Blind Alley

by Iris Johansen

  She felt sick with revulsion. He meant it. She could hear the feverish excitement mixed with the anger in his tone. But he was right, she had to take advantage of the opportunity. “Just who do you think I am?”

  “I don't think, I know. You're Cira. I thought I'd buried you in that tunnel but I realized after I killed that woman in Rome that you were too strong not to be able to be born again. I knew I had to search until I found you.”

  “You're certifiably nuts. I'm not Cira, I'm Jane MacGuire.”

  “With Cira's soul. And you know it. Why else did you attach yourself to a forensic sculptor like Eve Duncan? You knew I'd come to destroy that hideous face and you wanted to make sure that it survived. It won't survive. Do you know how many times I woke up at night and watched my father staring at you? I can't remember him ever touching me with affection but he'd stroke that damn bust like it was a woman he loved. I tried to destroy it when I was ten and he beat me until I couldn't walk for a week.”

  “Am I supposed to feel sorry for you? He should have drowned you at birth.”

  “He probably thought the same thing. I was just an encumbrance to him after you came into his life. But now I'll get my own back. So enjoy your feeling of triumph. Sit in that cottage surrounded by all those people you've duped to do your will. You'll rot there, bitch.” He hung up.

  She couldn't move to turn off her phone. She felt as if she'd been scourged, beaten. Dear God, he was brimming, frothing with hatred. The poison was all-consuming and paralyzing.

  Get over it. Aldo wanted her to feel this weak and helpless. Think about what he said and try to find something positive in all that ugliness. She forced herself to turn off the phone and lean back in the swing.

  Positive?

  My God.

  Mail,” Trevor said as he came up the steps an hour later. “Nothing for you but a letter from— What the hell is wrong with you?”

  “I'm okay.” She wasn't okay, but she was better. She wasn't surprised that Trevor had noticed how disturbed she was. She felt as if it were written in every line of her expression. That was the reason she hadn't wanted to go inside and face Eve. She added haltingly, “It's not been an easy day.”

  “It was your choice to flaunt that blasted ring in Aldo's face.” His gaze was searching her expression. “But I didn't expect this reaction.”

  “Neither did I.” She tried to smile. “And I guess I shouldn't complain. Actually, I suppose my little jaunt was a complete success. I was trying to goad him to make a move and I certainly accomplished that aim.”

  “What?”

  “Aldo called me.” She looked down at the phone still in her hand. “About an hour ago.”

  “Holy shit. What did he say?”

  “He was angry. He didn't like the fact that his gift didn't seem to bother me. It was . . . ugly.” She moistened her lips. “He was muttering about me having Cira's soul and how he hated— My God, he hates my face. He's on some kind of mission to rid the world of it. You were right, he was killing her in effigy with all those other murders.”

  “But he didn't call any of the others to chat,” he said grimly. “And he didn't squander pretty trinkets on them.”

  “None of them made him as angry as I did. I've been sitting here trying to think of something constructive that could come out of this but it's hard. One thing, he's going to phone me again. He believes it's his just reward. On the negative side, he said he could wait a long time to kill me, that he was in no hurry. He wants to break me, make me afraid.” Her hands clenched into fists. “Well, I'm in a hurry. I can't take much more of this.”

  “We made progress today. He called you.”

  “It's not enough. He meant what he said. He'll wait until he's wrung every bit of pleasure from the situation.” Her lips tightened. “He was . . . foul. I've never touched anything that ugly. He . . . made me afraid. I can't let that happen again.”

  “We can have Quinn check phone records to try to trace him.”

  She nodded. “I thought of that. But I doubt if he'd have called if he hadn't thought it was safe.”

  “We'll try anyway.”

  “Of course.” She straightened on the swing. “We'll do everything we can. I'll talk to Joe and Eve later tonight.”

  “Not now?”

