“So what did he do? Hack up another family?” Oliver asked, then sucked hard on his cigarette.
“We just want to talk to him.”
“Sure.”
“Did he have any visitors?”
“I don’t know. He keeps mostly to himself. Most of his buddies are in the big house.”
“No phone?” Reed asked, looking around. “No computer?”
Oliver laughed so hard he started coughing. “He’s not exactly a high-tech kind of guy.”
That much seemed true and The Grave Robber had contacted both he and Nikki through E-mail, had installed wireless microphones in the coffins, had used technology to his advantage.
“Look at this.” Morrisette had donned a pair of gloves and pulled a scrapbook from the bookcase holding the record albums. She laid it on the recliner and began flipping through the plastic-encased pages. News clippings, now yellowed with age, had been clipped and pasted carefully in the scrapbook. “He’s obsessed with it.”
“So where is he?” Reed said, and felt even more uncomfortable. Something was wrong here, something he didn’t understand. Unless Chevalier was a chameleon; unless he was faking them out with this hovel of a living area. Unless he was playing them for fools.
Reed didn’t like it.
He was missing something.
Something important.
Something that could cost Simone Everly her life.
The police were closing in.
The Survivor had heard the information on the police band. Could sense them getting closer, felt their collective hot breath on the back of his neck. They’d found the apartment, just as he’d expected. Just as he’d planned. He anticipated their next steps.
Rounding a corner, he crossed the street and walked down the narrow alley where trash cans were piled and a suspicious cat glowered at him from the top of a fence. He found his truck parked in a public lot. In plain view. This time, rather than take a chance that his vehicle would be recognized, he’d dumped a drugged Simone and his tools beneath the shrubbery at the grave site. He’d hidden his truck and returned to the cemetery later, before Simone had awoken, to finish his work. He found his keys and climbed into his truck. Satisfaction stole through him. He’d delivered his package; it was what he’d expected, what he’d wanted. He knew they’d soon figure out his clues. Unless they were complete morons. But he’d fooled them again. All that nonsense with the number twelve was just to whet their appetites, point them in the right direction but keep them blind to his real target.
He drove the speed limit, not encountering any trouble, and parked in the alley. Certain he hadn’t been followed, that no one suspected where he’d hidden his lair, he hurried down the steps and slipped into the room where he found his solitude. His peace.
Glancing at the pile of Simone Everly’s clothes, he smiled. Remembered undressing her. She’d been unconscious, of course, while he’d pulled off her warm-up suit and shorts and T-shirt beneath. He’d taken off her jog bra, quietly fondling a breast. God, it had been beautiful with its fading tan lines indicating she’d sunbathed in a small bikini. On the whitest part of her skin, in sharp contrast, were her nipples. Dark. Round. Perfect. He couldn’t stop himself from caressing them and then he’d pulled off her jogging shorts and found the treasure.
A scarlet thong.
Barely covering any part of her and wedged up into her ass to show off the tight, round cheeks. He’d thought about biting her on the rump, of mounting her from behind, of forcing his hard cock deep into her, but he’d restrained himself. His hands had quivered as he’d removed the red piece of nothing she’d thought were panties. He’d smelled it and touched it with his tongue while he’d taken the time to get himself off. And then he’d put the thong away, hog-tied Simone and wrapped her into a tarp with breathing holes. He’d been careful to gag her just in case she’d woken up during the ride or in the half hour he’d had to leave her hidden in the dense foliage surrounding the cemetery.
Then, he’d hauled her to her final resting place.
Quickly, he sat down and listened to the tape of her screams, heard her beg for mercy and felt her terror. Perfect, he thought, listening to the sounds over and over. He indulged himself, walked to the bureau, rubbed the bloodstains on the surface, then reached into the drawer where his keepsakes waited. Silk and lace slid through his fingers.
He got hard.
Real hard.
Nikki was slowly going out of her mind. She’d heard nothing. It had been hours and Nikki was tired as she sat at the barren desk she’d been assigned at the police station. After whining for an hour, Mikado had curled into a ball at Nikki’s feet while she tried to reach Simone’s family and friends. A tall, efficient-looking officer named Willie Armstrong was seated near enough to her that she wondered if he’d been told to “baby-sit” her and keep her out of trouble. Such was her reputation, she supposed, though she didn’t care as she watched the hands of the clock tick off the minutes and hours with no word from Reed.
