The Killing Game (3 page)

She didn't want to analyze anything now. After she talked to Joe would be soon enough. She'd go down to her lab and work for a while on that age-progression photo of Libby Crandall, who'd been kidnapped at age eight by her father.

Eve moved down the hallway toward the French doors that led to her lab. Sunny. Everything was sunny and bright and clean on this island. That's how Logan wanted to keep her life, always in sunlight, away from the darkness. Why not let him? Let the pain fade. Let the memory of Bonnie slip away. Let someone else help all the other children who were lost out there.

Not possible. Never. Bonnie and the lost ones were woven into the fabric of her life and her dreams. They were a big part of who she was, maybe the best part.

Logan knew her so well, it seemed impossible he'd never accepted the truth about her.

That she belonged in the darkness.

Phoenix, Arizona

Darkness.

Dom had always liked the night. Not because it was concealing but because of the excitement of the unknown. Nothing appeared the same at night, and yet for him everything became so much clearer. Wasn't there something by Saint-Exupéry about that?

Oh, yes, he remembered . . .

When the destructive analysis of day is done, and all that is truly important becomes whole and sound again. When man reassembles his fragmentary self and grows with the calm of a tree.

He was never fragmented, but night did make him feel calm and strong. Soon the calmness would be gone, but the strength would sing through him like a thousand-voice choir.

Choir. He smiled as he realized how one thought led to another.

He straightened in the driver's seat. She was coming out of the house. He had chosen her carefully for difficulty; he was sure she would be more stimulating than his last kill. Debby Jordan, blond, thirty-one, married, mother of two. She was treasurer of the PTA, had a nice soprano voice, and belonged to the Hill Street Methodist Church choir. She was going to choir practice now.

She would never get there.

C                  H                  A                  P                  T                  E                  R

TWO

Joe and Logan were polite during dinner, but Eve could sense the antagonism between them.

She
hated
it. She liked everything honest and clear. Watching them was like watching two icebergs drift toward each other and never knowing when they would collide because there was so much hidden beneath the surface.

She couldn't stand it. To hell with dessert.

She jumped to her feet. “Come on, Joe. Let's go for a walk.”

“I'm not invited?” Logan murmured. “How rude, and we haven't finished dinner.”

“I'm finished.” Joe stood up and threw down his napkin. “And, no, you're not invited.”

“Oh, well, I'd only be bored. I think I've guessed what you're going to say to Eve.” He leaned back in his chair. “Go ahead. Do what you came to do. I'll talk to her when she gets back.”

“You wouldn't be bored.” Joe strode toward the door. “Hell, you're scared shitless.”

Eve hurried after him into the hall. “Dammit, did you have to say that?”

“Yes.” He smiled. “It had to come out. I've been too nice all evening. It was giving me indigestion.”

“You're in his house.”

“That gives me a bellyache too.” He headed for the French doors. “Let's go walk on the beach.”

She would be glad to get out of the house too. The tension was so thick, she couldn't breathe.

She kicked off her shoes as soon as they reached the terrace and watched Joe take off his shoes and socks and roll up his pant legs. It reminded her of the last time she'd seen him on his speedboat, bare-chested, khakis rolled up to his calves, laughing over his shoulder at Eve and Diane as he weaved the boat across the lake. “Do you still have the lake cottage?”

He nodded. “But I gave the Buckhead house to Diane as part of the settlement.”

“Where do you live now?”

“An apartment near the precinct.” He followed her down the path toward the beach. “It's fine. I'm not there much anyway.”

“I can tell.” Her feet sank into the cool, soft sand. This was better. The sound of the surf was calming, and being alone with Joe was soothing too. They knew each other so well, it was almost like being by herself. Well, not really. Joe never let her forget who and what he was. It was just that they . . . meshed. “You're not taking care of yourself. You look tired.”

“It's been a rough week.” He fell into step with her and walked in silence for a few moments. “Did your mother tell you about Talladega?”

“What?”

“I didn't think she would. It's all over the newspapers but she wouldn't want to tell you anything that might jar you away from here.”

She stiffened. “What's happened?”

“Nine skeletons were found on the bluff near the falls. One of them is a little girl. Caucasian.”

“How . . . little?”

“Seven or eight.”

She drew a deep breath. “How long has she been buried?”

“The first estimate is between eight and twelve years.” He paused. “It may not be Bonnie, Eve. The other skeletons are adults, and as far as we know, Fraser killed only children.”

“As far as we know. He wouldn't tell us anything.” Her voice was uneven. “The bastard only smiled and wouldn't tell us anything. He told us he buried her and then wouldn't tell us a damn—”

“Easy.” Joe took her hand and gently squeezed it. “Take it easy, Eve.”

