Dead Even Part 17

"Landry thinks I might be the third target."

"You?"

"He thinks that when I interviewed Channing six years ago-in Ohio, that first field a.s.signment I had?"

John nodded.

"Well, Landry thinks that my focusing on Channing spoiled a nice little run he was having in southern Ohio, forced him to move on before he wanted to." Miranda looked across the desk at John. "He thinks that maybe Channing was angry that his fun was ruined. Landry referred to it as my 'stopping his forward motion.' "

"He was in his comfort zone, and you pushed him out of it."

"That's Landry's theory."

"Maybe you should back off the case, then." John frowned.

"No, no. First of all, I think I know Lowell better than anyone at this point. Second, we don't know if Channing even remembered my name. And third, the plan is to stop him before he gets to Landry."

"You're working with Fletcher," he noted. "Who else do you need?"

"I don't think we need anyone else right now. With Phillips keeping an eye on Landry, and the local police involved, I think we'll be able to get our hands on Lowell." She grimaced. "Christ, if the FBI can't outwit a loser like Archer Lowell, we're in big trouble."

"So far, he's one up on the Bureau," John reminded her.

"I'm well aware." She nodded glumly.

"Frankly, I lay that one at the feet of the locals. You laid the whole thing out for them. Apparently they didn't take you very seriously."

"Let's hope the Plainsville police have more on the ball than their brethren in Ohio. In the meantime, over the next few days, Will and I will be going over the reports of all Channing's known kills. We need to look at the whole picture. Where he'd been, how long he stayed, see if we can identify anyone who had contact with him."

"You're going to try to re-create the last six years of his life through police records?"

"That's the plan. There has to be a pattern there someplace. We need to find it."

The phone rang, and he glanced at it with weary eyes before picking it up. He listened for a few moments, then snapped, "Find her," before hanging up.

"Someone lost?" she asked.

It was a long moment before he responded. Then, finally, he said, "We seem to be having a problem with Genna's signal."

"Genna's still in Wyoming?"

"Yes. Before she left, we inserted a device in the heel of one of her shoes so we could keep track of her while she was in Reverend Prescott's compound."

"And the signal is lost?"

"The signal hasn't moved in three days."

"Maybe she took her shoes off. . . ."

"They're having record snowfalls out there right now. It's unlikely my wife is walking around barefoot."

The phone rang again.

"Anything else?" he asked, his hand on the phone.

"No." She stood to leave. "Listen, John, if there's anything I can do . . . I could go back to Wyoming, I could see what I can-"

He shook his head, waved her off, turned his back, and took his call.

"Thanks, Annie, for coming in to meet me today," Will said as he parked his car near the edge of the park.

"I'm sorry I don't have more time," she apologized, "but you sounded so worried on the phone."

He pa.s.sed her the bag of sandwiches they'd picked up at the local drive-through. She opened it and searched for her selection.

"I guess I should just get to the point." He ran one hand through his hair. "Miranda and I paid a visit to Joshua Landry the other day."

He explained why they believed Landry could be a focus of Channing's anger, then handed her copies of several of Channing's letters. She read through the first few while she unwrapped her chicken sandwich and nibbled on it.

"Well, I'd say that Landry certainly did push Channing's b.u.t.tons," she said when she was finished reading.

"So you think he could be a target?"

"Oh, yes. Channing was clearly angry with him. There's no mistaking that. Channing even asked him to retract several statements Landry made in the book, and when he refused, he all but threatened him." Annie paused to take another bite, chewed slowly, then said, "But you figured that out for yourself."

"Miranda and I did, yes."

"So what is it that you really wanted to ask me?"

"There's one more letter you need to see." From the inside of his jacket pocket, he withdrew an envelope, which he pa.s.sed to her. "Read this."

She did, then looked up when she was finished, and said, "Channing was really angry with this woman-this woman police officer-when he wrote this, wasn't he?"

"I don't think it was a police officer," he told her. "I think it was a woman FBI agent."

Annie raised a questioning brow. "Anyone we know?"

"Miranda interviewed him right about the time he's referencing in that letter. She apparently rattled him enough that he moved on, disappeared. She'd tried to bring him back in for more questioning, but he couldn't be located."

"So you think that maybe Miranda might be the woman he's referring to here? And could therefore be Channing's number three?"

"I'm asking you what you think. You're the one who has made a career of understanding these personalities. And you met Channing. You're the only person I know who spent time with him, talked to him."

She tapped the folded letter on her crossed knee.

"What you want to know is, do I think Channing gave Miranda's name to Lowell?"

"Yes."

"Well, let's look at what we learned about him from the Mary Douglas case. You've read the reports yourself, Will. Channing was a very organized killer. Took all his gear with him. Had his victims staked out ahead of time, knew where they lived, when they left in the morning, when they arrived home at night. He left very little to chance."

"Except he failed to properly identify his first victim."

"Yes, a failure that resulted in his killing three women more than he'd planned. Not that I think he regretted that." She shook her head. "Actually, I think it may have amused him, in an 'oh, silly me' sort of way."

"Do you think he would have remembered Miranda?"