  “I don't want them to see me like this—not now.” Talking to Trevor had eased the sick fear that Aldo had engendered, but she had to move away from it, drown the memory of that call for a while. Her glance went to the envelope still in his hand. “You said I had a letter?”

  He didn't speak for a moment and then smiled faintly. “Yes, from Harvard. Did you apply there?”

  He was letting her slide away from the subject, she realized with relief.

  “Yes, I applied for early acceptance.” She took the letter without opening it. “Maybe I've been accepted.” She tossed it down on the porch swing. “That would be nice.”

  “Your enthusiasm is astonishing.”

  “I'm not sure I want to go to an Ivy League school. But Joe went there and he liked it. Where's my list?”

  He reached in his pocket and handed her a slip of paper. “This is all I can remember and he may not go to these sites anymore.”

  “And he may.” She glanced over the list. “Two of these are Italian Web sites. One English newspaper . . .”

  “He went to Oxford for two years. He liked to keep in touch.”

  “And this one in Florence, La Nazione. Is that a newspaper too?”

  He nodded. “He grew up there. Most people keep an eye on their hometowns. He also went to another newspaper site in Rome, Corriere della Sera.”

  She pointed to another site. “And this one?”

  “Archaeology Journal? It's a weekly magazine and practically the professional bible of modern-day archaeology.”

  “But he was an actor. It was his father who was the archaeologist. He probably skips this one now.”

  “No, there are often articles about Pompeii and Herculaneum. He has a vested interest.”

  She'd gone on to another site. “This one's in Rome, too. Another newspaper?”

  He smiled. “No, one of Italy's premier porn sites. Very explicit, very kinky. You can bet he's still interested in visiting that one occasionally.”

  “What kind of kinky?”

  “I was curious, too, when I watched him bring up the site so I checked it out. They specialize in sadomasochism and necrophilia.”

  “Raping dead people?” She shivered. “Creepy.”

  “And it confirmed my belief that Aldo was not a nice fellow.”

  “You said he didn't rape any of the victims after those first women he killed in Rome.”

  “That doesn't mean he's not interested in sex. Maybe he didn't consider any of the others worthy. Or these days he may get off on the kill itself.”

  She moistened her lips. “Those women he raped. Was it before or after he killed them?”

  “After.”

  “Sick.”

  “No question. Do you need to know anything else?”

  “I'll let you know.” Her tone was abstracted as she went over the list. “I may be able to figure out the rest. I can go to a gateway site and get a rough translation.”

  “Then I'm dismissed?”

  “For now.”

  “And am I going to be allowed to know what the hell you're planning on doing with it?”

  She glanced up. “Oh, yes. I'm going to need you.”

  “I'll take comfort in that.” He turned to leave. “I don't imagine you admit you need many people.”

  “No.”

  “Can you give me a time estimate?”

  She shook her head. “I have to think about it and do some research.”

  “And you have to recover a little from Aldo's verbal assault.”

  “I'm already recovering.” It was the truth, thank heavens. The distraction had diluted the emotional impact of Aldo's venom. “It was stupid to become upset. After all, his call was actually a victor
y. And it clarified his attitude and intentions.”

  “And I'd judge it also clarified your attitude and reinforced your determination to move at light-speed.”

  “It didn't take much reinforcement.”

  “No, you're at full throttle.” He lifted his brows. “I can't wait to see where you're going with it.”

  “Neither can I,” she said dryly. “I just hope it's not a blind alley.”

  “Then there's usually a way to backtrack and find your way out.”

  Heat. Night without air.

  Run. Falling rocks. Pain.

  “I don't want to backtrack.” Her lips tightened. “I need to go straight ahead and run over that bastard if he gets in my way.”

  He gave a low whistle. “I'll vote for that.” He started down the steps. “And I'll furnish the bulldozer to do it. Just say the word.”

  She didn't answer, her gaze once more on the list.

  Trevor shook his head ruefully as he moved down the path toward Bartlett. She was so intent, she'd closed out the call from Aldo and she'd probably already forgotten Trevor. Not good for a man's ego.

