A Perfect Evil Part 9

The muddy leaves hid the wooden door so well that even he had to search for its exact location. He cleared it of all debris, then, with both hands, yanked and pulled until it creaked open. A haze of light dimly lit the steps as he descended into the earth. Immediately, the smell of wet dirt, moist with mold, filled his lungs. As soon as he reached the bottom, he put down the sack and blanket.

From his jacket pocket he pulled the rubber mask. It was better than the ski mask, less frightening and more appropriate for this time of year. Although he hated the d.a.m.n thing. But even more, he hated remembering the look in Danny's eyes, recognizing him, trusting him and then looking at him as though betrayed. If only Danny had understood. But that look and that d.a.m.n cross around the boy's neck had almost unraveled him. No, he couldn't take any more chances. He yanked on the mask. In seconds, his face began to perspire.

Like a zombie, with hands and arms outstretched, he took small steps until he b.u.mped into the wooden shelf. His fingers found the lantern and matches. Fur brushed against his skin. He jerked his hand away, hitting the lantern and catching it without seeing it before it slid off the shelf.

"d.a.m.n rats," he muttered.

His fingers lifted the rusty metal. He struck the match and lit the wick on the first try. The dark came to life in the yellow glow. Pieces of dirt wall crumbled and filtered down on him. He avoided looking up at the scratchy skitters of night creatures escaping. He waited. In a few seconds they would find new darkness and all would be safe and quiet again.

He shoved his weight against the thick wooden shelf, using his shoulder to push. The heavy structure groaned, wobbled and began to move. It sc.r.a.ped against the floor, taking clumps of dirt with it. Sweat rolled down his back. The mask was excruciatingly hot-his face crushed by a vapor lock. Finally, the secret pa.s.sage revealed itself. He crawled through the small hole, reaching back to grab the sack and drag the blanket.

He hoped Matthew enjoyed the baseball cards.

CHAPTER 20.

The Tanner house sat on the corner of its block at the edge of town. Behind it stretched an open field where huge, yellow construction equipment chomped at the landscape like hungry monsters removing trees in one gulp. It was one of the sights Nick hated most about Platte City's rapid growth. Countryside covered with pink wild roses, blazing goldenrod and waving prairie gra.s.s suddenly turned into perfect sections of bluegra.s.s and gray pavement sprinkled with plastic swing sets and Big Wheels.

"Jesus," he muttered at the line of vehicles parked in front of the Tanner house.

"You have someone here to contain things?" O'Dell asked.

Nick glanced at her next to him in his Jeep.

"I'm only asking, Morrelli. There's no need to get defensive."

She was right. There was no accusation in her tone. He needed to remember that she was on his side. So he filled her in on what he had done so far, details they hadn't had time to discuss in the early hours of the morning.

Last night, almost near panic, he and Hal Langston had set up a mini-command post in Mich.e.l.le Tanner's living room. Grudgingly, he had relied on lessons Bob Weston had taught him during the Alverez case. Within minutes of Mich.e.l.le Tanner's desperate phone call, Nick had sent Phillip Van Dorn to tap her phones and set up a surveillance around her house. Before midnight Lucy Burton had begun converting the sheriff's office conference room into a strategy briefing room with maps and enlarged photos of Matthew tacked up and a hotline ready.

This time Nick had immediately called in the county police chiefs from neighboring Richfield, Staton and Bennet for extra feet to scour the alleys, surrounding fields and even the riverbank. His own men had gone door-to-door, instructed to politely ask questions without stirring panic. If that was possible. In fact, he wondered if it may already be too late. Especially after this morning's drive and witnessing the panic of parents accompanying their children to school. The frenzy had already begun, thanks to his sister. He hated to think what would happen when everyone found out about Matthew. Nick knew he was fooling himself if he thought he could stop the frenzy or even contain it.

The front door of the Tanner house was open. The chatter of voices drifted into the yard. O'Dell knocked on the screen door and waited. Nick would have knocked and entered. Standing so close behind her he noticed she was about six inches shorter than he was. He leaned closer to smell her hair just as a breeze whipped several strands against his chin in a soft caress.

Her fingers brushed her hair back into place, almost grazing his skin. He stepped back and watched her tuck the unruly strand behind her ear, revealing soft, white skin. This morning she wore a dark burgundy suit jacket and matching trousers. The color made her skin seem softer, smoother.

The screen door screeched on old hinges as a man Nick didn't recognize opened it just enough to examine the two of them.

"Who are you?" the man asked suspiciously, wasting no time on good manners as his eyes darted over them.

"It's okay." Hal Langston came up behind him and gently nudged the man to the side. Hal grabbed the screen door and opened it. The man shot Hal a look, but walked away. Hal could be as imposing as h.e.l.l when he wanted. He and Nick had played football together in high school, and although Hal had added some softness to his bulk, he was still in good shape.

"Married life," he explained when Nick teased him about the extra weight. "You should try it, buddy," he would always add. And to his credit, Hal had snagged one of the best catches in town.

