The Killing Game ed-2

by Iris Johansen

  Eve shook her head. "I’ve gone back seven months. Maybe he was lying to me." She poured coffee. "It’s after midnight. You should be in bed."

  "Why?"

  "Aren’t you tired?"

  Jane lifted her chin. "Aren’t you?"

  She was too tired for challenges at the moment. She made a face. "Yes, maybe I’ll put you to work on this and go to bed."

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  "I’ll try. But we work on Macs at school. What’s that computer?”

  “A Logan." Kids these days were so far ahead of where Eve had been at the same age.

  "Logan?"

  "John Logan makes computers.”

  “Like Bill Gates?"

  "Sort of, only Gates makes software, not hardware, and they’re nothing alike. Did you find something to read?"

  She nodded. "A book about some scientists who are trying to locate Troy. It’s pretty cool." She paused. "And a book about forensic sculpting. You told me that’s what you do for a living. Does it belong to you?"

  "No, Logan hired me to work on a case and he believes in doing his research.”

  “The pictures are icky."

  Eve nodded.

  "Can you really do that?”

  “I really can."

  "Why?"

  "It’s my job. And sometimes I can help make parents feel a little better about losing someone."

  "They should just go on and not think about them.”

  “Is that what you do?"

  "Sure. Why not?" Jane stared at her defiantly. "I haven’t thought about Fay since he killed her.

  She’s dead. Why should I?"

  Eve stared skeptically at her.

  "It’s true. I’ve thought about the creep who did it but not her." She got to her feet. "I’m going to bed." She strode out of the room.

  So full of pain. What would it take to get such a damaged child to lower the walls she’d built around herself? Eve mustn’t try to overcome that barrier. It would be the most dangerous course to follow just then.

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  The safest thing to do for both of them was to find the missing woman. Provided Dom had really killed that woman. As she’d told Jane, he might have lied to her to lure her out of Atlanta.

  But why Phoenix?

  He’d said he liked the city. Maybe there was something about the atmosphere here that triggered—

  Stop analyzing and get to work. There had been nothing helpful in the paper during the five- to seven-month period Dom had specified. Maybe she should go back farther. Or maybe not.

  Check the recent editions…

  January 30. Not even a month ago.

  Debby Jordan was in her early thirties, married, the mother of two boys. She had disappeared on the way to choir practice.

  I’m told she had a lovely soprano voice.

  Eve scanned the initial story about the disappearance and then several follow-up stories.

  Her husband had found her car in the church parking lot when she hadn’t come home.

  An investigation had turned up nothing.

  The church had offered a two-thousand-dollar reward for any information. Choir members had been interviewed and spoken of her kindness and the loveliness of her voice. "A soprano sweet as an angel’s."

  Several heartrending pictures of her husband and two little boys… Debby Jordan.

  Eve leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. Dom must have enjoyed throwing out lies and deceptive hints. You made it hard enough, but I’ve found her, Dom, you son of a bitch.

  She felt too sick to feel any sense of accomplishment. A woman with everything to live for had died. Eve couldn’t do anything about her death. But she could find the man who had killed her.

  The first step was to locate Debby Jordan’s body.

  Okay. Since Dom had wanted her to do just that, he would have given her some other clue.

  Think. Remember every word he’d spoken regarding Debby Jordan.

  She showed me the light, and then I showed her the light.

  She was the one who lit the way.

  It’s important that the way be lighted for us, isn’t it? She slowly straightened in her chair.

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  It was possible, if Dom wasn’t making an ass of her. The Indians used to call the falls "the place of tumbling moonlight".

  Talladega Falls.

  What had Charlie said about the two Phoenix killings? Two bodies found by the Phoenix police at San Luz.

  She jumped up and strode to the bookshelves. A dictionary. Pray that Logan had a Spanish-English dictionary. She found one and quickly rifled through it.

  San — saint.

  Her hands were shaking as she thumbed through the pages once more. Luz - light.