What had they found at Chevalier’s apartment? Surely, if he and Detective Morrisette had found Simone they would have called.
No such luck.
Her heart heavy with fear, her brain creating mind-numbing scenarios of sheer horror for her friend, she’d watched the police department in action from the inside. Even though it was the dead of night, the crew that was working took care of the BOLF bulletin and had copies of LeRoy Chevalier’s likeness distributed. Nikki had called all of the friends and family of Simone that she could reach. Unfortunately her parents weren’t home, but maybe that was for the best. Why worry them unnecessarily?
If it is unnecessary.
Finally, she heard Reed’s voice and his footsteps on the stairs. Ludicrous as it was, her silly heart skipped a beat. She was on her feet in an instant but his dark expression when he walked up the steps stopped her cold. Her heart nosedived. “Did you find her?”
“No.”
Morrisette was with him. “No trace. Not of her. Nor Chevalier.”
“He wasn’t home?”
“No. Nor did he show up at the video store where he works. We checked. And that’s not to be printed, you got it?” Morrisette said.
Reed asked, “Did you find out anything?”
“No. No one’s seen her since the restaurant.”
“Hell.”
Morrisette’s phone chirped and she pulled it out of her bag as Reed and Nikki walked into his office.
“He’s got her, doesn’t he?” she asked as she stood at the window and stared into the dark, relentless night. Mikado had roused and was whining at her feet.
“I don’t know. Nothing’s certain.”
“But you think so.”
He started to argue with her, but stopped himself. The corners of his mouth drew tight. “Yeah. You’re right. That is what I think.”
“I knew it.”
“I could be wrong.”
“Yeah, right.” She leaned over and picked up Simone’s dog. “And the Pope could suddenly get married.” She rubbed the crick from the back of her neck. “We have to find some way to get to her. Before it’s too late.” But she knew it probably already was, that there were probably few grains of sand left to run through Simone’s hourglass.
Clicking off her cell phone, Morrisette returned. “They’re handling everything here. I checked. We’ve got a BOLF out and if anything pops, they’ll call me or Siebert.”
“Where is he?” Nikki scratched Mikado behind his ears.
“On his way. He spent the day up in Dahlonega—said he left me a message I never got. Talked to the kid who saw the killer, but the kid couldn’t finger Chevalier. Claimed he wouldn’t know the guy if he ran into him.” She shrugged a slim shoulder. “Who knows if the kid is lying? Siebert thinks he’s too afraid of what might happen to him. And his old man wasn’t very cooperative—thinks his boy might have a story that some rag will pay money for…Gee, maybe you can convince the
Sentinel
to ante up.”
“We don’t pay for news,” Nikki snapped.
Morrisette snorted as she opened her purse and rooted around in it. “No, you just rake up the muck, get people agitated and get in the way.” Nikki opened her mouth to protest, but Morrisette cut her off. “And don’t give me any crap about freedom of the press and letting the people know, because it’s all bullshit.”
“I think she gets it,” Reed cut in.
“She’d better.” Morrisette found a pack of cigarettes and shook the last one out. “Be smart, okay?” she suggested to Reed as she crumpled the empty pack and tossed it into the trash.
“I try.” His tone was cold as ice and his ex-partner seemed to get the message.
“Okay—maybe I came on a little strong, but I’m beat and I don’t need anyone telling me how to do my job. I’m gonna go home to my kids. Who are, presumably, sleeping, and don’t even know I’m not there…This is no damned job for a mother, let me tell you.” She placed the unlit cigarette between lips showing only a hint of lipstick that had been applied hours earlier.
“But you can’t just stop looking for him tonight,” Nikki protested, worried sick about Simone. The dog whimpered and she set him on the ground. “Not now…” Turning pleading eyes on Reed, she said, “Every second counts. Right now Simone could be in a coffin, trying to get out, hearing shovelfuls of dirt being rained upon her. Dear God, can you imagine what she might be going through? We have to find her. We can’t give up.”
