The Third Victim Part 73

Sandy's chest tightened. She had suspected this was coming, and still, hearing the long-feared words out loud nearly ripped her in two. She whispered helplessly, "I'm sorry, honey. I am so sorry it came to this."

"The noise. So much noise .. ."

"Danny' "He's going to kill me."

"Who, Danny? We want to help you ' "I want to die, Mommy. I wish I could lay down my head and just .. . die."

"Don't talk like that! You're young, you made a mistake. It's this other person's fault. He tricked you, Danny. Can't you see that? He manipulated you. Now tell us who it is. Please, Danny."

But Danny had pulled himself back together. She could hear his ragged breathing quiet, then a long snuffle as he wiped his nose with the back of his hand.

"I can't," he said at last, and his voice sounded surprisingly mature, surprisingly resolved. "I can't tell you anything, Mommy. I'm too d.a.m.n smart."Sat.u.r.day, May 19, 6:35 a.m.

Quincy was already up and moving when the old rotary phone shrieked to life next to his bed. At first he was startled by the sound, then he was confused. No one called him here. The office used his cell phone, and the locals -namely, Rainie seemed to prefer to simply show up. Then a new thought struck Quincy. He froze at the bathroom sink, one half of his face still lathered, the other half shaved.

The phone squawked again. Funny, but he couldn't get his feet to move.

He'd been so sure that when the call came it would be on his cell phone. G.o.d knows he lived and breathed through its digital lifelines.

But he'd also given the office the hotel number, and if Bethie had asked some hospital a.s.sistant to please track him down .. .

The phone kept ringing. He forced himself to get moving. Thirty seconds later it was over and done. And it was as horrible as he feared and as simple as he'd expected. If he would just come to the hospital. They would unplug the machines, pull the ventilating tubes.

It could be over very quickly or very slowly. You just never knew.

He started packing his bags. When white foam splashed his carry-on, he realized he hadn't finished shaving and returned to the sink.

He had phone calls to make. The first few, to Quantico, were easy. The last one, to Rainie, he realized he didn't know how to do. His expertise was in the professional world. When it came to his personal life, he still had a lot to learn.

The case here needed him. Things were moving fast now, and with a sophisticated killer things generally got worse before they got better.

He found himself thinking of Jim Beckett and another young, beautiful law-enforcement officer whose attempt at stopping the serial killer hadn't even broken his stride. Oh G.o.d, he hoped it didn't come down to that here.

Rainie needed him. She was resilient, but she was going through things no one should go through alone. Last night, right before she turned on him again, he'd seen the ache in her eyes. One more moment, one last defense, and she'd be ready to open up completely. He wanted to be there for that moment. They had the start of something rare and special, he thought. G.o.d knows, he did not meet enough people in his life who both challenged and captivated him. Except his family needed him, too, and as happened so often in his life, he couldn't be in two places at once. He was not Superagent or Superfather. He was just a person leading a complicated life, and sometimes he did fail the people he loved.

Rainie was tougher than Bethie, he thought. And she was trained in the field. Weak comforts, but he would take what he could get.

He picked up the phone and dialed. Rainie answered on the fifth ring, just when he was beginning to give up. Her voice sounded distant and not at all like her.

"Rainie? I'm sorry, did I wake you?" She mumbled something that might have been yes. He waited, and when she didn't offer anything more, he kept the conversation simple, for there was no way to make it kind.

"Rainie, I have to return to Virginia now." Stunned silence. He'd expected as much. He continued with more calmness than he felt.

"The hospital just called me. Apparently, Bethie has agreed to shut off life support. She's already signed the forms to donate Mandy's organs, and there are people who are waiting .. . It's .. . it's time."

Rainie didn't say anything.

"I'll come back," he said quickly.

"I had the sabot couriered to the crime lab yesterday and pulled a few strings to make it a priority project. I can apply even more pressure while I'm local." She remained silent.

"And I'd like to do some additional research while I'm back there," he added briskly.

"I was thinking about it early this morning. I'm willing to bet the person we are looking for is what we call an authority-complex killer.

The most famous example is Charles Manson, of course."

He thought he might be babbling. She still wasn't talking and he couldn't seem to stop.

"An authority-complex killer generally comes from a family with an extremely domineering parental figure," he heard himself say.

"This parent either physically or verbally abuses him as a child. The child grows up fantasizing about facing down his parent but never has the ability to do so. Instead, his rage becomes focused on other people in power. Except rather than seek out direct violence against them, the killer manipulates others into acting. This, of course, makes him feel powerful and omnipotent.

"I need to look up additional case studies, but authority-complex killers are generally charismatic, verbal, and possess excellent socialization skills. The interesting thing about them is that they are mental. Even more than violence, they enjoy toying with people in charge, creating elaborate ruses such as we've seen. This person doesn't want things quick or easy. He wants to watch the police sweat and gloat over our seeming stupidity. In other words, the more I think about it, the more I'm sure Dave Duncan is still in the area."

"There's a chance he's still in the area," Rainie intoned dully.

"But don't underestimate him," Quincy added hastily.

"He'll kill directly if he has to. Particularly established authority figures, such as cops."

There was a noise over the phone, as if Rainie was dragging something heavy across the bed.

Quincy frowned. He grew silent and for the first time heard the gulf looming between them. He had a sudden image of her sitting alone on her bed in the dark, cradling her gun for comfort. Things had ended badly last night, and now he couldn't stay to make them right.

"Rainie?" he asked.

No answer.

"I'm coming back."

No reply.

Tm not bailing on you and I'm not bailing on this case. Isolation is not protection," he said adamantly, though he was definitely babbling now and didn't expect her to understand what he meant.

"Dammit, Rainie ' She said quietly, coolly, "Have a nice flight."

Abe Sanders sat down to a hearty three-egg omelette in the back booth of Martha's Diner. One big advantage of working in the middle of Hicksville, U.S.A. fresh produce. His omelette oozed with plump mushrooms, premium Tillamook cheese, and, best of all, fresh spinach.

Too many places in the city ruined that. They offered canned spinach or, even worse, creamed spinach. Abe shuddered. Not even Popeye would touch that stuff.

No, Bakersville definitely offered good food, including b.u.t.termilk pancakes made from scratch. Abe loved pancakes made from scratch. This morning, however, he'd cheerfully gone with what he considered to be the healthy, high-protein choice. The case was progressing well, albeit in a different direction than he'd originally a.s.sumed, and he didn't want to slow himself down by carbo-loading.

He finished his omelette, tipped the cute waitress generously, and drove the short distance to City Hall.

The attic sounded quiet as he climbed the narrow wooden staircase. That surprised him. It was nearly eight a.m." late by the last few days'

standards, and he'd a.s.sumed that at least Rainie would already be in the task-force center. Seemed she was always the first to arrive and

the last to depart. He definitely couldn't fault her work ethic. Now, if only she'd stop tormenting #2. pencils. He'd boughtthree boxes before he learned to keep them in the glove compartment of his car.

He opened the attic door, swept the small s.p.a.ce with a quick glance.

Apparently he was the first one in.

He set about brewing coffee and picked up a banded pile of mail delivered by the mailroom clerk first thing this morning. One overnighted envelope for Rainie, postmarked Ca. Probably Richard Mann's personnel records from the L.A. school. One pink phone-message slip. According to a hard-to-read scrawl, Agent Quincy had to leave on pressing family business and would be gone for a few days. Most likely his daughter, Abe thought with genuine sympathy. Bad break, that. The agent didn't talk about it, but the word was all over town. Quincy's daughter had been KO'd by a drunk driver. Abe had already heard the story four separate times while eating in the diner.