“Don't tell me to take it easy. Bonnie might have been found and you expect me to be calm about it?”

“I don't want you to get your hopes up. The kid might be older. The time she was in the ground might be longer or shorter.”

“It might be her.”

“It's a possibility.”

She closed her eyes. Bonnie.

“And it might not.”

“I could bring her home,” she whispered. “I could bring my baby home.”

“Eve, you're not listening. It's far from a sure thing.”

“I'm listening. I know that.” But she was closer than she'd come all these years. It could be Bonnie. “Can we check dental records?”

He shook his head. “No teeth in any of the skulls.”

“What?”

“We think the killer pulled the teeth to prevent identification.”

She flinched. Smart move. Brutal but smart. Fraser had been smart. “There's still DNA. Could you get enough samples for tests?”

“We got some from the bone marrow. The lab's processing it. But you know the results could take a while.”

“What about using the same private lab we used last time?”

“Teller's not doing DNA profiling any longer. He wasn't pleased with all the publicity his lab got on the job he did for us.”

“Then how long?”

“Four weeks minimum.”

“No. I'd go crazy. I have to know.” She drew a deep breath. “Will they let me reconstruct her face?”

“Are you sure you want to?”

“Of course I want to.” Seeing Bonnie's face come to life beneath her hands . . .

“It's going to be traumatic for you.”

“I don't care.”

“I do,” he said roughly. “I don't like to see you bleed.”

“I won't bleed.”

“The hell you won't. You're bleeding now.”

“I have to do it, Joe.”

“I know.” He looked out at the sea. “That's why I came.”

“Can you get them to let me do it?”

“I've already set it up.”

“Thank God.”

“It could be the biggest mistake I've ever made.”

“No, it's the right thing, the kind thing.”

“Bullshit.” He started back for the house. “It's probably the single most selfish thing I've done in my life.”

“What do you know about the killings?”

“I'll fill you in on the details on the plane. I have tickets for both of us on a flight tomorrow afternoon from Tahiti. Is that too soon?”

“No.” Logan. She had to tell Logan. “I'll pack tonight.”

“After you tell Logan.”

“Yes.”

“I could tell him.”

“Don't be stupid. Logan deserves to hear it from me.”

“Sorry. You're a little overwrought. I only meant to—”

“What a puny word. Southern belles are overwrought. Scarlett O'Hara might be overwrought.
I'm
not overwrought.”

He smiled. “Well, you're better than you were a few minutes ago.”

Was she? The dread of facing Logan and telling him she was leaving had superseded other emotions, but as soon as the job was done and she was alone, the pain would come flooding back.

Then face it. Let the pain come. She had faced it for years. She could face it again. She could face anything now.

She had a chance to bring Bonnie home.

Phoenix, Arizona

Dom placed the candle in Debby Jordan's hand and rolled her into the grave he'd dug for her.

He had hurt her. He'd thought he'd evolved beyond the primitive need for the victim's pain. But in the middle of the kill he'd suddenly realized he wasn't feeling enough and he'd panicked. He'd pierced and torn in a frenzy of frustration. If the pleasure of the kill disappeared, what was left for him? How could he go on living?

Smother the panic. It would be all right. He had always known this day would come, and the problem was not unsolvable. He just had to find a way to bring freshness and challenge back to the kill.

Debby Jordan was not a portent of the ultimate boredom and deadness he feared most. It didn't matter that he had hurt her.

DAMMIT, SHE HAD
hurt him.

Eve gazed out at the surf gently rushing against the shore. She'd run out to the beach after she'd spoken to Logan hours ago, and she'd been sitting there ever since, trying to regain her composure.

There was already so much pain inflicted by strangers in this world; why did she have to hurt someone she cared about?

“You told him?”

She turned her head to see Joe standing a few yards away. “Yes.”

“What did he say?”

“Not much. Not after I told him it might be Bonnie.” She smiled sadly. “He said you'd played the one card he couldn't top.”

“He's right.” Joe sat down beside her. “Bonnie's always the indisputable factor in all our lives.”

“Only in mine. You never knew her, Joe.”

“I know her. You've told me so much about her that I feel as if she's my child.”

“Really? Did I tell you how much she loved life? Every morning she'd come and jump on my bed and ask me what we were going to do, what we were going to see that day. She radiated love. I grew up choking on bitterness and poverty and I used to wonder why I was given a child like Bonnie. I didn't deserve her.”

“You deserved her.”

“After she came I tried to deserve her.” Eve forced a smile. “I'm sorry, you're right. I shouldn't burden you with this.”

