Blind Alley

by Iris Johansen

  “Another drink?”

  It was the bartender.

  “Yes, please.” He made a face. “I need it to face these kids. Every time I come up here to see my son I go home feeling a hundred years old. How do they do it?”

  The bartender chuckled. “Youth.” He set another bourbon in front of Aldo. “It ain't fair, is it?” He turned away and strode toward a cadet who was hailing him at the end of the bar.

  But youth didn't have to be crass. It could be full of grace and fire and elegance.

  Like Cira.

  He flinched as he heard Carrie Brockman laugh shrilly across the bar. He welcomed the response.

  Yes, let him feel disgust. It would make her death much more satisfying.

  Richmond, Virginia

  4:43 A.M.

  The call woke Joe from a sound sleep.

  “You said you wanted to know if we had anything come in on the wires,” Christy said. “A female cadet was found at a rest stop outside Baltimore three hours ago. No attempt to disguise her identity other than the removal of her face. They ran fingerprints and they came up with Carrie Ann Brockman, age twenty-two, a cadet at Annapolis.”

  “Shit.”

  “He's getting bolder. This corpse wasn't more than eight hours old and he made practically no attempt to hide the body in the bushes at the rest stop. He dumped her and the ashes and took off. Arrogant as hell. Thumbing his nose at us?”

  “Maybe.”

  “If he's getting this careless, you'll be able to pounce soon. You're heading for Baltimore?”

  Another city, another step, leading him farther and farther away from home.

  You can't have it both ways, Eve had said.

  Take a chance that Trevor was telling the truth or take a chance that Aldo was going to be stupid enough to walk into his hands? Either way he could be screwed.

  So rely on instinct.

  “No.” He swung his feet out of bed. “You monitor what's happening in Baltimore. I'm going back to Atlanta.”

  He told me to set up a meeting with Trevor.” Jane slowly hung up the phone. “He's coming home, Eve.”

  “Thank God.” She studied Jane's expression. “You're not acting pleased. Why not? This is what you wanted.”

  “I know.” Her teeth closed on her lower lip. “And I still think it's for the best. It's just . . . I feel as if I've set something in motion and it kind of scares me.”

  “You should have thought of that when you let Trevor use you to bring Joe back.”

  She stiffened. “He didn't use me. I don't let—” She smiled. “You were trying to get a rise out of me, weren't you? Tit for tat. I didn't intentionally try to use Joe.”

  “If I thought you had, I'd be giving you more than a few verbal jabs.” She turned away. “When and where is this meeting?”

  “Joe wants it no later than tomorrow here in the woods across the lake. I told him I wanted to go with him.”

  “So do I.”

  She nodded. “Mac and Brian won't follow us as long as Joe is with us.” She grimaced. “He told me to make it clear that any amnesty toward Trevor ends when Joe gets his hands on Aldo. And he said he'd see Trevor in hell before he'd turn a prisoner over to him.”

  “You couldn't expect any other reaction. Trevor may not deal.”

  “I think he will. He usually asks more than he thinks he can get. He takes what he can and then works on finessing the rest.”

  “Really?” Eve tilted her head. “‘Usually'? How the devil do you know what he usually does?”

  “I don't. I mean . . .” She had spoken without thinking, her mind on the meeting tomorrow. “Of course I don't. How could I? But everyone gets impressions and he definitely leaves a strong impression.”

  “That he does,” Eve said. “And evidently a particularly significant one on you.”

  “But that may be good. It's always good to have a grasp of the character of the people you have to deal with.”

  “If you're not wrong.”

  She nodded. “Absolutely.” But she wasn't wrong. Not about Trevor. Her every instinct radiated that certainty. “But Joe won't rely on my ‘impressions.' He's very good at forming his own opinions.”

  “Tell me about it,” Eve said dryly. “And he's not going to give Trevor an easy ride.”

  Trevor was in Rome four years ago,” Christy said when Joe answered his phone while he was driving home from the airport that night. “He was under suspicion of smuggling artifacts found near an aqueduct in northern Italy. No arrest.”