“No one’s giving up!” Morrisette turned swiftly and stared Nikki down. Her already hot temper flared. “If you haven’t noticed, Ms. Gillette, we’ve been working our asses off on this one, and all you’ve been doing is getting in the way. If you can come up with one sound reason why I shouldn’t go home, give me an idea of how to handle this any better than I have, then, shoot.” She waited, cigarette twitching.
“Slow down, Sylvie,” Reed warned. “We’ve all put in a long night.”
“Just keep her in line, okay?”
Nikki said slowly, “No one keeps me in line.”
“That’s the problem. You’re the loose cannon, Gillette, and frankly, I don’t have time for it.” Morrisette glared at Reed. “I’m surprised you do.” Retrieving a Bic lighter from her pocket, Morrisette stormed out, her boots ringing with each furious step, her anger radiating in nearly visible waves.
The entire world seemed to crash down on Nikki. She stood in Reed’s office feeling bereft, Simone’s little dog pacing the office. “This is my fault,” she said, wounded that anyone, even the prickly woman detective, would think she placed her ambitions or a story before her friend’s life. “I didn’t come here for a story,” she said, and the weight of the night settled deep in her soul. “I just want to find Simone.” Tears filled her eyes. “I just want to do everything possible so that she’s safe.”
“I know.” He was impossibly kind, the look in his eyes compassionate, and she knew he felt her pain. Hadn’t he lost those he’d held dear, a woman he’d once loved, a child he’d never gotten the chance to meet, to this twisted maniac?
“I’m sorry,” she said. “For your loss and—”
“Shh.” He folded her into his arms and rested his chin on her head. He felt so strong. So male. So dependable that she sagged against him and fought the tears that seemed determined to flow. Crying wouldn’t help Simone. Nor would moping and worrying. She had to take action. Find the bastard who did this and stop him. Fast.
She felt Reed stiffen and the supporting arms around her dropped as someone cleared his throat. Instinctively she took a step backward and turned to find Cliff Siebert in the doorway.
“Ms. Gillette,” he said, his voice flat. “You’re the last person I expected to find here.”
“Just on my way home,” she replied. “I’m here because my friend is missing.”
“I heard.” His hard features softened a bit. “I’m sorry.”
“I just hope that you find her. And soon. Come, Mikado!”
Cliff nodded curtly. “We’ll do our best.”
“Thanks,” she said, nearly calling him by his first name and giving away the fact that she was close to Cliff Siebert. Reed didn’t know they were friends, had no idea that Siebert was her source within the department, and she wanted to keep it that way. She scooped up the little mutt.
“I’ll give you a lift,” Reed offered and she managed a weak smile. He motioned to Mikado. “The dog can come, too.”
“That would be great.” She felt Cliff’s gaze upon her as she and Reed walked out of the station, but she was too distraught and tired to worry about what he thought. Not that it was any of his business. Outside, the night seemed to close in on her, the dampness reached her bones, the darkness touched her soul. No one was on the street and the deserted city seemed to take on a sinister hue. Blue light from the street lamps danced eerily upon the wet pavement.
She climbed into the El Dorado and, with Mikado on her lap, leaned heavily against the passenger door. Without a word, Reed got behind the steering wheel and wheeled out of the parking lot, nosing the Caddy in the direction of her apartment. She felt so tired, her muscles aching, but her mind was in overdrive as she petted the dog and tried vainly to keep guilt at bay. Where was Simone? Did that horrid animal have her?
Please keep her safe. Keep her alive. Don’t let her die a horrible, mind-numbing death.
Outside, the city was quiet, the streets nearly deserted, only few interior lights in the grand old homes shining in the darkness. Inside the El Dorado, Reed held his silence and all Nikki heard was the rumble of the engine, whine of spinning tires and crackle of the police band with its short, staccato bursts of conversation. Simone’s little dog, front feet on the window ledge, nose pressed to the fogging glass, didn’t bark or whimper. Nikki tried not to think about Simone, attempted vainly not to envision the horrors of what she might be going through.
Finally, Nikki could stand the thick silence between them no more. “God, I wonder where she is?”
“Don’t beat yourself up thinking about it,” Reed said as he maneuvered through the back alleys and narrow streets. A startled cat jumped out of the shadows and scurried through a wrought-iron fence. “It’s not your fault.”
“I should have met her.”
“You couldn’t. Didn’t know you were supposed to. Someone stole your phone, remember?”