  What the hell. He couldn't apply any of the usual man-woman rules to his relationship with Jane.

  He'd better not.

  “She's excited.” Bartlett's gaze was fixed on Jane. “She looks like you gave her a present.”

  “In a manner of speaking. Not a box of chocolates or a bouquet. A list of Aldo's Web sites.”

  “I see.” Bartlett nodded gravely. “Much more valuable than a box of chocolates and she's not one to appreciate sweetness.”

  “Maybe she's not had the opportunity to really sample it.”

  Her head was bent over the list and he could see the tenseness, the taut, slim elegance of her body as she reached for her computer. She did everything with a natural grace that was as unconscious as it was a delight to watch. There was youth without the awkwardness of youth. Grace and fire. She burned like a candle in the—

  “No, Trevor.”

  He glanced at Bartlett. “What?”

  Bartlett was shaking his head, his expression troubled. “She's too young.”

  “Do you think I don't know that?” He tried to pull his gaze away from her. God, it was hard. “It doesn't hurt to look.”

  “It might. She's not a statue and she's not Cira.”

  “No?” His lips twisted. “Tell that to Aldo.”

  “I'm telling you.” Barlett frowned. “And I shouldn't have to tell you. You could hurt her.”

  He smiled recklessly. “She'd deny it. She'd say she was far more likely to hurt me.”

  “But you know that's not true. Experience counts, and she's seventeen.”

  He turned away. “Why are we even talking about it? I told you I wasn't going to do anything but look.”

  “I hope not.”

  “Count on it.” He went down the path. “I'll come back and relieve you in an hour. She spent all afternoon taunting Aldo and he's mad as hell. I want to be around if he decides to pounce.”

  THIRTEEN

  You've been watching me all evening. I feel like a bug under a microscope.” Eve turned away from the reconstruction on the pedestal before her to look at Jane. “Is something wrong? Are you still upset about that call from Aldo?”

  “A little.” She made a face. “You can understand it would stick in my mind.”

  “That goes without saying. It's been worrying me since you told me about it.”

  “But you'll be able to forget it once you get deep enough into your work. That's a blessing, isn't it?”

  “Work is always a great healer.” She frowned. “Have you been concerned that you're interfering with my work on this reconstruction?”

  Jane shook her head. “I was just wondering if you were almost finished.”

  “Tomorrow. I might have finished tonight if you hadn't decided on dragging me out this afternoon.”

  “You didn't object.”

  “And I wouldn't again. Keeping you alive is more important than identifying this poor dead girl.”

  “What are you calling her?”

  “Lucy.” Her hands moved over the skull, carefully measuring the space between the eyes. “The Chicago police think she may be a child that's been missing for over fifteen years. Her parents must be going through hell.”

  “Like you.”

  Eve didn't deny it. “At least I can give other parents back their children. I suppose that's a form of closure.”

  “Bull. Very noble but it doesn't keep you from hurting.”

  “No.” Eve smiled faintly. “May I ask why you're so interested in my work tonight?”

  “I'm always interested. It's kind of creepy but it's part of you.”

  “The creepy part.”

  “You said it.” Jane grinned. “I wouldn't dare. So Lucy is winging her way back to Chicago tomorrow?”

  “Probably.” Eve lifted her brows. “Is it important that she be finished quickly?”

  “Maybe. I've been sitting here and thinking. . . .” Her gaze focused musingly on the skull. “How does she . . . feel?”

  “Touching her face?” She was silent, thinking about it. “Not creepy. I've done it so long that it's difficult to describe.”

  “Pity?”

  “Yes, and anger and sadness.” She gently touched Lucy's cheek. “And a deep, deep urgency to bring her home. Home has always been so important to me. There are so many lost ones out there.”

  “I've heard you say that before. Do you really think that her soul is somewhere wandering around and that she cares about being brought home?”