Annie smiled. "Will, you're a man. You tell me. How often does a man meet a woman like Miranda? How likely is he to forget?"

"That's pretty much what I was thinking."

"So the answer would have to be yes, I think he remembered her."

"We know he held a grudge against Unger for thirty years, but that was pretty personal. I mean, Unger was a part of his daily life; they lived together. They shared a defining moment in Channing's life." Will rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "But would his feeling toward Miranda have been that strong? Would he have held on to those feelings for six years? Would he have wanted to destroy her as he did Unger, as he might want to do to Landry?"

"Depends on how cozy he felt where he was, when she brought an end to it. Have you reviewed all of the identified cases?"

"Most of them, not all."

"I'm familiar with the ones Miranda had been investigating in Rockledge. All young women in their late teens, early twenties. All from roughly the same area in southern Ohio. All raped, strangled in their homes. All were left with one of their own scarves over their faces."

"Same as the ones we're looking at now, the murders he committed after he left Rockledge."

"But they didn't start up for two, three months after he left Rockledge," Will pointed out.

"Two or three months when he would have been stewing, wanting to kill but afraid of being caught." Annie thought it over, then nodded. "As Landry said, Miranda stopped his forward motion for a time. A time he probably spent quite frustrated. Angry, no doubt, because of it."

"Then you think there's a chance Miranda might be the third victim?"

"I think you should keep an open mind, keep scanning those files. See if you can identify a more likely candidate. But until you do, I'd say proceed as if Miranda's name is the third on that list."

"I guess I need to talk to John."

"The sooner, the better," Annie agreed. "Right now your focus is on Landry. Can we take the chance that Lowell's focus isn't on Miranda?"

CHAPTER TWELVE.

Burt lowered himself slowly into the lone chair in his motel room and rubbed his temples, trying to ease away the pain caused by forty minutes in the company of Archer Lowell, whom Burt had found to be one big fat pain in the a.s.s. If Vince Giordano had simply asked him to do all this as a favor, Burt wouldn't have given it a second thought. But Giordano had thrown a whole s.h.i.tload of money his way-more money than he'd ever seen in one place before-so what else could he do but take this all the way to the end?

He only wished he didn't have to take Lowell along in order to see it through.

Archer Lowell was a dangerous man, in Burt's opinion. Dangerous because he was so stupid. Burt had been really careful not to let Lowell see anything with his full name on it. He wore a hat and dark gla.s.ses that covered much of his face when he was in Lowell's company, and he made sure he wore gloves when he was in Lowell's room. He wanted to leave nothing behind that could tie him to Lowell once the s.h.i.t hit the fan. He'd even muddied up some of his license plate so that Lowell couldn't give it up, should it ever occur to the twerp to turn on him.

He rubbed the back of his neck with his big, beefy right hand. That was something that had to be considered. What were the chances Lowell would just do what he had to do, then go quietly about his business? Would there come a time when, overcome with remorse, Lowell might go to the cops and spill the whole thing? The fact that, up to this point, he had gone along with the deal was no real guarantee that he might not someday regret what he'd done.

Burt was going to have to think long and hard about this. How to keep Lowell on track so that he could see this through and collect the rest of the money, and keep his head out of a noose at the same time.

It had been no surprise that he'd arrived at the motel to find Lowell had absolutely no plan for going after his next victim. The guy was totally clueless.

"I don't know," Lowell had whined when Burt had asked him what his next move was going to be.

"You got your vic picked out?" Burt had asked, trying to keep a rein on his temper, lest he belt Lowell in the head.

"Yes."

"So you know where you're going? How you're getting there? How you're gonna get the job done?"

"Not exactly."

"What exactly do you know, Lowell?" Burt's eyes had darkened. Lowell had visibly cringed at the menacing.

"I just know who. I don't know where he is. New Jersey, I think. A farm or something. But that's all Channing told me."

"So you go on the Internet and you find him. You know how to do that?"

"Sorta."

"There's no sorta, a.s.shole. You either know how to locate someone or you don't."

"I don't."

"How can a kid as young as you not know about computers?"

"I don't know." Lowell shrugged. "I just never learned computer stuff."

"This town must have a library. I'll go in the morning and look him up on the computer for you." His eyes lit. "I'll bet I can even get driving directions. . . ."

And he had gotten directions, practically to Landry's front door. Next he had to lay it out for Lowell.

"What you gotta do is study the place. See what's what. So's you know when to go in, when you can nail him."

"How do I do that? How do I get there? How do I . . ." Lowell had started to pace in the small motel room, and Burt had thought he'd explode. Or break a chair over Lowell's head.

"All right. I'll tell you what. I'm going to drive you there. You can figure out what to do from there, can't you?"

"I don't know," Lowell began to whine again.

Burt grabbed him by the throat and lifted him clear off his feet.

"Now you listen, and you listen good," Burt growled into the younger man's face. "You are going to do this for Vince if it kills you. Frankly, I don't care if it does. You ain't nothing to me, you hear? I could just as easily plug you myself right here and now because you are p.i.s.sing me off big-time."