Olivia hesitated. “Yes.”
“He’s killed more,” Max said thinly.
Olivia nodded. “Yes.”
“He’s got Liza, too?” Tom asked, more calmly than his
elders.
Olivia nodded. “Yes. And I don’t know why or how it
connects, so don’t ask, but it does. Your black SUV tip may be really
important, Tom.”
David and Max turned to look at Tom. “What black SUV?”
David asked.
“Who is Liza?” Max asked at the same time. “What is
this?”
She met Tom’s gaze. “You play the white knight, you
gotta come clean. Tell them the details, but later. I have to go and so do all
of you. I have a house to search.”
Max had returned his sharp gaze to her face. “You said
you knew who had Eve.”
“Yeah, and I’m not going to say who, so don’t ask.”
There was a commotion outside and one of the detectives who’d stopped David
stuck his head in the door.
“You’ve got someone here demanding to see you,
Detective Sutherland.”
Sal burst through the door. “I heard. Down at the bar,
I heard.” His eyes were red-rimmed. “Dammit, Olivia, what happened?”
“Sal.” She gave him the two-minute version, then rose.
“You guys can’t stay here.” She held up her hand to quell the four dissenting
voices. “Sal, take them back to your place. I’ll call you when I have any news.
I promise. Now go. I have work to do.”
Thursday, February 25, 2:20 p.m.
“Luminol was positive,” Micki said, joining Noah and
Abbott in Pierce’s study. “Blood in the tub. I’ve got a tech checking the
drains.” She stuck her head into the walk-in closet. “How’s that safe coming,
Sugar?”
“It’d come faster if you all would be quiet,” Sugar
Taub said testily from the closet.
Noah was pacing a groove into the carpet, but abruptly
stopped at a section of books when a title caught his eye. “It’s in German,” he
said, and Abbott came to look.
“I found books in French over there. Carleton is,
unfortunately, a very smart man.”
But Noah wasn’t listening, instead staring at the book
spines. “This one’s by Freud.
Das Ich und Das Es
.” He heard a piece of
the puzzle fall into place. “
Das Ich
. Dasich. He was the avatar that
played poker with Natalie Clooney and Virginia Fox.”
“What does
Das Ich
mean?”
Noah googled it on his cell. “The book is
The Ego
and The Id
. This says that the ego’s job is to find balance between the
primitive drives of the id and reality.”
“The drive to kill is pretty damn primitive,” Abbott
said. “Smug sonofabitch.”
“That’s what Eve called Dasich,” Noah said.
She’s
been gone three hours
.
“Don’t think about her right now,” Abbott said. “We’re
getting closer.”
His words were punctuated by a satisfied “Ah,” from
the closet and Sugar and Micki emerged with a stack of thick file folders.
“Give me the folders,” Noah said and crowding around
Pierce’s desk, they searched the contents. “Bank statements. This one looks
like his family account.”
“His wife has her own,” Micki said, looking at another
stack of statements. “Regular transfers from the main account, barely enough
for groceries and gas. He had her on an allowance. Based on the order of the
kitchen, he likes control.”
“Order,” Noah murmured. “He said the killer liked
order. He was right.”
“Control often masks fear,” Micki said. “Remember that
Olivia said he was afraid of his female victims? She was right.”
Beside him, Abbott let out a low whistle. “Look at
these. He’s got three-quarter mil stashed away. Let’s freeze all his accounts.
Make it hard for him to run.”
After he finishes what he set out to do
. Noah pushed Carleton’s own words away as ruthlessly
as the images of his victims and opened another folder. “PI reports. PI’s name
is Hugh Robard. Subject of surveillance is John Black of Fargo, North Dakota.”
“We need to find John and Irene Black,” Abbott said,
darkly.
“And the PI,” Noah said.
“I don’t know, Web,” Micki said doubtfully. “The last
report’s dated ten years ago. But it’s worth a try,” she added, more upbeat,
and he knew his devastation was showing.