  Yes.

  Light.

  She drew a deep breath.

  I’ve got it, you bastard. I’ve got it. Now give me a little more time and I’ll find Debby Jordan.

  She leaned forward and accessed the Internet search engine. Then she typed in one word.

  Cadaver.

  "Where are we going?" Jane asked as she looked out the car window at the cactusdotted terrain. "We’re out in the desert."

  "We’ll be there soon."

  "Where?"

  "I told you I need help to find Debby Jordan. There’s someone out here who may be able to give me that help."

  Jane glanced over her shoulder. "There’s someone following us.”

  “I know. It’s one of Logan’s security people."

  "Oh." Jane looked back out the window. "It’s ugly out here. Flat and brown. I like it better at home."

  "Me too. But it’s getting greener the closer we come to the mountains.”

  “A little."

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  Where was the turnoff? The directions in the Internet ad had been precise, but all she’d seen had been— There it was!

  A wooden sign with an arrow and a single name painted on it. Patrick.

  She turned left onto a bumpy dirt road. One more mile should bring her to the ranch.

  "Patrick?"

  "That’s the name of the person who’s going to help us. Sarah Patrick. She trains dogs for a living."

  Jane’s face lit with a smile. "Dogs?"

  It was the first time she smiled since she’d left her friend Mike. "These are working dogs, Jane.

  Not pets."

  "What kind of work?"

  "Obedience training. But I researched and found a few stories about her in the local newspapers. She also does search and rescue work. She and her dog were at the Oklahoma City bombing a few years ago, in Tegucigalpa after Hurricane Mitch, and in Iran after the earthquake last year."

  "What did they do there?"

  "They tried to find survivors buried in the rubble." She paused. "And later they searched for the bodies of the dead. Evidently Ms. Patrick’s dog has a very good nose."

  "He smelled the bodies?"

  "That’s what cadaver dogs are trained to do. They’re pretty smart. The Atlanta PD uses them occasionally."

  "And that’s what you want him to do? Find that woman Dom killed?" Eve nodded. "Look, there’s the ranch."

  If it could be called a ranch. A log cabin, several spacious wire pen enclosures, and a large corral that was equipped with apparatus that could have belonged in a child’s playground. An old Jeep with faded, chipped green paint was parked on one side of the cabin.

  "No dogs." Jane said, disappointed. "The pens are empty. She must not be a very good trainer if nobody wants to hire her."

  Eve parked in front of the cabin. "Don’t jump to conclusions. Maybe this is a slow time for her.

  Every business has its—"

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  The door swung ope
n and a woman dressed in tan shorts and a plaid shirt came out of the cabin. "You lost?"

  "Sarah Patrick?"

  The woman nodded. "Don’t tell me. You’re from Publishers Clearing House. Where are my flowers and the six-foot check?"

  Eve blinked.

  "I guess you’re not." Sarah Patrick sighed. "Too bad. The cash would probably have corrupted me, but I could have used the flowers. I can’t grow anything out here. The soil’s too sandy."

  Smiling, she stepped closer and looked in the window at Jane. "But kids are as good as flowers.

  My name’s Sarah, what’s yours?"

  "Jane."

  "It’s a hot day. Come inside and have some lemonade, Jane." Her glance shifted to Eve. "You, too, I suppose. Unless you’re from the IRS. Then I’ll set my dog on you."

  Eve smiled. "I’m Eve Duncan. You’re safe. I came to offer you a job.”

  “No one’s safe from the IRS. I make barely enough money to support myself and Monty, but I’m self-employed, so my tax returns always get noticed. They never understand when I claim Monty as a dependent."

  Eve followed Sarah Patrick into the house. "Monty?”

  “That’s Monty." The woman nodded toward the fireplace. A golden retriever lying full-length on the floor lifted his head, yawned, and wagged his tail.

  "Lazy beast." Sarah went to the refrigerator. "We just came back from a five-mile run and I’m not in a state of collapse."

