Mind Games (17 page)

Lucier couldn’t imagine that, but said, “Go on.”

She sniffed and dabbed at the tears filling her eyes. “I should’ve done something.”

Racine put a comforting arm around his wife and tweaked her chin. “Now, now, honey, you might’ve gotten yourself killed if you tried. You done good by stayin’ out of it.”

Lucier noticed true affection pass between them. “He’s right, Mrs. Racine. You did fine. Now, think back. Tell me every detail. You said he wore a mask. What kind? Did you notice anything identifiable?”

“It…it was one of them ski caps with slits for the mouth and eyes. Bright blue eyes, I remember that. I’m pretty sure Diana didn’t see anything until he was right on top of her. When he put that cloth over her face she fought like a wildcat, but he was too strong and that ether stuff, or whatever it was, put her under.”

Lucier had taken out his notebook and writing down every relevant comment, but other than blue eyes, the kidnapper could be anyone. “What was he wearing?”

“Let me think. Yes, I remember. A gray T-shirt and jeans. He was tall, maybe six two or a little less. Muscular, like he worked out, but not overdone, you know. No fat, neither. When he came at me, I almost wet my pants.” Mrs. Racine stuttered and fluttered, flushed with embarrassment. “Oh, my. I’m sorry. That’s not nice to say, but that’s how scared I was. I just knew he was going to kill me, but he told me in a very calm voice to be quiet or else he would. He didn’t have to say it twice; I couldn’t have said anything if I wanted to.” Her chin quivered. “Then he put the cloth over my face like he did to Diana. That’s all I remember.” She leaned into Galen and started crying again. “Oh my God, what if he kills my little girl?”

“Now calm down, both of you. If he wanted to kill her, he had plenty of chances. Trust me, there was nothing you could have done to stop him.”
But I could have. I sure as hell could have.
“Anything else, Mrs. Racine?”

“Next thing I remember, one of the young men from the ambulance was standing over me taking my blood pressure and waving the same nasty stuff under my nose. Galen was there when I woke up, and a whole bunch of people clustered around Detective Harris.”

“Someone coming to get his car saw us and called the police on his cell phone,” Galen said. “Lucky, huh? Goldurnit, we could have been lying there for days…weeks, maybe.”

Blanche honked into the handkerchief. “The poor detective was covered in blood, and a paramedic fixed one of them hanging bags onto him. Good thing we were already at the hospital. All I could think of was my baby girl.” Another dab over her eyes left black streaks of mascara. “I gotta go to the rest room.”

“I saw one straight down the hall, ma’am,” Lucier said.

When she left, Galen looked at Lucier. “Lieutenant, I didn’t want to say nothing while the missus was here, but what do you think? You think he’s killed her? Tell me honestly.”

“No, Mr. Racine, I don’t. Like I told your wife, if that were his purpose he would have killed her in the garage. We’re doing everything in our power to find the guy who took her and get her back unharmed. Your daughter is a special lady. She’s smart too. He’ll have to be a lot smarter to get the better of her, and anyone who’s done what he did today isn’t very smart. We’ll get him.”

Lucier was sure part of what he said was true. The kidnapper
could
have killed Diana in the garage or before that, but it didn’t mean that’s not what he planned for later. He wished he knew how much time he had before later was now.

He ushered Racine toward the door. “I’ll take you back to your hotel. Ms. Racine’s abductor may try to call you. Stay in your room and wait. If I hear anything, I’ll call you myself.”

“Thank you. I know you’ll do your best.”

Lucier noticed the light’s reflection caught a tear in the little man’s eye. He jutted out his chin and shuffled down the hall to meet his wife, his cocky swagger left lying on the floor of the hospital’s parking garage.

* * * * *

A
fter Beecher brought B.D. Harris’s wife to the hospital, Lucier and Beecher returned to the district to go over the printouts more thoroughly. Thoughts of Diana at the hands of Cyrano fractured Lucier’s concentration. They checked and cross-checked, but Lucier kept going back to one man. The only one who made sense.

