Lisa Jackson's Bentz And Montoya Bundle Part 148

Oh dear G.o.d.

No, oh please, NO! It couldn't be!

The footsteps stopped completely.

And the trilling ceased.

Kristi knew her message had been received.

By the man in Room 307.

By her contact in the police department. A. J. Tennet would know she was on the floor above him.

All her hope died.

CHAPTER 35.

Bentz wanted to throw up.

Once they'd found the light switches and illuminated the cabin, he'd been sick as a dog.

Fortunately the FBI was now on the scene, securing it, waiting for the crime techs, who were on their way.

Bentz looked over the cabin one last time. The naked bodies were still stretched in front of the dying fire, posed together. Anna Maria's corpse was unmarked aside from a single bullet hole in the back of her head. Along with his matching head wound, Ronnie Le Mars also sported tattoos that were repeated over and over, inked into his body as well as scribbled across the walls of the room: Eve, 323, Renner, 444, Nun, Viv, Xanax, 101, evil, Kajak,212, Deified, Reviver, Dennis sinned, Live not on evil.Never even. Evil live.

The tattoos were all recent; no mention of them were in the file on Ronnie Le Mars.

"A real nutcase," Montoya said, shaking his head. They were waiting for the crime-scene specialists, but time was slipping away.

As far as they knew, the killer might already have Eve Renner.

"Look at this place, it's all wrong," Bentz said, eyeing the cabin. Though parts of it were neat and organized, the rest was filthy, as if all that really mattered was the fireplace, a kind of shrine. He eyed the rosary hanging from the mirror and the blackened windows. He'd been at enough crime scenes to sense when something didn't quite fit. "This place doesn't match our mastermind. Do you think Ronnie Le Mars was capable of pulling off all the killings? Getting away clean? The guy was a maniac."

Montoya tensed. "What're you saying? He's our killer. The tattoos are evidence..." He stepped closer to the fireplace. "You think he had a partner."

"I think he had someone calling the shots."

"That's a h.e.l.luva leap."

"I've read Ronnie's file, talked to his parole officer and yeah, he was our killer, but something's just not right."

"Hey!" an officer shouted from outside. "We found the truck. Got a scratch on it consistent with a round."

"Shootout with Tiggs," Montoya muttered. "This is our guy."

Bentz swallowed hard as he searched the room, carefully examining the mantel, mirror, and desk. He found tattoo supplies and patterns and again, a notebook with pages of pages of palindromes, as if the guy lived for them.

It still seemed wrong. A bad feeling ate at him, roiling his stomach. He eyed the bed. Carefully made. Obviously the man spent all of his time either at the fire doing G.o.d knew what or here in the bed. "Hey, hand me a flashlight."

"Looking for bedbugs?" Montoya asked, grabbing a flashlight from a uniform.

"Maybe."

On his knees he shined the harsh beam over the sheets, pillows, and quilt. When he peered under the springs, he saw it. "Jesus H. Christ," he whispered. Hidden deep inside the springs and mattress, he found tiny speakers, some kind of receiver and electronic gadgets he didn't recognize.

"What is it?" Montoya asked.

"I don't know." He glanced around, searching for a radio or stereo that would transmit to the speakers and found none. "I don't get it," he said, but the bad feeling that had been gnawing at him just got worse.

"So who killed them?" Montoya said, motioning to the victims. "Obviously not Ronnie as he's now a vic. So who's left? The son? Eve's twin? The guy we can't find?" He shook his head. "Why would he off Ronnie Le Mars?"

"Good question." Bentz popped a couple of antacids and walked outside, where the rain was a welcome relief from the stuffy, hideous cabin. "Somehow he knew Le Mars was here. No one else did."

"Except the anonymous caller," Montoya pointed out, scratching at his goatee. They walked toward the cruiser, wending their way through the other vehicles that had arrived, including a news van.

Bentz was not in the mood. Fortunately a spokesperson for the Feds was fielding the questions of two reporters.

As they reached their car, Bentz's cell phone rang. Caller ID told him the call originated at Our Lady of Virtues.

"This is Detective Bentz."

"Oh, h.e.l.lo, Detective. This is Sister Odine, with the convent."

She got right to the point. "Remember, you asked me to let you know if anyone showed up here? Well, I thought you should know there's a car parked at the cemetery. A red Volkswagen Jetta, I be lieve. I have the license plate."

"What is it?" Bentz asked, but he could barely hear the nun's words over the crashing of blood pounding through his brain. She rattled off the letters and numbers of the plate, confirming his suspicions. The Jetta belonged to his daughter.

