The Third Victim Part 76

She took her ID. She would need it to get into the Cabot County Youth Detention Facility. After that, however, she considered herself on her own. Not Officer Lorraine Conner but simply Rainie, doing what she should've done days ago.

She prepared one last surprise in her family room, just in case. Then she glanced at her watch. Danny was due to be moved at five p.m. Shep had decided he wanted Danny to be examined at the nearby psychiatric hospital. That didn't give her much time.

Rainie hit the road in her own beat-up Nissan. An hour later she sat across from Danny O'grady, whose thin, gaunt face was a close match for her own. "Danny," she said quietly, "I think it's time we talked."She didn't leave until he'd told her everything.

Quincy walked tiredly down the hospital corridor toward the room he'd hoped never to see again. He'd had to pa.s.s through Chicago on his way to Dulles, and his d.a.m.n flight from Portland had landed forty-five minutes late, forcing him to run for his gate. He'd been terrified of missing his connecting flight, terrified of being stranded at O'Hare.

Terrified of having to call Bethie and tell her he was missing another momentous occasion in his daughter's life. This one, though, would definitely be the last. Ha ha ha.

His thoughts were raw. He felt both exhausted and wired, the way he did when he approached a fresh crime scene, and that unsettled him even more.

A few nurses saw him walking and nodded in greeting. He recognized their faces but didn't remember their names.

Finally he was at the door. That d.a.m.n smell again. And the overwhelming sense of white. He had been raised to believe that death wore black. He felt needlessly betrayed.

He put on his game face, for he knew no other way to enter the room, then briskly opened the door.

Bethie was curled up in a chair next to the bed, sound asleep. Her dark hair had lightened in the last few years but curved gracefully around her shoulders. With her taupe slacks and fine silk sweater, she looked much too nice to be spending her days in a hospital room. Quincy felt instantly guilty, his most common emotion when it came to his ex-wife.

He cleared his throat. She woke up slowly, blinking her blue eyes and looking startled to see him.

"Pierce? Done saving the world already? I figured it would take you at least another week."

Quincy ignored her sarcasm and gazed upon his elder daughter. Amanda's face was still covered in white gauze. Tubes and needles bristled across her prostrate form and nearly obscured a body that had once been defined by slender grace. The violence of keeping her alive shocked him once more. It slowed his steps.

"I came as fast as I could," he told Bethie as he picked up Mandy's hand. He squeezed gently. There was no response. He studied her small pale fingers against his palm. He marveled at her fingernails, dutifully growing long and pink while the rest of her withered away. It seemed like only yesterday those were baby fingers, gripping his thumb tight.

"I don't understand/ Bethie said from behind him.

"I thought you'd had enough."

"I wasn't going to miss this, Bethie. I'd always planned on being here, once you were ready."

"When I'm ready for what?"

Quincy turned around. He was still holding Mandy's hand, but now he was registering the genuine confusion on his ex-wife's face. His stomach plummeted. Someplace deep inside him had just gone cold.

"Someone from the hospital staff called. You're ready to turn off life support "I most certainly am not!"

"Bethie ' "Is this some kind of trick of yours, Pierce? Do you think this little melodrama will force my hand? Because it won't work. I am not killing my daughter just to convenience your schedule."

"Bethie -' But he didn't say anything more. She had no idea what he was talking about. He'd been set up, and he'd walked into the trap as meekly as a mouse.

Oh G.o.d, Rainie.

Quincy replaced Mandy's hand on the sheet. He kissed her temple. His hands had started to shake.

"No changes?"

"No changes," Bethie said stiffly.

"And Kimberly?"

"Settled back in at college, I suppose. Not that she bothers to call."

Quincy nodded and tried not to appear too hasty as he headed for the door.

Thanks for visiting," Bethie called out sarcastically behind him.

"Do come again."

Quincy stopped for just a moment in the doorway. "It'snot your fault," he said honestly.

"What happened to Mandy, it was not your fault."

"I don't blame myself," Bethie said thickly.

"I blame you."

Quincy headed down the hallway. The minute he was in the parking lot, he flipped open his cell phone. His first call was to his friend in the crime lab, who had received the sabot late last night.

"Did you enter it into drugfire?"

"Jeez, Quincy, nice to hear from you too."

"I don't have time, Kenny. Where are you with the sabot?"

"Well, if you'd bothered to check your voice mail, you'd know I worked on it all friggin' night. The rifling matches with two other shootings, Quince. Two other school shootings. And both those cases are considered closed, with two kids in jail. So if these crimes are still happening ... Get your b.u.t.t to Quantico, Quincy. You're kind of in demand."

"I'm going back to Oregon. Fax everything to the Bakersville number as soon as you can."

"Are you nuts? We have the same gun used in three separate school shootings in three separate cities over a ten-year span. What do you think is going to happen next?"

"He's going to kill Rainie," Quincy said simply.

"It's part of his game. Drive her over the edge, then attack when she's down. And I didn't see it coming. s.h.i.t, I didn't see it coming, and now I'm all the way across the f.u.c.king country?

And then he was off the phone and in a taxicab, where he yelled at the driver to go fast, fast, fast, while he thought of his daughter and all those moments in his life when he hadn't done enough.

Sat.u.r.day, May 19, 4:48 p.m.

Danny was exhausted. Long after Rainie left, he lay on his bed, curled in a ball, staring at the same spot on the floor. He had told her everything. He shouldn't have, but he had, and now he was drained.

She had told him that secrets made things worse. She had told him that secrets gave the man power over him. Danny didn't know anymore. He had so many pictures in his mind. He wished he could turn off his brain and make everything go away.

This morning his hands had started trembling, and now they wouldn't stop. This morning the cold had left him and now he was filled with a burning pain. He hated the feel of his own skin. He hated the sight of his face in the mirror. He wanted something sharp so he could slice away his fingers. Then he wouldn't have to see them holding a gun or pulling a trigger. Then he would hurt outside the way he hurt inside, and somehow that would be more right.

He was tired. But he couldn't sleep. He was worried about Becky. He should make himself move, do something. He didn't know what.