“Did he say anything about his sister Amy playing in
Shadowland?” Noah asked.
“No. He hasn’t said a word. Called his lawyer right
away.”
Abbott scowled. “Ramsey says the most they’re willing
to charge him with is disturbing a corpse, and they probably won’t do that.
We’ll talk to the brother once more when we’re done here, then cut him loose.”
“What about Amy’s residence?” Noah asked, but Jack
shook his head.
“New tenants already. I doubt we’d find anything after
all this time. Building manager said they overhauled the place, painting,
cleaning carpets. It’s a shi-shi neighborhood.”
“So do we know what the scene looked like?” Micki
asked.
“Only that they changed her clothes,” Jack said.
“That’s all Mom said earlier and brother Larry hasn’t spoken. Ian will call us
with Amy Millhouse’s autopsy report. Amy was cremated, so we couldn’t exhume
her if we wanted to.”
“Thanks,” Noah murmured.
Jack jerked a nod. “Sure.”
“We do have a little good news,” Abbott said, but his
expression didn’t show it. “Axel Girard’s financials show he was issued a
credit card two months ago and it was mailed to a post office box in St. Paul.”
“That seems way too obvious,” Noah said, “like
catching Girard’s car on the surveillance video while he waited for Christy
Lewis. It seems too simple.”
“Because it is,” Kane said. “I went to the box in St.
Paul with a warrant but it was empty. There was a forwarding order—all mail was
sent to a mailbox store downtown. Which was forwarded to another P.O. box right
across the street.”
Abbott pointed to his window. “You can see the post
office branch from here.”
“That box,” Kane said, “was full. Mostly junk mail,
but the credit card was there.”
“So far no charges have been made to the card,” Abbott
said.
“He never intended to use it,” Olivia said quietly.
“He set this up, just like he’s set up the scene of every crime, to divert us.”
“And he was successful.” Kane shook his head. “Had me
running all over town, all afternoon, when I should have been talking to Rachel
Ward’s coworkers.”
“How is this good news?” Micki asked.
“Because it adds to the profile. He’s playing with
us,” Carleton said sourly. “He hasn’t missed a step.”
“Yet,” Noah said grimly.
“Yet,” Carleton repeated. “This man, and it’s almost
assuredly a man, exhibits a compulsion for order and control. Every scene, just
right, exactly the same. The clues you’ve found are of his design—the dress,
the shoes, the scene itself. No hairs, no fibers left behind. He knows what
you’ll look for and how you’ll search.”
“He could just watch a lot of television,” Jack
grumbled.
“Perhaps,” Carleton said. “Or he could be trained.”
Abbott leaned back, troubled. “He could be a cop?”
“Perhaps,” Carleton repeated with a slight frown. “The
need for order and control are often characteristics seen in law enforcement.
No offense intended, of course,” he added quickly when everyone around the
table frowned. “I see a contempt for women, in the way he lures them away from
their homes, and there is a cruelty as he forces them to experience their worst
fears. This is also another show of control.”
“Why contempt for women?” Abbott asked. “Does he hate
his mother or something?”
“Not all men hate women because they hate their
mothers, Bruce,” Carleton said, “but it is the most common factor. We all had
mothers of some kind. It’s entirely possible his contempt for women stems from
a poor relationship with his mother. It could also stem from abuse. I’d say
that’s more likely given the hands-on violence with which he kills them.”
“Why glue their eyes?” Micki asked and Carleton
sighed.
“He wants them to look at him, to know who it is who
dominates them.”
“But he doesn’t sexually assault them,” Jack said.
“Why not?”
“He doesn’t feel he needs to,” Carleton said. “He’s
stronger than that.”
“No. He’s afraid of them,” Olivia said and everyone
turned to look at her, surprised.
Carleton’s brows lifted. “Excuse me?”
Olivia moved her shoulders restlessly. “No offense,
Doc, but to have them nude and tied in a straitjacket and not assault them? He
dresses them up, paints their faces, gives them sexy shoes… Leaves them looking
like whores.”