  “Any link to Aldo?”

  “Not so far as we can find yet.” Christy paused. “I'm glad you decided to come home, Joe. It's better.”

  He went still. “Why is it better?”

  “You belong here.”

  “And you can't talk? The captain wants to tell me herself? Let me do some guesswork. The captain is withdrawing most or all of the protection they've given Jane. They consider it not necessary since Aldo has clearly moved on. When are they taking the guys off her?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  “Everyone?”

  “They're leaving you, Mac, and Brian.”

  “Better than nothing. I was half expecting it.” And Trevor had told Jane that Aldo had planned on it happening. “Thanks for giving me a heads-up, Christy.”

  “Like I said, it's better that you came home.”

  “I agree.”

  “I'll let you know when we find out more from the Italian police about what Trevor was doing in Rome.”

  “Do that.” He hung up.

  And tomorrow he'd be asking Trevor that same question, he thought grimly.

  Where the hell is he?” Joe scowled as his gaze circled the forest surrounding the glade. “He's thirty minutes late.”

  “He'll be here,” Jane said. “He promised me.”

  “And Trevor's promise probably isn't worth the breath he used to give it.”

  “I'm hurt.” Trevor strolled out of the forest. “After all, a man is only as good as his word. At least, that's what all the philosophers say. Personally, I believe that's a narrow—”

  “You're late,” Joe said curtly.

  “I had to do a little scouting. I was making sure that you hadn't decided that a bird in the hand . . .” He grimaced. “I seem to be full of trite phrases today. Forgive me.” He turned to Eve and Jane. “It wasn't that I didn't trust you, but Quinn is much more ruthless and unpredictable. He's a good deal like me.”

  “I'm nothing like you.”

  “I beg to disagree.” He smiled. “But then I have the advantage of having made a study of your character. That's why I thought you might be willing to cooperate.” He held up his hand as Joe started to speak. “Oh, Jane told me that you're not going to hand me Aldo's head on a platter. At least, not at present. I'd bet you'll change your mind before this is over. You're very protective of your family.”

  “Information,” Joe said.

  “I need certain assurances,” Trevor said.

  “And I need answers. Talk.”

  “I'm not going to be unreasonable. I'd like to have an active role in finding Aldo and park myself at your cottage, but I know you don't want me underfoot. So all I want from you is a promise that you'll let me stay here close to Jane. And that you'll call me if Aldo gets close to her.” His lips tightened. “I'll probably know, but I can't take the chance.”

  Joe was silent.

  “He's not asking much, Joe,” Jane said quietly. “Less than I expected.”

  “I'll make up my own mind. I know where you stand.”

  “Where do I stand?” Jane asked. “You tell me. I want to live and I want Aldo. If you think that puts me in anyone's camp but yours, then you're mistaken.”

  Joe glanced at Eve.

  She shrugged. “It's your job on the line. I'll go along with your decision.”

  “Well, that's a first.”

  She smiled. “Until I decide it's a wrong decision.”

  A little of his grimness disappeared. �
�That's better. I was afraid you were sick.” He turned back to Trevor. “It's a deal. And if I change my mind for any reason, I'll give you warning. That's all I promise.”

  “It's enough,” Trevor said. “I didn't expect much more.”

  Eve glanced at Jane. “Ask for the moon and settle for whatever you can get? Is that standard operating procedure with you?”

  Trevor grinned. “You never win if you don't go for the high stakes.” He turned to Joe. “Ask your questions.”

  “Where is Aldo?”

  “I don't know. If I did, I'd be on his trail. If his last victim was in Baltimore, I'd judge that he'll go farther north to hit again. He'll want to seem to establish a pattern that will lead away from Jane.”

  “You're so sure that he'll double back? Why?”

  Trevor's gaze shifted to Jane. “Because she's perfect,” he said softly. “And he knows it. He's found her.”

  “Maybe that's only your opinion. Those other women looked—”

  “Found who?” Jane stepped forward to face Trevor. “Who does he think he's found? And why does he want to kill her?”

