Kovacliska - Ashes To Ashes Part 59

"Let me put some clothes on." She pulled the chenille throw around heras she sat up.

Quinn scowled. "I knew there'd be a down side."

Kate gave him a wry smile, then went to her desk, where the light was blinking on the answering machine. She was a vision in the amber glow ofthe desk lamp, her hair flame red, the curve of her back a sculptor'sdream. It made him ache just to look at her. How incredibly lucky he wasto get a second chance.

A petulant voice whined from the machine, "Kate, it's David Willis.

I need to speak with you. Call me tonight. You know I'm not home duringthe day. I feel like you're deliberately avoiding me. Now-when myconfidence level is so low. I need you-" Kate hit the b.u.t.ton to forwardto the next message. "If they were all like him, I'd get a job atWal-Mart."

The next message was from the leader of a businesswoman's group, askingher to speak at a meeting.

Then next a long silence.

Kate met Quinn's sober stare with one of her own. "I had a couple ofthose last night. I thought they might be Angie. I wanted to believe itmight be."

Or it might be whoever had Angie, Quinn thought. Smokey Joe.

"We need to put a trap on your phone, Kate. If he's got Angie, he's gotyour number."

He could see that hadn't occurred to her. He saw the flash of surprisefollowed by annoyance with herself for having missed it. But of courseKate wouldn't think of herself as a possible victim. She was strong, incontrol, in charge. But not invulnerable.

Quinn got up from the couch and went to her, still naked, and put hisarms around her.

"G.o.d, what a nightmare," she whispered. "Do you think she could still bealive?"

"She could be," he said, because he knew Kate needed to hear it.

But he also knew that she was as aware of the odds and the horrible possibilities as he was. She knew as well as he did Angie Dimarco mightstill be alive, and that they might have been kinder hoping she was not.

I am dead My need alive Keeps me going Keeps me hoping Will he want me?

Will he take me?

Will he hurt me?

Will he love me?

The words cut at him. The music clawed at his senses. He played the tapeanyway. Letting it hurt, needing to feel.

Peter sat in his office, the only light coming in through the window,just enough to turn black to charcoal, gray to ash. The anxiety, theguilt, the longing, the pain, the need, the emotions he could seldomgrasp and never express, were trapped inside him, the pressure buildinguntil he thought his body would simply explode and there would be nothing left of him except fragments of tissue and hair stuck to thewalls and the ceiling and the gla.s.s of the photographs of him with thepeople he had deemed important in his life in the last decade.

He wondered if any part of him would touch the pictures of Jilliecrowded down into one small corner of the display. Out of the way, notcalling any attention. Subtle shame-of her, of his failure, hismistakes.

".. . We need to know the truth, Peter, and I think you're holding backpieces of the puzzle.. .. We need to see the whole picture." Dark piecesof a disturbing picture he didn't want anyone to see.

The surge of shame and rage was like acid in his veieins.

I am dead My need alive Keeps me going Keeps me hoping Will he want me?

Will he take me?

Will he hurt me?

Will he love me?

The sound of the phone was like a razor slicing along his nerves. He

grabbed the receiver with a trembling hand.

"h.e.l.lo?"

"Daddy, Daddy, Daddy," the voice sang like a siren. "Come see me.

Come give me what I want. You know what I want. I want it now."

He swallowed hard at the bile in his throat. "If I do, will you leave me

alone?"

"Daddy, don't you love me?"

"Please," he whispered. "I'll give you what you want."

"Then you won't want me anymore. You won't like what I have in store.

But you'll come anyway. You'll come for me. Say you'll come."

"Yes," he breathed.

He was crying as he hung up, tears scalding his eyelids, burning his

cheeks, blurring his vision. He opened the lower right-hand drawer ofhis desk, took out a matte black Glock nine-millimeter semiautomatic,and slipped it gently into the black duffel bag at his feet. He left theroom, the duffel bag hanging heavy in his hand. Then he left the houseand drove out into the night.

CHAPTER 29.

"WHAT'S YOUR DREAM JOBV' Elwood asked.

"Technical consultant to a cop movie, set in Hawaii and starring Mel

Gibson," Liska said without hesitation. "Turn the motor on. I'm cold."

She shivered and burrowed her hands down into her coat pockets.

They sat in an employee lot near the Target Center, watching GilVanlees's truck by the white glow of the security light. Like thevultures they were often compared to, reporters circled the block aroundthe building and sat in the many small parking lots scattered around it,waiting. They had been on Vanlees like ticks as soon as his name hadbeen leaked in connection with Jillian Bondurant's murder.

Vanlees had yet to leave the building. Groupies lingering after the DaveMatthews Band concert required his full attention. Word from detectivesinside the Target Center was that management had kept him behind thescenes-afraid of a lawsuit from Vanlees if they dismissed him based onsuspicion alone, afraid. of lawsuits from the public if they let himwork as usual and something went awry. Press pa.s.ses had been handed frommusic critics to crime reporters, who had roamed the halls, looking forhim.

The radio crackled. "Coming your way, Elwood."

"Roger." Elwood hung up the handset and chewed thoughtfully on hissnack. The whole car smelled of peanut b.u.t.ter. "Mel Gibson is marriedand has six children."

"Not in my fantasy he doesn't. Here he comes."

Vanlees came lumbering through the gate. Half a dozen reporters swarmedafter him like a cloud of gnats. Elwood ran the window down to catchtheir voices.

"Mr. Vanlees, John Quinn has pegged you as a suspect in the Crematormurders. What do you have to say about that?"

"Did you murder Jillian Bondurant?"

"What did you do with her head? Did you have s.e.x with it?"

Elwood sighed heavily. "It's enough to put you off the First Amendment."

"a.s.sholes," Liska complained. "They're worse than a.s.sholes.

They're the bacteria that gather in a.s.sholes."

Vanlees had no comment for the reporters. He kept moving, having quicklylearned that rule of survival. When he was directly in front of theircar, Elwood cranked the key and started the engine. Vanlees boltedsideways and hurried on toward his truck.

"A nervous, antisocial individual," Elwood said, putting the last of hissandwich in a plastic evidence bag as Vanlees fumbled with his keys atthe door of his truck.

"The guy's a twitch," Nikki said. "My twitch. Do you think I'll getanything out of it if we nail him for these murders?"

"No. "Be brutally honest, why don't you? I don't want to hold any falseexpectations."

Vanlees gunned his engine and pulled out of his slot, scattering thereporters. Elwood eased in behind him, then turned the headlights...o...b..ight for an instant.

"A commendation would look good on my rdsum6 when I send it off to Mel

Gibson's people."

"The credit will go to Quinn," Elwood said. "The media is enamored of mind hunters."

"And he looks great on television."

"He could be the next Mel Gibson."

"Better-he's not losing his hair."

They sat behind Vanlees as he waited to pull onto First Avenue, and

rolled out right behind him, causing an oncoming car to hit the brakes

and the horn.

"Think Quinn would hire me as a technical adviser when he goes Hollywood?" Liska asked.

"It seems to me advising isn't your true goal," Elwood observed.

"True. I'd rather have a partic.i.p.atory role, but I don't think that'll happen. I think he's haunted. Doesn't he seem haunted to you?"

"Driven."

"Driven and haunted. Double whammy."

"Very romantic."

"If you're Jane Eyre." Liska shook her head. "I don't have time for

driven or haunted. I'm thirty-two. I've got kids. I need Ward Cleaver."

"He's dead."

"MY luck."

They stayed on the truck's tail, negotiating the maze of streets going