“It's no burden.”

“Sure it is. It should be only my albatross.”

“Not possible. When you're hurting, everyone around you feels it.” He picked up a handful of sand and let it slowly sift through his fingers. “Bonnie's still here. For all of us.”

“You, Joe?”

“Sure, could it be any different? You and I have been together for a long time.”

Since that nightmare time after Bonnie had disappeared. He had been an agent with the FBI then, younger, less cynical, capable of being shocked and horrified. He had tried to comfort her, but there had been no comfort in the world during that hideous period. Yet he had somehow managed to pull her back single-handedly from a nearly fatal depression until she could function on her own. She grimaced. “I don't know why you stick around. I'm a lousy friend. I never think about anything but my work. I'm selfish as hell or I would have known you and Diane were having trouble. Why do you put up with me?”

“I wonder sometimes.” He tilted his head, as if considering. “I suppose I'm used to you. It's too much trouble to make new friends, so I guess I'll have to keep you.”

“Thank God.” She drew up her knees and linked her arms around them. “I hurt him, Joe.”

“Logan's tough. He'll get over it. He knew you weren't going to be a sure thing when he lured you here.”

“He didn't lure me here. He was trying to help.”

Joe shrugged. “Maybe.” He stood up and pulled her to her feet. “Come on, I'll walk you back to the house. You've been out here long enough.”

“How do you know?”

“I saw you run out. I've been waiting on the terrace.”

“All this time?”

He smiled. “I didn't have any other pressing engagements. I figured you needed the time alone, but now you should go to bed.”

He had stood there in the darkness, silent, strong, waiting patiently until he could help her. She suddenly felt stronger herself, more optimistic. “I'm not going back to the house but you can walk me back to the lab. I have some work to do and then I have to pack.”

“Do you need help?”

She shook her head. “I can manage.” She headed toward the small house a hundred yards away. “I've just been putting it off.”

“Second thoughts?”

“You know better.” She opened the door of the lab and turned on the light. “But sad thoughts. Regretful thoughts.” She moved toward the computer on the desk. “Go away. I have to finish this age progression. It's been a long time for Libby's mother. She's almost given up hope.”

“Nice place.” Joe's gaze was wandering around the room, from the beige couch heaped with orange and gold pillows to the framed pictures on the bookcase. “You've made it yours. Where's the sculpture you've been working on?”

She nodded at the pedestal beside the large picture window. “Your bust is a work in progress. But there's a finished one of Mom in the armoire beside the door.”

“My bust?” He stared at it. “Good God, it
is
me.”

“Don't be flattered. I didn't have any models, and I know your face almost as well as I do my own.”

“Jesus, I can see you do.” He touched the bridge of the nose. “I never realized anyone noticed that little bump. I broke it playing football.”

“You should have had it taken care of at the time.”

He grinned. “But then I would have been too perfect.” He paused. “I'd have thought you'd do one of Bonnie.”

“I tried. I couldn't do it. I just found myself staring at the clay.” She adjusted her glasses and brought up the picture of Libby on the monitor. “Maybe later.”

“But you think you can reconstruct the little girl's skull?”

He was being very careful not to refer to it as Bonnie's skull, she noticed. “I have to do it. I can do whatever I have to do. Go away, Joe. I have to work now.”

He strolled toward the door. “Try to get some sleep.”

“After I finish the progression.” She pulled up the photographs of Libby's mother and maternal grandmother. Study them. Don't think about Bonnie. Don't think about Logan. Libby deserved her entire attention. She had to age the eight-year-old girl to fifteen. It wasn't going to be easy. Block everything else out.

Don't think about Bonnie.

“
TOO BAD YOU
don't have time to finish Joe,” Bonnie said.

Eve turned over on the couch and saw Bonnie standing staring up at Joe's bust. She looked as she always did when she came to Eve: blue jeans, T-shirt, red hair a riot of curls. But she appeared smaller than usual next to the pedestal.

“I have more important work to do now.”

Bonnie wrinkled her nose as she glanced at Eve over her shoulder.

“Yeah, you think you've found me. I keep telling you I'm not there anymore. It's just a bunch of bones.”

“Your bones?”

“How do I know? I don't remember any of that anymore. You wouldn't want me to remember.”

“God, no.” She paused. “But I think you know where he buried you. Why won't you tell me? I just want to bring you home.”

“Because I want you to forget the way I died.” Bonnie moved over to the window and gazed out at the sea. “I only want you to remember me when I was with you and how I am now.”

“A dream.”

“A ghost,” Bonnie corrected. “Someday I'm going to convince you.”

“And then they'll lock me up in the nuthouse.”