  "You don’t have all that hair," Jane said indignantly as she went down to her knees beside the dog. "He got hot."

  Monty looked up at her with mournful eyes and then licked her hand. Jane was melting, Eve saw in surprise. She turned to Sarah. "He’s beautiful, but I can see how you’d have trouble with the IRS."

  Sarah smiled. "It amused me to see if I could get away with it. Everything was fine until they audited me." She poured lemonade into two glasses. "I don’t think Jane wants to be interrupted yet. Sit down." She went over to the sink and leaned against it. "I’ll take pity and stay downwind of you. I haven’t had a chance to shower yet."

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  She did have a gleam of perspiration on her tanned face and legs. Sarah Patrick was possibly in her late twenties, of medium height with short dark brown hair and a wiry, slim body. She wasn’t a pretty woman, but her large, sparkling brown eyes and well-shaped mouth were appealing. What made her arresting was the forceful energy she exuded.

  "She your kid?" Sarah’s gaze was on Jane. "She’s very loving. Loving’s good." Jane was being loving, Eve noticed. Who would have guessed that Jane would succumb to a retriever. "No, she’s not mine."

  "I like kids."

  "You don’t have any of your own?"

  She shook her head. "I don’t even have a husband." Her eyes twinkled. "Thank God. I have enough trouble."

  "You’re alone here?" Eve frowned. "You shouldn’t advertise where you live.”

  “I get lonely. I can take care of myself." She looked at the retriever. "And I have a great guard dog. Didn’t you notice?"

  The guard dog had rolled over on his back in the most submissive position and caught Jane’s hand playfully between his front paws. He made a woo-woo sound and stretched his neck to nibble at Jane’s wrist.

  "Yeah, sure," Eve said doubtfully.

  Sarah chuckled. "I can see you aren’t confident about my training program. Monty isn’t a very good example. He has a few psychological problems. He’s not sure which one of us is the dog."

  "He’s adorable."

  Sarah’s face softened. "You know it." She set the glass down on the sink. "Who recommended me as a trainer?"

  "I found you on the Internet."

  "I’d forgotten I’d posted an ad. That was years ago, and no one’s ever answered it. I guess the directions out here are kind of discouraging." Her gaze narrowed on Eve’s face. "Why weren’t you discouraged?"

  "I need you."

  "There must be a dog trainer closer to where you live.”

  “I need a cadaver dog."

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  Sarah stiffened. "I should have known. Who are you with? ATF? Did Madden send you?"

  "No ATF. No IRS. I don’t know any Madden."

  "I wish I didn’t. That’s one plus on your side." She shook her head. "I’m not interested. Are you with a police department? I can give you the names of several handlers who work with the police."

  "I want you. According to the newspapers, you’re the best in the business.”

  “I’m not the best. Monty’s the best."

  "Well, I don’t believe he’ll make a deal with me.”

  “Neither will I."

  "Please. It should take only a few days." Sarah shook her head.

  "You don’t appear too busy. I’ll pay you more than your usual fee.”

  “I said no."

  "Why not?"

  "I don’t like searching for cadavers.”

  “But you do it."

  She glanced away. "Yes, I do it.”

  “Then do it for me."

  "I think it’s time you left."

  Eve rose to her feet. "Please think about it. I need you."

  "Well, I don’t need this job." She turned toward Jane and the dog. "Come on, Monty. It’s time you stopped making an idiot of yourself." She snapped her fingers.

  What happened next was amazing. Monty rolled over, leaped to his feet, and was by Sarah’s side in the space of seconds. His entire demeanor had changed. He was alert, charged with energy, and gazed at Sarah with total absorption. "He’s very obedient," Eve said. "I don’t think there’s any doubt who’s the dog and who’s the boss."

  "I’m not his boss. We’re partners. Monty obeys because he knows there are situations where we could both get killed if he didn’t trust me." She moved toward the door and Monty was on her heels. "Please leave. You’re not going to get what you want."