Tess Langston had moved to Platte City ten years before to teach high-school history. As beautiful as she was smart, she had intimidated all the bachelors who drooled in her presence. All but Hal. For almost three weeks, he had called Nick, who'd been tucked away out East in law school, every night, racking up his long-distance bill. Between torts and breaches of contract, Nick had helped plot Hal's next move.

Nick wrote snippets of poetry, recommended what flowers-daisies, not roses-and even advised when and where to touch-gentle flicks to the earlobe when cuddling, no breast groping. He had felt as though he was wooing Tess himself, so much so that, when the calls stopped, Nick had felt a loss. It wasn't until later he realized the loss wasn't of his buddy, but of a woman he had met only once and had come to know so intimately through his friend that he, himself, had fallen in love.

Hal and Tess had married after six short months, and even today Nick felt a closeness to Tess that he could never explain. Didn't want to explain, really. He had no idea whether Hal had shared with her the secrets of their courtship, yet sometimes Tess looked at Nick in a way that told him she knew, and that she was grateful.

The Tanner living room was filled with his deputies and with police officers he didn't recognize. Some were drinking coffee, while others huddled over notes and maps. Nick looked for Mich.e.l.le Tanner and wondered whether he would recognize her. Last night in her pink chenille robe and red eyes and blotchy face, she had looked drunk and disoriented. Her red hair had fallen partially out of its bun and flew around her head like wild snakes. Her entire small body had seemed to convulse with arms swinging and legs pacing.

The kitchen was clogged with more bodies.

"Who the f.u.c.k are all these people, Hal?" He turned and b.u.mped into Hal, who was close behind. O'Dell had wandered over to Phillip Van Dorn, and without any introduction seemed to have Phil revealing all his secrets of the technology he strung around the house.

"It was her idea," Hal whispered in his defense. "She called a few neighbors, her mother, the parents of her kid's soccer team."

"Jesus, Hal. We've got the whole f.u.c.king soccer team here!"

"Just a few parents."

Nick elbowed his way through the crowd. Then he began shoving when he recognized the woman sitting at the table, sipping coffee with Mich.e.l.le Tanner.

"What the h.e.l.l are you doing here?" he bellowed, and the entire room went silent.

CHAPTER 21.

Before Christine could answer, her brother charged through the group, spilling Emily Fulton's coffee and almost knocking Paul Calloway to the floor. Everyone stared as Nick pointed his finger at her and said to Mich.e.l.le Tanner, "Mrs. Tanner, do you realize this woman is a reporter?"

Mich.e.l.le Tanner was a pet.i.te woman, slender to the point of being frail and, from what Christine had already learned, easily intimidated. Mich.e.l.le's small face went pale, the large hazel eyes widened. She looked at Christine, fumbled with her coffee cup, then stared at it as though surprised by its click-clack click-clack rattle amplified in the silence. Finally, she looked up at Nick. rattle amplified in the silence. Finally, she looked up at Nick.

"Yes, Sheriff Morrelli. I'm well aware that Christine is a reporter." She folded her hands together, apparently noticed a slight tremor and tucked them under the table, safely into her lap. With her eyes now on her coffee, she continued, "We think it would be beneficial to have something in tonight's paper...about Matthew." The tremor was now in her voice.

Christine saw Nick softening. If there was one thing her macho brother couldn't handle, it was a tearful woman. She had used them herself, though there was nothing manipulative about Mich.e.l.le Tanner's tears.

"Mrs. Tanner, I'm sorry, but I don't think that's a good idea."

"Actually, it's a very good idea."

Christine shifted in her chair, so she could see the woman who appeared from behind Nick. She could have been a model, with flawless skin, lovely high cheekbones, full pouty lips and silky, short dark hair. Her suit draped over a slender, athletic figure with enough curves to hold every man's attention in the room. However, her voice and stance showed she was unaware of the effect of her femininity. She carried herself confidently and with an air of authority. This woman was not easily intimidated by anything or anyone, let alone a roomful of people who had no idea who she was. Already, Christine liked her.

"Excuse me?" Nick seemed irritated with the woman.

"I think it would be a good idea to involve the media right away."

Nick glanced around the room. He looked uncomfortable and fl.u.s.tered.

"Can I talk to you a minute? Alone." He took the woman's arm, but she immediately jerked it away. Still, she turned to leave the room with him. The crowd opened for her exit. Nick followed.

"Excuse me." Christine patted Mich.e.l.le's hand. She grabbed her notebook. Despite Nick's fury, she wanted to meet the woman who had just put him in his place. This had to be the FBI expert from Quantico, Special Agent Maggie O'Dell. She wondered what information Agent O'Dell might be willing to supply. Information Nick would keep in a vise grip if it meant protecting his precious reputation.

Nick and Agent O'Dell huddled in a corner of the living room next to the bay window that overlooked the front yard. Several of the police officers stared. Nick's men knew better and pretended to be occupied with their work.

"I told you he wouldn't like you being here," said a voice behind her.

Christine glanced over her shoulder at Hal. "Well, it looks like someone might be changing his mind."

