Out of the Shadows (13 page)

*  *  *

It was nearly two o'clock when Alex carried the most recently discovered files of missing teenagers into the conference room. Tony Harte was at his laptop and spoke wryly before Alex could.
"Your county librarian tells me that the reason so few records are on computer yet is because the city fathers chose to put their upgrade money into making sure existing systems were Y2K compliant."
"That was their excuse," Alex admitted. "Personally, I think they hoarded money to buy doomsday supplies they probably stashed in the basement of the courthouse, but that's just my opinion."
Tony grinned. "If so, they wouldn't be the only ones who did. But it's making it damned difficult to find information with any speed. Even your newspaper is still storing back issues on microfilm."
"What're you looking for?"
"I wanted to check the newspapers covering the two weeks or so before and after each of these kids was last seen in the area. Probably won't find anything, but it never hurts to look. Sometimes runaways respond to ads in the classifieds—you know, temporary jobs, that sort of thing."
"Good idea." Alex held up the files in his hands. "And here are two more for you, from '95."
"Two for the year?"
"We're not done with the year yet."
Tony grimaced. "Great. Okay, I'll add their names to the list."
Alex put the files on the table, then said, "Sheriff isn't in her office, and I don't see your boss around either."
"They went to check out a tip."
"They?"
"Surprised me too," Tony murmured. "Bishop stuck his head in just long enough to say they were going to some old millhouse, and that they'd call in if they found anything. That was about ten minutes ago."
"An old millhouse?" Alex frowned.
"Yeah. Out on the river, I think he said." Tony eyed the deputy. "You okay? You look sort of ragged, if you don't mind me saying."
"Bad night," Alex replied briefly.
"Ah. I've had my share of those."
"Then you know what my head feels like. I think I'd rather go look at microfilm in the library than go back down into the basement and paw through more files. If you'll give me the relevant dates, I'll see if 
The Sentinel 
has anything helpful."
"You don't have to offer twice," Tony said.

*  *  *

"You're not shielding Bonnie any longer," Bishop said. "That's how I was able to read her."
At the wheel of her Jeep, Miranda frowned but didn't look at him. "With Harrison no longer a threat, it wasn't necessary. Bonnie can protect herself as long as—"
"As long as she's not being hunted by a deranged psychic?"
"Yes."
He turned in the passenger seat to watch her. "There's no hint that Gladstone's killer has any psychic ability."
"No," she agreed.
"And yet you're shielding yourself. Even more now than you were a week ago."
"I have my reasons."
She had surprised him again by offering at least some kind of answer readily, and he probed carefully. "You said it wasn't... us. My team. Something to do with the investigation?"
"We're not going to play twenty questions, Bishop. I have my reasons. And that's all."
"Reasons important enough to risk your life?"
"Check the map, will you? I think we turn left at the next crossroads."
"Jesus, you're a stubborn woman," he said as he got the map off the dashboard. He confirmed that they did indeed turn left, and was silent for several miles before asking, "How did the council meeting go?"
"Badly."
"Are they calling for your job yet?"
"Not yet. Nobody else wants it."
He caught a glimpse of the river and realized they were getting close. Absently, he said, "A Ouija board. I would have thought Bonnie would know better than that."
"She does. But she wanted to help her friend."
"Where are they now?"
"Seth's father, Colin Daniels, is one of our local doctors. He runs a pediatric clinic. Bonnie and Seth took Amy there before they came to tell me, then they went back there to stay with her. Colin's her doctor, and he's got her sedated."
"Then she's convinced the Penman boy is dead?"
"Apparently it was a pretty convincing scene."
"Who did they reach? Penman?"
"I don't know. And neither do they."
Bishop hesitated. "If Bonnie's that sensitive, maybe—"
"No way, Bishop. 
You
 should know better than that. Whatever Bonnie opened the door to is likely to be confused and enraged at the very least, and I will not allow my sixteen-year-old sister to subject herself to that kind of negative psychic energy. It could destroy her."
"You're right," he said. He thought he'd surprised her, and the reminder of how ruthless she thought him was unexpectedly painful. "I would never do anything to hurt Bonnie, Miranda. If you don't believe anything else I ever say to you, believe that."
She glanced at him, but all she said was, "The road leading out to the millhouse should be just ahead. There's no way to approach quietly except on foot— and we'd be very visible on foot."