“Let’s go back to the office and make our calls
there,” Abbott said. “I’ve got a press conference at three. I’ll tell them
we’ve issued an arrest warrant for Carleton Pierce.”
Thursday, February 25, 2:20 p.m.
The pain… the pain was unbearable. She lifted her
hands to her face and touched bone. Her hands were covered in blood. He cut me.
My face. My face is gone.
No
. She
threw her head back and gasped in a breath. And bucked. She couldn’t breathe.
Something covered her mouth. She twisted, trying to get away.
“Stop. Don’t scream.”
It was a snarled whisper and Eve dropped back,
shuddering. What covered her mouth was skin. An arm. Eve breathed through her
nose, nodding hard. The arm moved and a body collapsed across her legs, sending
fire through the hole in her thigh.
“If you scream, he’ll come back.”
Eve struggled to lift her head, then sucked in a
stunned breath. “Liza.”
Liza was tied, hands and feet behind her back. Her
lips were pursed and she took short, staccato breaths through her nose. “Who is
he?”
“Police psychologist. Why did he take you?”
“I’ve been looking for my sister.” Liza lifted her
head and her eyes were haunted, horrified. “She’s dead. Her shoes are up there.
He showed them to me.”
It took a moment to trickle through the fog in her
mind, but when it did, she was sick. For Eve, the shoes were vile, horrific
reminders of past victims of Carleton Pierce. For Liza… it was the sister she
loved.
Dear God
. “We have to get out of here.”
Liza gave her a hard look. “How? He took the knife.”
“I don’t know yet.”
“He put me in his trunk.” Her eyes were haunted again.
“There was a body in there. He said it was his wife. He put her in the pit.”
Eve’s blood chilled as this newest horror registered.
“What pit?”
“It’s a door in the floor. He pulled a handle and it
slid back. He dumped her in. He said that’s where my sister was. He said there
was room for two more.”
Don’t panic, don’t panic
. “We’re not going to die. How did you get over here?”
“I rolled. I didn’t want you to scream.”
“That was smart.” Eve craned her head up, but from
where she lay she couldn’t see much. “Can you see anything we can use for a
weapon? Anything sharp?”
“There are some drawers behind you, but they’re above
my head unless I can stand up. Which I can’t.” There was a sound above their
heads and they both looked up.
“He’s coming. Go back to where you were,” Eve hissed.
“Play dead if you have to.”
“I’ve been playing dead. He thinks I’m catatonic, he
said. What will you do?”
“I don’t know yet, but whatever happens, don’t let him
know you’re awake. Do not let him see your fear. He feeds on our worst fears.
Now go.” Liza obeyed, rolling back to her corner awkwardly while Eve tried to
think of what to do. How to escape.
Understand him
.
She’d scored a direct hit on the
MSP
link to his manhood, but she
couldn’t count on that working again. She lifted her head to look at the shoes.
Most were women’s shoes, but three pairs from hers were a pair of men’s Nikes.
Sticking up out of the Nikes, she could see a pair of wire-framed glasses.
Like Jeremy Lyons had worn.
Kane was right
, she
thought.
Jeremy’s dead
.
She closed her eyes, fighting despair.
Noah, where
are you?
He was looking, she knew.
Look harder.
She lifted her head
again, made herself truly see what was before her eyes. With the exception of
Jeremy’s Nikes and a pair of men’s work boots on the bottom shelf, most of the
shoes were… fuck-me heels, for lack of a better term.
Dregs of society, he’d called them.
Prostitutes
.
He’d killed prostitutes. She ran her gaze over every pair, until she came to
the very first pair on the far left of the first shelf.
They were old, worn. Matronly, even. The shoes of his
first victim?
Irene Black
.
The name rushed into her mind and she wondered if the woman had been more than
a fake name for a Shadowland account.
The door opened and Pierce sauntered down the stairs,
naked again. She put her head back on the pillow and closed her eyes. She had
to be mentally ready.
“Too late, Dr. Pierce,” she taunted. “I’m awake and
you missed the show.”