Noah considered it. “He picks lonely women who haven’t
had physical sex with a man in some time and makes them whores in every way but
the most physical way.”
“And then he hangs them and waits for them to be
found,” Jack finished. “He never starts on the next victim until his last has
been discovered.”
“That’s the compulsion for order,” Carleton said.
“Your theory is an interesting one, Olivia, but I don’t see fear here. Just
intelligence, power, and control.”
“And arrogance,” Kane added. “Setting up a post office
box right across the street.”
“I’ve met very few arrogant killers that were
patient,” Noah said thoughtfully. “All of his victims were discovered within a
few days of their murder except for Martha. She hung there for more than a
week. I wonder if he got impatient while he waited. What might he do, Carleton?
If his order was disturbed?”
“I think that depends on why he’s doing this,”
Carleton replied. “He’s taunting you with clues that lead you to nothing. Maybe
he just hates cops.”
“Or fears them,” Olivia added stubbornly and Carleton
smiled.
“Or fears them,” he allowed. “I’ve researched case
studies and found nothing similar. This killer is unique.”
“Three cheers for us,” Abbott said sarcastically.
“Captain?” Faye peeked around the door, entering when
Abbott waved her in. “We just got a call from somebody who saw the story on the
TV news. She says she saw Martha Brisbane on February 13.”
“The night she died,” Noah said. “Who is this woman?”
“Priscilla Bolyard. She was sitting with her husband
in a coffee shop and Martha sat next to the window for a long time, obviously
waiting for someone, then left at 9:15.”
“How did she remember the exact time?” Noah asked.
“Because her husband wanted to get home to watch a
fight on pay-per-view, so they left right behind Martha. Here’s their contact
info— Priscilla and Stuart Bolyard.” Faye made an apprehensive face. “Mrs.
Bolyard specifically requested ‘that handsome detective on the
MSP
cover.’ They’re saving all the details for you, Jack.”
Jack slouched in his chair, his face darkening.
“Wonderful,” he muttered.
“We’ll talk to them,” Noah said.
“Wait,” Abbott said when Noah started to stand.
“Nobody leaves yet. The Buckland case. Sit down, tell us what you know, and how
it connects.”
Wednesday, February 24, 5:15 p.m.
Eve settled on a vinyl sofa in the waiting room and
started up her laptop. David was still getting scanned, so she had time.
Logging in to Shadowland, she was relieved to see Kathy Kirk wheeling and
dealing from Ninth Circle. Eve made a note to ask Noah to provide Kathy
protection tonight. None of her female red-zones were safe, but Kathy’s
condition made her particularly vulnerable.
She jumped at a sound behind her and looked over her
shoulder to the door. “Sal.”
“Are you all right?” Sal demanded. He came around the
bank of chairs to search her face. “I just heard what happened to your friend.
That could have been you.”
“Was supposed to have been,” Eve corrected. “I’m
sorry, Sal, I should have called you to warn you about this guy again.”
Sal’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t you worry about us. I
posted the sketch of this asshole at the bar, so if he has the balls to come
back, we’ll take him down.”
Sal didn’t often take a belligerent tone but Eve knew
he was scared. And grieving. “I’m sorry about Looey.”
He cleared his throat gruffly. “Looey was a good guy.
Never would hurt a soul. Jeff Betz is crawling the wall, wishing he had his
hands on that guy again. Eve, what’s going on here? This is craziness.”
“Yeah, I know,” Eve said glumly. “You be careful,
okay? If he comes back…”
“If he comes back, it’ll be the last thing he does.”
“Sal,” Eve said, gripping his arm urgently. “Promise
me you won’t do anything—”
“Anything what, Eve?” he asked, too quietly. “Stupid?”
Eve felt a shiver of apprehension. “Dangerous. Sal, you’re
important to me.”
He sighed, wearily. “Dammit, Eve. I hate that he put
his hands on you in my bar.”
