The Third Victim Part 66

"No. Not at all."

"But why Melissa Avalon then? The special bullet. The single shot to the forehead. Those are all signs she wasn't a random victim."

"Oh, she wasn't random. The selection process was simply different from what we thought. I should've seen it earlier, when everyone kept saying how close Danny was to Miss Avalon and how patient she was with him."

"I don't get it' "Danny loved her, Rainie. That's why the UNSUB chose her. Because what better way to demonstrate your control over a troubled child than to make him a.s.sist in the murder of the one person who's been good to him. The only other person he trusted."

"But that doesn't make any sense," Sanders burst out.

"No one's going to turn on someone they like. You want to lead a kid over to the dark side, you play on something he already hates. You know "You think your daddy's an a.s.shole? Well, so was mine. Now, let me tell you what I did about it, little boy"."

Quincy shook his head.

"You can do that, Detective, but the bond isn't as strong not as strong as our UNSUB needs. In cla.s.sic indoctrination technique, you get the initiate to turn on the things he loves the most. That's when you know you have him. In fact, a Canadian serial killer cemented his homicidal partnership with his wife by making her partic.i.p.ate in the rape and murder of her own sister. After that, she couldn't turn against him.

That would mean having to face what she'd done. The guilt's too high."

"Danny," Rainie whispered.

"Already under suicide watch. Oh my G.o.d, the things that must be going on in his mind."

"He did it? Danny did it?" Luke was rocking back and forth slightly.

His face held newly etched lines, and he looked at Quincy almost in agony.

"You're saying Shep's son killed those girls. And this son of a b.i.t.c.h made him."

"Yes. I think that's how it probably happened."

"Who is this b.a.s.t.a.r.d;1 Can't you tell us that? Can't you stick data in some fancy feebie database and give us something practical to work with?" Luke jumped to his feet. The tendons in his neck stood out like cords, and he looked at them all almost wildly.

None of them said anything. Rainie thought of Luke, night after night, sitting in his patrol car outside Shep's house, determined to protect the O'Gradys' honor. Little Danny, who played in their office after school. Little Danny, playing shoot-'em-up cops and robbers with Bakersville's finest.

"Bang, bang, bang. Good shooting, Danny. Way to go, kid."

"One other thought," Quincy said in the tension-filled attic.

They stared at him, wondering how it could get worse and knowing that it would.

"Murder is like anything else. It has to be learned. The first time is messy, the second time more systematic. These homicides, they're very sophisticated."

"Oh s.h.i.t," Sanders said.

Rainie closed her eyes.

"This isn't the first time this person has done it," Quincy concluded quietly.

"I would bet my career on it. And if the UNSUB is using the Internet to identify vulnerable teens .. . It's a wide, wide world out there, ladies and gentlemen. G.o.d knows where he'll strike next."

A phone rang. Sanders flinched in the unsettled silence of the room.

Luke recovered first and picked up the receiver. He said yes. He nodded. He said yes again. He took some notes.

He hung up the phone, and there was already something about his face that made Rainie cold.

"That was some bartender in Seaside," Luke said shortly.

"Some guy just walked back into his joint. He's asking a lot of questions about the shooting. And he's talking about you, Rainie. He's talking all about you and how he personally knows you shot your mother fourteen years ago."

"We got action," Sanders said crisply. Luke and Quincy nodded, muscles tensing, clearly ready to roll.

Rainie's reaction was slower in coming.

"Yeah." She sighed softly. Nodding her head. Thinking of Danny.

Thinking of psychopaths. Thinking of that night, all those years ago.

"Yeah," she said with resignation.

"Here we go." Friday, May 18, 7:12 p.m.

Dusk blanketed Bakersville. Homeowners flicked on porch lights, scattering pinp.r.i.c.ks of silver illumination against the darkening hillsides. Dairy cows cl.u.s.tered under trees for warmth, forming rocky contours as they hunkered down for sleep.

In some houses, parents held their children close, thinking of the schools they had attended in their days and the seeming battlegrounds their children attended now. You don't want to raise your kids to be afraid. Everyone goes to school. No sense in making a big deal about it. But to b.u.t.ton them up each morning, kiss the soft down at the top of their heads, and send them out to their day -unarmed, defenseless, terrified of the kid in the next seat ... Oh G.o.d, oh G.o.d, what has happened to our schools?

In some bars, young men kicked back extra shots, talking about the f.u.c.king lawyers who could get anyone off and the dumb-a.s.s juries who cried harder for the murderers than their victims. Ain't no justice in the world. Ain't n.o.body trying to keep our families safe. This kid will probably walk away by the time he's twenty-one, just like those boys in Arkansas. Doesn't seem right. Not like those two little girls can magically crawl out of the ground when they come of age. Why should he get better than them just 'cause he's a kid too? A murderer is a murderer. Don't do the crime if you can't serve the time. Yeah, that's it. The kid's a killer let's make him pay!

In Seaside, Ed Flanders nervously towel-dried beer mug after beer mug and hoped the cops would show up soon. The man's own gla.s.s was long since emptied. Ed had asked him if he wanted another. The man had declined. Ed suggested buffalo wings. The man said no. Now the man watched TV. Some news-magazine story on how a volunteer group, Cyber Angels, worked to protect unsuspecting Internet users from on-line stalkers. The man wore a strange smile.

Ed rubbed the beer mug harder. Though he wasn't the type, he was learning to pray.

Seventy miles away, Rainie tore up Route 101 with her lights flashing.

Quincy gripped the dash but didn't say a word. Sometimes he would glance at her. She always looked away. Sanders and Luke were in a car behind them, Luke at the wheel and having no trouble matching Rainie's pace.

Sometimes they used to make this run up the winding coastal route just for the h.e.l.l of it. To keep sharp, they told Shep. Practice their skills. Now those days seemed so far away.

The radio crackled. Suspect was on the move, dispatch relayed. Please advise.

Rainie had to think about it a minute. A crowded bar, a suspect they knew nothing about .. .

"Don't make contact. Just follow him," she said shortly, then annoyed herself by looking at Quincy for confirmation. The FBI agent nodded.

She scowled, replaced the receiver, and drove faster.

An hour later they were in town. Dispatch guided them to a small hotel, and just around the corner, tucked behind a grove of trees, they encountered a ring of police cruisers.

"Looks like we found the party," she muttered.

Quincy nodded. His face appeared calm, but he still had that light in his eyes. He unfurled from her police cruiser like a boxer about to step into the ring, up on his toes and light on his feet. Rainie watched him a moment too long. The lean line of his body. His graceful, self-a.s.sured ease.

She felt a sense of doom she couldn't shake. The night was closing in on her while the others geared up for the chase. Let's get the stranger, let's get the evil man in black..

He's talking all about you .. . personally knows you shot your mother fourteen years ago.