"Yeah, he's definitely met his match with that one. I'm going outside for a smoke. Why don't you join me?"

"Thanks, no. I'm trying to quit."

"Suit yourself."

He headed out the front door. The screen whined, then slammed. Nick and Agent O'Dell didn't even notice. Nick spoke in a hushed tone, confining his anger with clenched teeth. Agent O'Dell looked unscathed by any of it, her voice calm and even.

"Excuse me for interrupting." As she approached Christine felt Nick's glare like a slap in the face. She avoided his eyes. "You must be Special Agent O'Dell. I'm Christine Hamilton." She offered her hand, and O'Dell took it without hesitation.

"Ms. Hamilton."

The grip was strong and steady.

"In his fury I'm sure Nicky failed to tell you that I'm his sister."

O'Dell glanced up at Nick, and Christine thought she saw a hint of a smile on the otherwise stoic face.

"I wondered if there was a personal connection."

"He's obviously p.i.s.sed at me, so it's hard for him to see that I'm really here to help."

"I'm sure you are."

"So, you won't mind answering some questions?"

"I'm sorry, Ms. Hamilton..."

"Christine."

"Of course, Christine. Despite my opinions, this isn't my investigation. I'm here strictly to profile this case."

Christine knew without looking at him that Nick was smiling now. It only made her angry. "So what does that mean? Another press blackout like in the Alverez case? Nicky, that's only going to make matters worse."

"Actually, Christine, I think Sheriff Morrelli has changed his mind," O'Dell said, watching Nick, whose smile transformed into a grimace.

He pushed his hair from his forehead. O'Dell folded her arms over her chest and waited. Christine looked from one to the other. The tension filled the corner, and she found herself taking a step backward.

Finally, Nick cleared his throat as though his discomfort was lodged somewhere between his larynx and tongue. "There'll be a press conference in the courthouse lobby tomorrow morning at eight-thirty."

"Can I print that in tonight's article?" She looked from Nick to O'Dell and back to Nick.

"Sure," he grudgingly answered.

"Anything else I can use in tonight's article?"

"No."

"Sheriff Morrelli, didn't you say you already have copies of the boy's photo?" Again, O'Dell said this very matter-of-factly, no underlying edge. "It may jog some memories if Christine included one with her piece."

He shoved his hands into his pockets, and Christine wondered whether it was so he wouldn't strangle both her and O'Dell.

"Stop by the courthouse and pick one up. I'll instruct Lucy to leave it at the front desk. The front desk, Christine. I don't want you in my office snooping around."

"Relax, Nicky. I keep telling you I'm not the enemy." She started to leave, but turned back at the door. "You're still coming over for dinner tonight, aren't you?"

"I may be too busy."

"Agent O'Dell, would you like to join us? Nothing fancy. I'm fixing spaghetti. There'll be plenty of Chianti."

"Thanks, that sounds nice."

Christine almost burst out laughing at the surprise on Nick's face.

"I'll see the two of you about seven. Nicky knows the address."

CHAPTER 22.

The sheriff's department bristled with nervous energy. Nick could feel it as soon as he and O'Dell walked in the door. Here he was, worried about a frenzy taking over the community, and he had one in his own department.

Phones rang incessantly. Machines beeped. Keyboards clicked. Faxes hummed. Radios squawked. Voices yelled out to each other from room to room. Bodies dashed and scurried, amazingly not b.u.mping into one another.

Again, there were police officers he didn't recognize and equipment he couldn't identify. He was depending on people he barely knew to handle things he hardly understood. It made him as uncomfortable as h.e.l.l.

Lucy looked relieved to see him. She smiled and waved from across the room. There was a quick glance of contempt in O'Dell's direction. O'Dell didn't seem to notice.

"Nick, we've checked every inch of this city," Lloyd Benjamin's voice rasped with exhaustion. He removed his gla.s.ses and wiped his eyes. The deep worry lines in his forehead were p.r.o.nounced, like permanent indents. The oldest member of Nick's team, Lloyd was also the most reliable next to Hal. "Richfield's men are still checking the river where we found the Alverez kid. I've got Staton's men on the north side of town. They're going to check that gravel pit and Northton Lake."

"Good. That's good, Lloyd." Nick patted him on the back. There was something else. Lloyd rubbed his jaw, glanced at O'Dell.

"Some of us were talking," Lloyd continued in a low voice, almost a whisper. "Stan Lubrick thought he remembered Jeffreys having a partner...you know...sort of a...well, a lover, at the time he was arrested. I do kind of remember us bringing a guy in for questioning, but I don't think he ever testified. A Mark Rydell," he said, scanning a notepad with illegible scratches. "We were wondering if we should try and check the guy out. See if he's anywhere around."

They both looked at O'Dell, who was distracted by the chaos. Nick wasn't even sure she had heard Lloyd. Her hands were shoved deep into her jacket pockets. Her eyes darted back and forth, watching the commotion. Then suddenly, she seemed fl.u.s.tered when she realized they were waiting for her to answer.