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  "I’m sorry you feel that way. Come on, Jane."

  Jane frowned at Sarah. "Don’t make him run when it’s hot. It’s bad for him.”

  “No, it’s good for him. We run five miles twice a day, rain or shine. We have to keep in shape and tolerate every kind of temperature. It’s important."

  "He got tired." Jane reached out a hand to pet the dog. "You shouldn’t—" Monty was backing away from her touch. "Why is he doing that? I thought he liked me.”

  “He does like you. He’s just in work mode."

  "Let’s go, Jane." Eve headed for the car.

  Jane reluctantly trailed her, gazing over her shoulder at Monty and Sarah Patrick. "I don’t like him this way. He was different before."

  They’d both been different before Eve had mentioned the cadaver search. The woman and the dog standing in the doorway were not the duo that had welcomed them into the cabin. No hint of humor or warmth showed in Sarah’s face now. She looked tough as nails, and Monty reminded Eve of a witch’s familiar, remote and clinging only to Sarah.

  "It’s very important," Eve called out to Sarah. "Think about it." Sarah shook her head.

  "Do you mind if I phone you and ask if you’ve changed your mind?”

  “I won’t change my mind."

  Eve started the car.

  "Wait." Sarah looked at Jane’s disappointed face, and then she glanced down at the dog. "Go say good-bye, Monty." She snapped her fingers. Metamorphosis. Monty bounded out of the cabin and stood up on the door of the passenger seat, trying to reach Jane through the open window.

  Jane opened the door and Monty was on her, practically in her lap, whimpering and nuzzling her. She buried her face in his neck, her arms hugging him tightly.

  "Enough," Sarah said.

  Monty gave Jane a last slurp and backed away. He sat down, but his tail was pounding a drumroll on the ground.

  "Thank you," Eve said.

  Sarah shrugged
. "What can I say? I’m a sucker for kids and dogs.” The Killing Game – Eve Duncan 02

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  “Then listen to what I have to say. You could help—" Sarah went into the cabin and closed the door. Eve gritted her teeth in exasperation. Stubborn woman.

  "She left Monty outside," Jane said. "What if he runs away and gets lost?”

  “He won’t get lost." She started to drive and glanced in the rearview mirror at Monty. No witch’s familiar now, he was again the adorable dog who had melted Jane’s reserve. He turned, padded to the door, and struck it with one paw. It was opened immediately and he entered the cabin. "She takes good care of him."

  "She makes him run." Jane scowled. "I don’t think I like her.”

  “I do. Sometimes if you’re too soft, it does more harm than good.”

  “But he’s a dog. He wouldn’t understand."

  Wouldn’t he? Eve remembered her odd feeling when Sarah had looked into Monty’s eyes and told him to say good-bye. It was as if they’d read each other’s minds.

  Witch’s familiar…

  Crazy. The golden retriever was not sinister. Even when he’d been in work mode, he’d been remote rather than intimidating.

  "You like her even though she won’t do what you want?" Jane asked. "Maybe she’ll change her mind."

  Jane looked at her skeptically.

  Eve felt skeptical herself. "I’ll call her later." In the meantime she’d hit the Internet again and search for other options.

  She had a hunch changing Sarah Patrick’s mind would be almost impossible.

  The phone was ringing when Eve walked into the house.

  "Did you get her?" Logan asked as soon as Eve answered. "You had me followed."

  "You wanted protection for the little girl."

  "I take it they phoned back to tell you who I went to see?”

  “Sarah Patrick. Cadaver dog. Smart move."

  "She turned me down."

  "Did you offer her enough money?"

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  "We didn’t get that far. The minute I mentioned using Monty as a cadaver dog, she iced down.

  She accused me of being with the ATF and being sent by someone named Madden. Whom she evidently doesn’t like."

  "Do you want me to help?"

  "No, I want you to butt out. I’ll get Sarah or someone else to help me.”

  “But you want Sarah Patrick."