“I know.” She hesitated. “You and Josie… you’ve been
so good to me. Like… parents. Don’t flip out on me and get yourself killed. I’d
never forgive myself.”
He was quiet a moment. “All right. Callie’s on
tonight. We’ll watch over her.”
“Thank you. Sal, he was in your office last night. He
put something in my computer bag. You should check the back door, make sure
you’ve thrown the deadbolt.”
He made a frustrated sound, a growling in his throat.
But when he spoke, it was calmly. “I will. You want me to sit with you?”
She shook her head. “I’d feel better if you were
watching Callie. Olivia’s got all the security guys here watching for him.”
He rose. “All right then. Call me if you need me,
honey. I’ll be here quick.”
“Thank you.” Eve watched him go, praying he’d stay
calm. Half wishing this Buckland imposter would go back to the bar where fifty
cops could bag him, and not too gently, but hoping he stayed far away from the
people she loved.
Too antsy to sit still, Eve brought up a search screen
and typed in Noah’s name before she realized she’d planned to do so.
Nothing Olivia said had changed Eve’s instinct that
this “reporter’s” vendetta was against Noah.
But why? And why now?
Noah’s name brought back a page full of links to the
MSP
article on the
Hat Squad. That was new, the article. Out in the last few weeks.
Three weeks
.
Amy Millhouse had died three weeks ago. Coincidence? Unlikely.
Eve considered it. The article had brought the
detectives a lot of attention, most of it unwanted. Some people,
like Sal
and me
, were proud of their detectives.
But there was another element that might not take so
kindly to positive press for the police.
Who?
Noah put away dangerous
people. Any one of them could hate him.
“Evie? Oh my God, Evie.”
Eve looked up to see Tom Hunter rushing into the
waiting room. At his side was a tall young woman. She was pale, her eyes bleak
and red-rimmed, and even from across the waiting room Eve could feel her
desperation. Eve put her laptop aside and rose, grabbing Tom’s hands. “He’s all
right,” she said. “Take a deep breath.”
Tom shuddered out a breath. “I just got your messages.
I’m sorry.”
“Where were you?” Eve asked, then leaned forward. “And
who is she?”
“This is Liza,” Tom said. “She’s a friend. Where is
David?”
“Getting a CAT scan. Relax,” Eve said. “It’ll be
fine.” She stretched out a hand to Liza, who stood awkwardly to the side. “I’m
Eve.”
Liza shook her hand, but tentatively. “Tom’s told me
about you.”
Eve held on to Liza’s hand, studying her drawn face.
The girl looked as if she were about to pass out. “Liza, when did you last
eat?”
She winced. “I can’t remember.”
Tom gave the girl a look of mild reproach. “I told you
to buy food.”
“I did. I forgot to eat it,” she said rebelliously.
“The cafeteria is on the second floor,” Eve said. “Get
her some dinner.”
“Okay. You want anything?”
“No, I ate lunch. And if David doesn’t need me, I have
a… dinner… thing.”
Tom’s eyes widened. “A dinner thing? Is that, like, a
date?”
Eve felt her cheek heat. “Yeah, like, a date.”
“Well, it’s about time. Who is he? Can I meet him?”
“I think he’d like that. He’s kind of a fan of yours.
You two get food, then come back and let me get to know your friend.”
She watched them go, speculatively. Eve had seen
terror and despair in her own eyes for years and Liza’s were filled with both.
She also knew of Tom’s penchant for helping those in need. She hoped he hadn’t
involved himself in anything dangerous.
Not, of course, that I can talk.
David was getting a CAT scan because Eve had gotten
herself involved in the Shadowland murders and then with Noah, and by
association, this maniac that wanted to hurt them.
With a sigh Eve sat, continuing her search of articles
about Noah.
There’s something here. I just have to find it.
Wednesday, February 24, 5:30 p.m.
Harvey put his microwave dinner aside when the
doorbell rang. Webster was at the police station, so he’d ducked back home to
grab some dinner. It had been a long week and Webster had kept some long hours,
which meant Harvey had as well.