Willy Cash popped his head in the door. “B. D.’s out of surgery and in stable condition, but we can’t talk to him till morning.”

“Thanks, Willy. That’s one good bit of news.” He slapped the papers on the desk out of frustration. “I don’t think we have much time, Sam. Diana’s convinced this guy’s in some kind of competition with her. If that’s the case, when he’s satisfied with whatever he’s out to prove, he’ll kill her.”

“Doesn’t take a psychic to see you’re interested in this woman. Might make it hard to be objective.”

“Have I ever let personal feelings get in the way of my job, Sam? Have I? Eight years ago, did I let feelings affect my work?”

“No, and we were all concerned that you didn’t. We’d have felt a whole lot better if you had instead of us wondering when you’d go over the edge.”

“But I didn’t go over the edge. At least not so anyone could see. I kept my mourning private, where it belonged.” Lucier put his hands over the papers in front of him and stared Beecher down. “I didn’t blow, did I, Sam? If I didn’t then, I sure as hell am not going to now. She’s a nice lady, and you’re right. I do like her. Now that her life is in danger, I wish I hadn’t been such a hard-nose. I don’t feel too good about that, so let’s put Willy to work with us and see what we can come up with.”

Beecher patted Lucier on the shoulder and called Willy Cash into the room.

“Because the situation has changed since this morning,” Lucier started, “I think we have to take chances and make some assumptions.”

Cash leaned against the doorjamb. “Whatcha mean, Lieutenant?”

“Ordinarily, I wouldn’t do this, but I don’t think we have a choice. Time is of the essence.” He slipped on his reading glasses and focused on the papers in front of him. “I’ve gone over this list a dozen times, and there’s only one man who makes any sense to me.”

“Harley Dean Macon.” Beecher said as if reading Lucier’s mind.

“Right. First, he grew up near Diana. He’s six two, and if this picture’s any indication, a real looker. Just the type to lure women. He has a history of rape, and according to his old girlfriend, a Mr. Hyde side to his personality. But the clincher, to me, anyway, is that he couldn’t go after Diana during all those years because he was in prison. What have you got on him, Willy?”

Cash opened his folder, thumbed through the pages, and pulled out two sheets of paper. “Only child. Raised by his mother. No mention of a father. She died eight years ago, and they let him out of prison to attend her funeral. She left him a few thousand bucks, so he had that when he got out. Drives a blue ’96 Honda Civic. Did the twenty-year max; got out two years ago. The last two years he’s worked in a nursery near Charleston, South Carolina. Garden not babies. I checked with the Spartanburg County Sheriff’s Department, and they always thought he had something to do with the other missing girls, but they didn’t have any proof. Macon’s boss knew his history but figured he deserved a break since he was a kid when he got in trouble. Said Macon’s a good worker, pleasant to the customers. People like him, especially the ladies. He’s kept his nose clean. Never admitted to the crime, saying the whole time he was innocent. Prison psychiatrist had questions but couldn’t put his finger on the problem because Macon wouldn’t open up.”

“Where is he now?” Lucier asked.

“On vacation. The owner of the nursery said Macon went fishing. He asked for an extra week without pay so he could have two weeks off. His boss doesn’t know where he went. Says Macon’s real quiet about his personal life. I asked the guy what Macon’s voice was like. He thought it was a weird question but said he had a deep voice, kind of like a disc jockey.”

“Ask him if any of the other people he worked with might know something. Considering Macon was tight-lipped about his personal life, I doubt we’ll get anything, but it’s worth a shot. Get DMV to run his car. Maybe he got a ticket on his trip. Dig deeper, Willy. I want to know what’s not on the record.”

Beecher said, “Maybe when Harris comes to, he’ll have more to add.”

“I’m putting my money on Macon. And I’m betting Diana’s life I’m right.”