  “I don't know. Maybe. But I do know I care.” Eve smoothed the clay at Lucy's forehead. “Now go to bed and let me work or I'll never get her finished.”

  “Okay.” Jane stood up. “I was just curious.”

  “Jane.”

  Jane glanced back over her shoulder.

  “Why now?” Eve asked. “You've never been this curious about my work before.”

  Jane turned back to face her. “I've never been brought this close to the possibility of my own death before. It's bound to make you wonder what's out there for us.”

  “Right now, the only thing out there for you is a long and happy life.”

  “Don't worry. I'm not being gloomy and pessimistic. I don't know why all this came tumbling out of left field. I was sitting here watching you and thinking about something completely different when it occurred to me . . .” She paused. “Cira is one of those lost ones. Nobody seems to know what happened to her. She probably died in that eruption.”

  “Two thousand years ago, Jane.”

  “Does time make a difference? Lost is lost.”

  “No, I guess not. It's just that it takes away the personal, familiar factor.”

  “No, I don't agree.” She reached up and touched her own cheekbone and traced the line to her temple. “I'm taking this very personally. She had my face.”

  “And it bothers you that she's one of the lost ones?”

  “I don't know. Maybe she wasn't lost at all. Maybe she wasn't killed. Maybe she lived to be a hundred with her great-great-grandchildren all around her.”

  “It's possible.”

  “Yeah, but I've been asking myself, what if you're right and lost souls have a passion to come home? What if these dreams I've been having have been her way of telling me that she needs to be found and brought to a final resting place?”

  “Is that what you think? I have to point out that it's a totally unrealistic conclusion.”

  “Because it's your duty.” She was silent a moment. “I'm not sure what's real anymore and I don't believe you are either. It makes as much sense as thinking I'm picking up psychic vibrations.” She grimaced. “But it would help if I had a little guidance. Perhaps you should ask Bonnie what's happening to me.”

  “Is that a joke?”

  “Not an unkind one. She rules your world and that's fine with me. Just thought we'd put her to work.” She moved down the hall. “Forg
et it. We'll work everything out for ourselves. But try to finish Lucy tonight.”

  She booted up her laptop as soon as she reached her bedroom, and went immediately to the Archaeology Journal site. Very dry stuff. It was hard to believe a sicko like Aldo would be interested in it. No articles in the current issue about Herculaneum.

  She tensed, drew a deep breath, and accessed the porn site. She'd glanced through it earlier but she had to be sure. . . . After five minutes she had to get out of it. Horrible. It seemed impossible that anyone could relish this kind of obscenity. Forget it. Go on to the next site. They were all forming a picture of Aldo that was growing clearer by the minute.

  She finished the last site on Trevor's list at 3:42 A.M. and leaned back and tried to suppress her growing excitement. Would it work?

  Chancy at best. Success would depend on many factors, including the elusive power of luck.

  Well, they were due for some good luck, dammit.

  She reached for her telephone and began to dial.

  The sun was shining through the windows and bathing Eve and Joe in clear light as they sat at the breakfast table. Warm. Loving. Serene. So different from Aldo's dark world that Jane had been delving into last night.

  Jane stood looking at them for an instant, hesitating. Stop it. You've made up your mind. Now go for it.

  “Good morning.” She strode toward them. “I didn't hear you come in last night, Joe.” She went to the refrigerator and took out the orange juice. “Were you late?”

  “Yes.” He took a sip of his coffee. “But you should have heard me. I saw the light under your door.”

  “I was busy.” She poured her juice. “How's Lucy coming, Eve?”

  “Finished.” Eve smiled faintly. “As you ordered, little madam.”

  “You know I wouldn't—” She broke off as she met Eve's knowing gaze. “Busted?”

  “Busted. What are you up to?”

  “I had to make sure your decks were cleared.” She lifted her glass to her lips. “I'm going to need you.” She turned to Joe. “And you, too.”

  “I'm honored not to be left out,” he said dryly. “Are you going to let us into your confidence or are we supposed to guess?”