  Trevor smiled. “You asked me that before. Actually, I expected that to be Quinn's first question too.”

  “Tell me.”

  “He's looking for a woman he thinks turned his father against him and was then responsible for his death.”

  “Did she?”

  “Maybe.”

  “So he hates her.”

  “And desires her. Sometimes the lines blur when you're insane.”

  “He wants her so much that he tries to destroy her image wherever he finds it?” Joe shook his head. “He's a butcher.”

  Trevor nodded. “But he had sexual intercourse with the first few victims. He probably had hopes he'd actually found her and sex was the ultimate humiliation. But then he realized that it was a big world and there were many women who had some resemblance. He felt bound to kill them, destroy the likeness, but he had no desire to have sex with them. Since they weren't really her, it was only a duty.”

  “Duty,” Jane repeated. “Why?”

  “Because they looked like her and mustn't be allowed to escape,” Trevor said. “He couldn't bear to have anyone who resembled her left alive. They had to die.”

  Jane shook her head. “That doesn't make sense. Those women . . . They came from all walks of life. If he followed them, hunted them, he'd have to know something about their history. He must have known they couldn't be the woman who seduced his father.”

  “According to his way of thinking there was a chance.”

  “Bull. And if Aldo was so clever about tracking down all those women with her face, my face, why didn't he investigate?” She gestured with one hand. “Why not go to the police or hire private detectives and find the right one?”

  “It would have been difficult.”

  “Not as difficult as killing eleven women on the chance of getting the right one.”

  “Yes, it would.”

  “Why?” She was shaking, she realized. She didn't want him to answer. What the devil was wrong with her?

  He gazed directly into her eyes. “Don't be afraid. I'll take care of you.”

  “I don't need you to take care of me. Just tell me why he couldn't find her.”

  “Because Cira's been dead for over two thousand years.”

  She felt as if she'd been punched in the stomach. At first, only the name he'd spoken was clear to her. “Cira . . .” she whispered. “Her name is Cira?”

  Joe grunted with disgust. “A two-thousand-year-old corpse? What the hell are you trying to pull, Trevor?”

  “Wait, Joe,” Eve said, her gaze on Jane's face. “Let him talk.”

  “He's scaring Jane, dammit.”

  “I can see that. Let him talk.”

  Jane scarcely heard them. “Cira?” Her hands clenched into fists. “He's looking for Cira?”

  “Cira who?” Joe asked.

  “No one knew her last name.” Trevor's gaze never left Jane's face. “She was only Cira. Cira the magnificent, Cira the divine, Cira the enchantress.”

  “Cut to the chase,” Eve said curtly. “We're losing patience. How could a two-thousand-year-old corpse kill Aldo's father?”

  “Sorry.” Trevor pulled his gaze away from Jane to smile at Eve. “Actually, Cira wasn't really responsible. His father killed himself when he set off an explosion to seal off the tunnel.”

  “Tunnel?” Eve repeated.

  He nodded. “The selfish bastard wanted everything for himself. He sealed the entrance, but he wasn't good with explosives and blew himself up too.”

  “Where did this happen?”

  “Northern Italy,” Joe said. “Four years ago. Right?”

  “Close,” Trevor said. “You've been busy, if you traced me that far. It was four years ago and the job was supposed to be in northern Italy. But something more interesting popped up.”

  “Aldo?”

  “No, Aldo was in the shadows back then. Aldo's father, Guido.”

  “What was his whole name?”

  Trevor hesitated before answering, “Guido Manza.”

  Joe swore. “Dammit, you've known Aldo's last name all this time and you've never told the police? Some of those women might be alive now.”

  “I didn't know what the bastard was doing until he left Italy and went to England. I thought he was just running from me until I saw the photo in the Times of that woman he killed in Brighton. I made the connection as soon as I saw the resemblance and started backtracking.”

  “Why would he run from you?”

  He didn't answer. “And what good would a name do Scotland Yard? He was using fake ID and there was no way of using his friends or family to get to him. Aldo was a loner.”