He saw what she meant when she turned the Jeep off the winding two-lane blacktop and onto a rutted dirt road. She stopped, leaving the engine running, and they both studied the scene ahead. A half mile or so down the road, the millhouse was visible. Part of the roof had fallen in on one side, and only shards of glass remained in the few windows not boarded up. The waterwheel had long since become no more than a crumbling skeleton, and overgrown bushes, their branches stripped bare in winter, reached as high as the eaves.
Miranda pulled a pair of binoculars from the center console and got a closer view of the place, then passed them to Bishop. "I don't see anyone. How's the spider-sense?"
He rolled down his window and leaned out with the binoculars, then put them aside and concentrated all his senses. "I don't see anyone either." After a long while, he looked at Miranda and added quietly, "But I smell blood."
She put the Jeep in gear without another word and drove up the road almost to the millhouse before parking. "The ground's likely softer near the house," she said. "There might be tire tracks, footprints. Something we might be able to use."
"It's a chance," he agreed.
They got out, both automatically drawing and checking their weapons. Miranda got flashlights and latex gloves from a tool kit in the back of the Jeep, and they made their way cautiously to the house.
They had never worked together this way before, and it wasn't until later that Bishop realized how smoothly and in sync they had operated as a team. Nothing had to be said, and neither wasted a motion or a second of time. They split up to bracket the house, each of them treading carefully to avoid trampling any evidence. They tried and failed to see into several windows as they worked their way toward the door.
The smell of blood grew stronger.
Miranda was the first to reach a window that allowed a view of the inside, and Bishop knew instantly that the sight sickened her. She stood there for a moment, her face still and pale, then moved past the window and joined him beside the closed door.
She whispered, "What I saw couldn't try to escape."
Bishop reached out to try the rusted doorknob, and it turned easily, as if recently oiled. Cautiously, making sure they were standing well to the side, he pushed open the door.
The heavy, coppery stench seemed to roll out at them, cloying and sickly sweet.
He already knew nothing alive was in there, but they went in by the numbers anyway, guns ready, alert for threats and protecting each other as partners did.
Whatever machinery had once been contained in the single huge room was long since gone. Half the space was cluttered by rotting beams and broken tiles; the other half, sheltered by the partial roof, was dim and musty, with weeds sprouting here and there between the few remaining floorboards.
Under the crossbeam, a shallow trench had been dug in the ground. It was about three feet long and a foot wide, and no more than ten inches deep. The soft earth had soaked up much of the blood.
Above the trench, suspended from the crossbeam by a rope knotted around both ankles, hung the naked body of Steve Penman.
Blood still dripped from his slashed throat.

Deputy Sandy Lynch didn't get sick this time, but she was none too happy that the call had come in while she was on duty. Even if all she had to do was fetch and carry for Dr. Edwards, who had returned just in time to examine Steve Penman's butchered body, it meant Sandy was stuck inside the millhouse with that body and all the blood, and she hated the smell of blood, she just hated it—
"Deputy?" Agent Edwards said kindly. "If you could hold the light a little higher, please?"
"Yes, ma'am." She did and tried not to look at what it showed. She also tried to breathe through her mouth only, and tried not to look too desperate when Alex looked in long enough to catch her eye.
Alex retreated from the doorway to where Miranda stood next to Tony Harte, who was making a plaster cast of tire tracks.
"Sandy's about to lose her lunch," Alex said.
Miranda nodded. "Have her switch places with Carl. We need somebody at the end of the road just in case anyone passes by and gets too curious."
"Right." Alex went off to obey orders.
"I know how she feels," Tony commented, sitting back on his heels as he waited for the plaster to harden. "She's—what?—twenty?"
"About that." Miranda shifted her gaze to Bishop, standing near the crumbling waterwheel several yards away. "And she didn't bargain for all this."
Tony noted the direction of her stare, but all he said was, "I guess not. Sometimes fate just loves to knock you back on your ass."
Miranda looked at him, one brow rising slightly.
Innocently, he said, "By the way, thanks for not blocking us anymore. It was giving me a hell of a headache."
"So what can you pick up from the area?" she asked, neatly bypassing any discussion as to why she had retracted her shield to enclose only her own mind.
Tony sighed. "All I got inside was the boy's terror— which gives me a whole new insight into the human mind, since he was unconscious the entire time and shouldn't by any science we've always believed in and relied upon have known or been able to feel what was being done to him."
"But he knew? He felt it?"
"He knew," Tony said soberly. "Knew he was going to die and there wasn't a damned thing he could do about it. And he felt it. The pain."
Miranda tried not to think too much about that. "Did he know who—"
"If he did, he was too terrified of dying to care who was killing him. I just got the emotions, not the thoughts."