“No.” He took the rest of the stairs in a giant step,
throwing his trousers on the post and grabbing her hair. “You didn’t scream.
They always scream.”
Thank you, Liza
.
“Maybe I’ve developed a tolerance. Maybe you mixed it wrong.”
“Maybe I should just carve you up anyway,” he sneered.
“That scares you. I can tell. Your eyes flicker when you’re afraid.”
He had recharged. He was once again aroused. He
straddled her again, hands on her throat. She bucked to try to throw him and he
only laughed.
“More, Eve. The more you fight, the more I enjoy it.”
“Do you enjoy it?” she flung back. “You never had sex
with any of your victims. Can you even do it?”
MSP.
He’d fizzled before
her eyes.
Make him do it again.
“Or does that tiny dick of yours
disappear before the main event?”
“Are you begging me to rape you, Miss Wilson?” he
asked, but she’d seen the flicker in his eyes. She’d rattled him.
“I’m saying you couldn’t if you wanted to.”
His face darkened. “Soon, all you’ll be saying is
‘stop.’ ” He tightened his hands around her neck, cutting off her air. She
fought to get him off, but he pressed his knees into her ribs, like a rider
controlling a horse. His hands got tighter and his face got closer and his hips
began to thrust. She could feel him, hard against her breastbone.
She fought harder, twisting, and heard the faraway
sound of his laugh. She could smell him, the musk, the smell of sex.
This is
what he does. He’s almost there
. In a surge of strength she forced a single
hoarse syllable from her mouth. “Who?” But all that emerged was a mangled
Huh
.
He paused, his breath hard and hot and fast against
her face. Revulsion roiled through her. The blackness was claiming the edges of
her vision once again.
His lips curved in a triumphant smile, even as his
muscles quivered, straining toward release. “Help?” he asked, smug now. “Was
that a plea I heard?”
He loosened his grip a fraction and began thrusting
again, harder, faster. “Beg, Eve, yell for help and I’ll let you breathe.”
She pulled in as much air as she could. “Who… is Irene
Black?”
He stopped like a rock, shock flattening his face.
“What?” he asked ominously, but against her his erection had abruptly shriveled
and his hands had gone slack.
Yes.
“Irene
Black.” She took a deep breath. “I said
Irene Black
. Who is she?”
His face retreated a few inches. She watched him
battle for a blank face. “Nobody.”
Eve’s laugh was hoarse and brief. “You’re a lousy
liar. Who is she?”
“How did you find that name?”
“Don’t you want to know?”
He struck her, hard. “Tell me.”
“Untie me and I’ll tell you.”
He hit her again, harder. “Tell me or I’ll kill you.”
Eve’s head was spinning. “You’re going to kill me
anyway, so go to hell.”
He grabbed her throat and shook her. “Tell me. Who
else knows? Did Webster tell you that name?”
The white lights were back, dancing before her eyes.
He let go, clutching her hair in one hand and hitting her with the other. She
dragged the air in, the room now spinning. There was a greasy roiling in her
stomach and she threw up.
All over him.
“Dammit,” he hissed. He leapt off her and delivered
one more blow to her head. And the spinning room went dark.
Thursday, February 25, 2:45 p.m.
“Captain, two things,” Faye said when Noah and Abbott
were back in his office. “We got a hit on Mrs. Ann Pierce’s plane reservation.
She was supposed to leave for Los Angeles this morning and never showed up for
her flight.”
“Find out how and when she paid for the ticket,”
Abbott said.
“Cash and yesterday evening,” Faye replied. “She
bought it at the airport counter. I already asked. Second, Lieutenant Tyndale
from Fargo PD is on line one.”
Abbott contacted the Fargo PD to locate John Black as
soon as they’d left Pierce’s house. Kane had traced Irene Black’s Wisconsin PO
box to a mailbox store in New Germany, a rural town nearly an hour from the
Cities. Because Pierce had forwarded Girard’s mail a third time and he was
obsessive about order, Kane was trying to determine where the mail was being
forwarded from there.