  “Descriptions. They could have run photos of him in the newspapers.”

  “Aldo wanted to be an actor. He studied costume and makeup in Rome before his father jerked him away to the excavation. That's one of the reasons why he was difficult to trace when he started his killing spree. He's an expert at disguise. He's an expert at quite a few things. He's really brilliant.”

  “You're making excuses.”

  “No, I'm giving you reasons.” He shrugged. “But you're right. From your point of view I did everything wrong.”

  “Because you wanted to catch Aldo yourself,” Jane said.

  “Of course. I told you. He has to die.”

  The matter-of-factness of the words sent a chill through Jane. He was right, he'd said those words before but in this moment they seemed more real, more frightening. Before she'd been excited, challenged, confident. She didn't feel confident now. She felt shaken, as if her entire world had been sent spinning.

  “Why?” Joe asked.

  “What?” Trevor's gaze was on Jane's face again. “Oh, because he deserves it. Why else?” He turned away. “She's had enough. Take her back to the cottage. I'll contact you later.”

  “I want to know—”

  “She's had enough,” Trevor repeated over his shoulder. “You'll get your answers but not until she's able to absorb them.”

  “I'm fine,” Jane said. She was being stupid. Get a grip.

  “Yes, you are,” Trevor said. “But there's no immediate urgency. You need time to digest what I've told you.”

  “You haven't told me anything. This tunnel, where is it?”

  He was striding away from them. “Later.”

  “Where is it? You tell me now.”

  “Don't get upset. I've no intention of keeping secrets. Well, perhaps a few. But that isn't one of them.” He'd already reached the trees. “Herculaneum.”

  NINE

  Cira.

  Dead over two thousand years.

  Herculaneum.

  “Go lie down.” Eve's worried gaze was on Jane's face. “You're white as a sheet. Maybe Trevor was right to tell us to get you home.”

  “Stop fretting. There's nothing wrong with me.” She gave her the ghost of a smile. “And Joe doesn't think
he was right.” She glanced at Joe, who'd been on the phone with the department since they'd arrived back at the cottage, giving Christy the info Trevor had divulged about Guido Manza. “He hates delays. He doesn't like to be teased and then have the rug yanked from under him. He likes everything laid out in crystal-clear order.” She made a face. “And you can't say that anything Trevor told us was clear-cut.”

  “It was clear enough to upset you.” She paused. “You nearly went into shock when Trevor mentioned that name.” She repeated it slowly, “Cira. And the tunnel was a little too coincid—”

  “I don't want to talk about it.” Jane turned quickly away. She had to get out of here. She was holding on to her composure by main force. “Maybe I am a little tired. I'll go rest until it's time to fix dinner.”

  “You can't run away from me, Jane. I'll let you delay but not bury whatever is bothering you.”

  “I know that.” She headed down the hall. “But it would help if I knew what was bothering me. Right now, I'm all mixed up.”

  “You're not alone. Trevor dropped a bomb and then just walked away. It's no wonder Joe's upset.”

  “Herculaneum . . .” She frowned. “It's familiar, but where the devil is Herculaneum?”

  “Italy,” Eve said. “It was destroyed by the Vesuvius eruption at the same time as Pompeii.”

  “Weird.” Jane opened her bedroom door. “I'm sure Trevor won't leave us hanging long. I'll talk to you later.” She leaned back against the door as she closed it behind her. Dear God, her knees felt like spaghetti. She hated to feel this weak.

  And there was no reason for it. It could be a coincidence.

  Yeah, sure. Cira was such a common name.

  Then what other explanation? She was dreaming about a woman who'd been dead two thousand years? She immediately rejected the thought. There was nothing ancient about the thinking processes of the Cira she knew. She'd never even questioned that Cira was not a present-day woman. Every thought, every instinct were ones that Jane understood perfectly.

  Too perfectly?

  That's right, question every memory and impulse. That was the way to really go around the bend. She didn't even know the story behind the woman Trevor called Cira. Who knows? Maybe she'd picked up some weird vibes from Aldo that filtered into her dreams.