"I see. Anything else?"
"About what you'd expect. There was a kind of ... free-floating rage, I assume the killer's. He wasn't finished here, and I don't think he intended us to find the body here, so if we do find any evidence, it might be worth a lot. That's it for me. Sharon might get more, since this is definitely the scene of the crime and not just a dumping place."
"Yes, this time we got... lucky."
"Gotta love those anonymous tips," Tony said.
It was Miranda's turn to sigh. "It would be nice to have some solid evidence from here on out. Too many more anonymous tips I can't explain and we'll all be in trouble."
Bishop joined them. "This was a onetime deal," he said. "The other victims weren't killed here."
"Which begs the question, why did he bring this victim to a different place?" Miranda absently rubbed the nape of her neck. "To throw us off track? He can't be killing them all in different places, surely?"
"Given what he did to each of the other victims, I wouldn't think so," Bishop said. "He had to be someplace where he could feel safe and secure, and he had to have both time and privacy. How many of us have more than one place where we feel really safe? No, I think your guess is right. I think he killed this boy here because he was afraid we were getting too close to wherever he killed the others."
Tony said, "But does that mean he planned to bring future victims here as well? It's obvious we weren't expected to find this place, or at least not so quickly. If it hadn't been for that... anonymous tip ... would we have found this boy's body buried out in the woods somewhere—if we found it at all?"
Miranda was about to say something irritable to Tony about harping on that "anonymous tip" that he knew very well had come from her sister when she saw Alex out of the corner of her eye, and realized how close he was. Close enough to hear. Tony had only been continuing to protect their little secret, she realized.
She also realized something else, and it made her feel more than a little grim. Because she had retracted her shield, energy and effort that had been designed to protect both herself 
and
 her sister were now focused on a much narrower point—her mind alone. It was a very solid shield that now separated her from those around her. She was beginning to lose even the heightened awareness of her surroundings that was normal for her, her version of Bishop's spider-sense. She always seemed to know where 
he 
was, feeling him near long before she actually saw or heard him, but that was something different.
She hoped he'd never discover just how it was different.
Feeling his eyes on her, she forced herself to concentrate on what Alex was saying, and it worried her that his voice actually sounded peculiarly hollow to her.
"... and from what I understand about your profile of the killer, Bishop, wouldn't it be important to him that we did find this victim? I mean, if he was out to prove—to himself and maybe to us—that he was all-powerful and in control, wouldn't he have wanted us to see his handiwork sooner rather than later?"
Bishop nodded slowly. "That's a good point. He would have expected us to know that he had abducted a very masculine, physically powerful kid, but until we found the body we couldn't be sure what he had done to that kid. Without evidence to the contrary, we might speculate that his needs and desires were sexual, something he certainly doesn't want."
Miranda resisted the urge to rub her temples in a vain attempt to soothe the throbbing there. "But why is he so determined not to display—or feel, apparently— sexual desire for his victims? Aren't most murders of this ... bizarre nature sexual at the core?"
"Virtually always," Bishop answered. "And few murderers bother to try to hide or disguise it. Tony, you said you thought this killer was highly conflicted. I think you were right. I believe this killer has very, neatly divided his life. Light and dark. In the light side, he has a normal existence, with friends, maybe family—and a woman or women he's attracted to sexually. He may even have at least one successful ongoing relationship, apparently normal in every way. In the dark side, he has these violent urges and needs he's driven to satisfy."
"Okay," Miranda said. "But my question stands. Why, as far as he's concerned, may his killings not be sexual or viewed as sexual even by himself? Why is that so important to him?"
"My guess is that he's trying to protect the light side of his life—and the woman or women there. To keep that separate and apart. If what he's doing becomes overtly sexual, then he'll begin to want to do these things to women he's attracted to in the light, sane side of his life. The darkness will spill over, out of his control."
"If this is him in control," Tony said, "I really don't want to be around to see him out of control."
They were all silent for a few moments, then Alex stirred and said, "Speaking of dark, it's getting there. Either we start wrapping this up for the day or else break out the big lights."
Bishop looked at Miranda. "I'll check with Sharon and find out how much more time she needs."
She nodded slightly and watched him walk back to the millhouse.
"Supposed to snow tonight."
Miranda was startled to find Alex looking at her intently. She hadn't felt it. 
She hadn't felt it.
 "I haven't seen a weather report," she said.
"Well, the weather people are being fairly cagey, but last I heard, the best we could hope for was two or three inches. Worst is a blizzard."