Chapter Twenty-One

Tracking a Sacrificial Lamb

D
iana lay cuffed to the bedposts. She could hear her heartbeat, still feel the heat of his hands burning on her skin. He was rough and she hurt. She couldn’t have resisted if she’d wanted to. He didn’t say a word. When he finished, he got up, tucked his member inside his pants, and left. She swallowed the sobs when he left the room, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of knowing she cried. At least he used a condom.

Lying alone and sore, a million thoughts raced through her head. Was he nothing more than a predatory stalker and she the unsuspecting prey? Even if he possessed psychic abilities, which now she was sure of, what was the contest angle all about, and why the physical assault?

Some psychic I am.

Where was she? They had driven for a while, but she’d slipped in and out of consciousness and couldn’t keep track. The room smelled like the lake house where she vacationed as a child, so she must be near water. Smells held memories and brought back certain times in her life with clear definition. This place was dirty and dilapidated, unlike that cabin of long ago. She visualized those idyllic vacations—anything to take her mind off the present.

Had Lucier begun searching for her? Would they find her in time? Would they find her at all? Questions without answers overlapped in a jumble. Maybe they’d recruit a psychic to find her. What a twist that would be. She almost smiled at the idea.

The fleeting image of Ernie Lucier brought him into sharper focus. There was something between them, no matter what he said. She knew from the vibes he released that she had an effect on him. She couldn’t be that wrong. Summoning all her powers of concentration, she closed her eyes, hoping in some way she could transmit a message to him. But she never held that kind of psychic power.

The tall stranger came back into the bedroom without saying a word and unlocked her cuffs. “Get dressed.”

She needed time for her body to adjust to a normal position. Shoulders sore from being stretched felt loose in their sockets. Diana was aware of his steady eyes as she moved gingerly, trying hard not to grimace. Free for the moment, she rubbed her ankles and wrists.

He surprised her by fastening only her left wrist to the bedpost. She bent her knees and inched upright. What time was it? She’d lost track. Darkness had descended. The dim light from an oil lamp on the side table offered the only illumination.

“Who are you? Why are you doing this? If you want ransom, my father will meet your demands.”

“You really don’t know, do you?”

“No. You’re blocking me out. That’s not easy to do. Not when I’m trying.”

“I know.”

Of course he knows. I’m blocking him too.
Psychic invasion depended on the sitter’s receptiveness to the reader. If the sitter put up barriers, penetration became more difficult, in some cases, impossible, similar to a subject of hypnosis who refuses to allow entrance into his mind. Neither Diana nor her abductor would allow the other to penetrate.

“If you don’t want money, then what? Did I do something to you? Something that hurt you?”

“Because of you, I spent twenty years in jail.” He squinted. “You caught me.”

Diana’s mind went into overdrive. “I never caught anyone. I was a child, an instrument. If you were caught it was because of something you did, not me.”

He sat back in his chair and studied her for a moment before he spoke. “I watched you, you know. All the time you were becoming famous, I watched, knowing I could do what you did. I did it all the time.”

“What do you mean, watched me? You followed my career?”

“I lived down the road, right in the next town. I read all the papers about how you found missing people, only you had that father of yours making you famous. I had no one.” He reached down and touched her thigh.

She needed to block him, couldn’t let him in. She connected the face with the name on Ernie’s suspect list. Nothing his touch passed to her, but she remembered.

She touched him back on the arm. “You killed the two women I found here.” She wanted him to think she was reading him. After all, that’s why he touched her, wasn’t it? He wanted her to know in the same way all killers want to impress the world with their achievements. His smile was neither arrogant nor evil. More prideful.

“Do you know my name?”

“No,” she lied.
Take away his thrill; keep him anonymous, a nobody. Let him think he’s better than me. For now
. “I never knew the names of murderers. The only ones important to me were the victims.”

His smug look changed to disappointment.

“You wanted me to find those women, didn’t you?”

“Yes, to see if you could.”