only affirmed what he’d already concluded himself.”

  “Exactly, so we push that button. Let me do it. I’ll work him alone. Flattery and fear from a woman may turn it.”

  “Erin, he barely acknowledges you.” Because it was his turn to drive, Tawney slid behind the wheel. “As far as he’s concerned, you’re not even part of this. You weren’t around during the investigation that brought him down, and this is all about that. All about him. Eckle’s just his
vehicle, his conduit.”

  Mantz slammed the buckle of her seat belt into the lock. “I don’t like being the ones making the down payment.”

  “Neither do I.”

  “Will she do it?”

  “A part of me’s sorry to say, yes, I think she will.”

  While the FBI flew east, Francis Eckle stepped in line a few places behind his prey. She’d worked late tonight, he thought. Just an hour or so, but it pleased him to know she was hard at work. Pleased him that, as usual, she made the stop at Starbucks for her evening pick-me-up.

  Skinny latte, he knew, double shot of espresso.

  Tonight was yoga class, and if she hurried, she could fit in twenty minutes on the treadmill in the upscale fitness club she treated herself to.

  He’d noted, thanks to his thirty-day trial membership, she rarely did more than twenty, and often skipped even that.

  Never touched the weights, never bothered with the other machines. Just liked to show herself off in one of the tight outfits she changed into.

  No different from a street-corner whore.

  Afterward, she’d walk the three blocks back to work, get her car from the parking lot, then drive the half mile home.

  She wasn’t fucking anyone at the moment.

  Career-focused. Self-focused. Nobody and nothing mattered as much to her as herself.

  Selfish bitch. Street-corner whore.

  He felt the rage rising up. It felt so good. So good. Hot and bitter.

  He imagined pounding his fists into her face, her belly, her breasts. He could feel the way her cheekbone would shatter, smell the blood when her lip split, see the shock and pain in her eye as it swelled and closed.

  “Teach her a lesson,” he murmured. “Teach her a lesson, all right.”

  “Hey, buddy, move it up.”

  His hands shook and fisted as he whirled on the man behind him in line. His rage quivered, and his pride spread as the man took an instinctive step back.

  Paying attention now, he thought. Everyone’s paying attention now.

  You have to blend, Frank. You know how. As long as they don’t see you, you can do anything you want. Anything.