"We're on our way. I'll meet you at the front gate of the convent. We'll need the keys to the hospital." He climbed into the pa.s.senger side of the cruiser. "How fast can you drive to Our Lady of Virtues?" he asked Montoya.

"Twenty minutes," Montoya said, firing up the engine. "Give or take."

"Make it ten."

"Why?" Montoya was already cranking the wheel and hitting the gas. "What's up?"

The cruiser shot forward.

"Kristi's there." Bentz hit the speed-dial b.u.t.ton for his daughter and waited. No doubt she wouldn't pick up. For the first time in a long while, he sent up a quick, short prayer. Please keep her safe! Please keep her safe!

The phone connected.

"Kristi!" he said. "Kristi!"

But she didn't answer.

The phone indicated he'd just received a new text message.

I'm at OLOV asylum attic. Not alone. Send help. K.

Cole drove his Jeep as if he were fleeing Satan himself. As the wipers tossed off sheets of rain, he mentally kicked himself up one side and down the other. Why had he let Eve go to the bar alone? He'd known it wasn't safe. He shouldn't have allowed her to bully him, and now she might be lost to him forever! Now, after they'd just crossed so many hurdles, when they'd finally come together. He thought of their last night of lovemaking, in the hotel, and his jaw clenched so hard it ached.

He had nothing to go on but gut instinct.

He had no weapon, just the tools in the back of his rig.

He didn't doubt that she was with the madman, though he had no idea where he'd taken her or what he'd done to her. In sharp, jagged pieces, he remembered Royal Kajak's mutilated body, then Sister Vivian's naked corpse, and the doll propped on the b.l.o.o.d.y bed.

His only hope was to piece together the messages that the killer had given them, the clues. Palindromes and numbers, backward and forward.

Through the slap of the wipers, in quick tempo, he thought 101; 212; 111; 444; 323; Eve; Renner; Kajak; Viv; Nun; Dad. 101; 212; 111; 444; 323; Eve; Renner; Kajak; Viv; Nun; Dad.

He was certain the numbers referred to rooms at Our Lady of Virtues, and he intended to walk those rooms and decipher their meaning. Somehow he would piece together the clues. He had no other options, and time, he felt with every breath he drew, was running out.

Eve opened an eye.

Where the h.e.l.l was she, and why was the darkened room spinning?

Lying on her back, staring upward at a high ceiling, she heard the beat of rain, steady and hard. Her headache was back, pounding in her skull, and as she fought it, images came back. Fuzzy bits of memory. She'd been abducted. At the bar. And Anna...Oh, G.o.d, was she dead?

She blinked hard, remembering the cabin and Ronnie Le Mars and a woman weeping.... then...oh, G.o.d! Someone had come in and shot them both then hauled her away. She'd pa.s.sed out again, only to wake up here.

In the hospital.

He'd brought her to the mental asylum.

She realized now that she was in Faith Chastain's room, lying on the stained floor.

For the love of G.o.d, why?

And where was he?

She tried to sit up, but her arms and legs were still uncooperative and useless.

Try again, Eve.

It's a situation of mind over matter!

Concentrating, she willed her right arm to move.

Nothing.

Come on, come on, don't give up!

She tried again, focusing and straining, and her arm slid a bit, though in no controlled fashion.

Again! Hurry! Who knows how long he'll be gone?

This time she was able to get her finger to twitch, but that was it. No great show of strength, no ability to push herself upright, no chance of running.

Then find a weapon.

She looked around frantically, but the room was empty.

Don't give up. Be creative, d.a.m.n it!

She looked frantically again, her gaze sc.r.a.ping every corner of the room. Nothing...Oh G.o.d...And then a little glitter near the hearth. Gla.s.s?

She started to try and move closer to the fireplace, but she heard something and froze.

Footsteps?

Overhead?

In the attic. What was he doing up there? Spying down on her? Using the peep holes in the attic, the ones she'd used as a child. How ironic that someone now might be spying on her. No, that didn't make any sense. What the h.e.l.l was he doing up there?

She was going to die. She knew it. There was so much she had planned for her life, so many things she still wanted to do. Cole's image came to mind, and she nearly wept as she realized how much she loved him and that, recently, she hadn't had the nerve to tell him how she felt. She remembered making love to him, feeling his body entwined intimately with hers and how he'd whispered words of love as he'd pushed her hair from her face. But never had she told him how she'd felt.

Fear of being hurt again had paralyzed her.

How foolish she'd been.

Now, she might never get the chance.

A lump filled her throat, but she ignored it. She had no time for "could have beens" or "should have beens." She had no time for anything.

She looked again at the little bit of glitter near the fireplace. A piece of gla.s.s? Not much of a weapon.

But better than nothing.

He was coming for her.