"Great. That's just dandy." She thought it might at least give the townspeople something else to worry about. But bad weather would also threaten potential problems with electricity, and would demand that most of her deputies be out and about helping people rather than in the office chasing down information that might prove helpful to the investigation.
They weren't moving very fast anyway, but a storm could stop them in their tracks.
"Is that cast going to be helpful?" Alex asked, as Tony tested the plaster.
"After all this work, I certainly hope so. But we'll see. It'll take time to run down the right brand of tire, and more time to match up sales of that brand with cars registered in the area, and then ... Well, it'll take time. But maybe it'll give us something in the end."
Miranda noticed the heavy clouds rolling in and hoped they'd have time.
"Here, wait a second and I'll give you a hand." Alex bent to help lift the plaster cast.
"Thanks."
Miranda watched them carry the cast toward the vehicles parked several yards away. She felt the tingle on the nape of her neck, and didn't have to look to know Bishop was approaching her.
"Is she about done in there?" It gave her a certain amount of satisfaction to know that it bugged Bishop when she did that, especially since it had become patently obvious that she could sneak up on him without his awareness—spider-sense notwithstanding. She was glad to know she could shake his composure at least a bit. Even more, she preferred to have him annoyed rather than thinking too much about how she was able to do it.
"Another half hour," Bishop replied, sounding faintly distracted. "She said not to bother rigging the big lights, and that she'd have a preliminary report for us in a few minutes."
"In the meantime," Miranda said, "we'd better take a last look around. Alex says snow's in the forecast. Whatever clue or evidence we leave out here is likely to be buried, at least for a while."
She felt a light touch on her arm, and was confident enough of her shield that she was able to look at Bishop calmly without jerking from his grasp.
"Are you all right?" he asked.
"Oh, sure. I'm getting used to finding dead kids." She was able to keep her voice dry and unemotional, but it required more of an effort than she had expected. And it shook her to realize that what she really wanted to do was confide that she was unutterably weary, and that it tore at her soul to have to discuss with professional detachment the unspeakable evil being committed in her town.. To confide that she had nightmares when she could sleep at all, that she was desperately worried about her sister, worried about what was still to come. Worried that she had misread what she'd seen or misunderstood what she was meant to do. Worried that she wouldn't have the strength when the time came.
She wanted to confide all that. In him.
He was frowning slightly. He did not release her arm.
"I'm fine, Bishop." It was, of course, the only thing she could say, the only answer she could give him. She still didn't try to pull away. Even with her shield firmly in place—or perhaps because of that—she knew that he was being true to his word and not trying to read her.
"You're not fine," he argued, keeping his voice low. "You're too pale and your pupils are dilated. And don't you think I can tell you've shut off your defenses? Christ, Miranda, I'm the only one who 
couldn't
 sneak up and blindside you."
For just an instant, she was tempted to snap that since only he posed a threat to her, her defenses were still in good working order. Instead, she said calmly, "Since nobody's after me, it hardly matters, does it?"
"That's naive and we both know it. You're the sheriff investigating a series of brutal murders, and that sure as hell makes you a threat to the killer."
"I can take care of myself."
"I'm beginning to wonder about that."
"You can stop wondering."
He was silent for a moment, then said, "Your pulse is racing."
Miranda only just stopped herself from jerking her arm away. "You're imagining things. Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to do one last walk-through of the scene before it gets too dark to see anything."
Bishop had the grim face of a man who wasn't finished arguing, but he finally released her. "I want another look around the waterwheel. Something about it is bothering me."
She didn't move immediately but watched him walk away, and it wasn't until she turned herself that she realized Alex was standing several yards away looking at her. That he was there at all startled her, but his expression made her feel decidedly wary, and not only because of her failing defenses. Since he fell into the sixty percent of people she couldn't read, she had never sensed any more of his thoughts than those he was willing to share, but she knew him well enough to be certain something was disturbing him.
"Alex?"
He closed the space between them, speaking before she could ask the half-formed question in her mind. "Greg just called from the office. Word's out, Randy."
"How the hell did that happen? I was at least hoping I could break the news to his parents before somebody else told them."
Alex sighed. "I don't know how, but it might not be the worst of it. Apparently, when her parents came to get her, Amy Fowler was pretty hysterical, and before Dr. Daniels could sedate her again, she was babbling on about Ouija boards and contacting spirits who told her where Steve's body could be found—and claiming Bonnie is a medium. A couple of nurses overheard. You can guess the rest."
"Oh, shit," Miranda said.