Stealing Shadows

Bishop Series

Shadow Trilogy

--1 Stealing Shadows (2000)--

STEALING SHADOWS A Bantam Book / September 2000

All rights reserved.

Copyright © 2000 by Kay Hooper.

Cover art copyright © 2000 by Alan Ayers.

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There aren't enough good teachers in the world.

This book is dedicated to

Mary Anne Head

Jane Biggerstaff

and Betty Hough,

with appreciation and thanks

for helping to make school an interesting place

for my niece, Beth

 

PROLOGUE

LOS ANGELES AUGUST 16, 1998

"Talk to me, Cassie."

She was all but motionless in the straight-backed chair, head bowed so that her hair hid her face. Only her hands stirred, thin fingers lightly tracing and shaping the red tissue petals of the exquisitely handmade paper rose in her lap.

"I think… he's moving," she whispered.

"Where is he moving? What can you see, Cassie?" Detective Logan's voice was even and infinitely patient, betraying none of the anxiety and urgency that beaded his face with sweat and haunted his eyes.

"I… I'm not sure."

From his position a few feet away, Logan's partner spoke in a low voice. "Why's she so tentative with this one?"

"Because he scares the shit out of her," Logan responded, equally quietly. "Hell, he scares the shit out of me." He raised his voice. "Cassie? Concentrate, honey. What does he see?"

"Dark. It's just… it's dark."

"All right. What is he thinking?"

She drew a shaky little breath, and those thin fingers trembled as they held and traced the paper rose. "I – I don't want to… It's so cold in his mind. And there are so many… shadows. So many twisted shadows. Please don't make me go any deeper. Don't make me touch them."

Logan's already grim face grew bleaker at the fear and revulsion in her voice, and it was his turn to draw a steadying breath. When he spoke, his voice was cool and certain. "Cassie, listen to me. You have to go deeper. For the sake of that little girl, you have to. Do you understand?"

"Yes," she replied forlornly, "I understand." There was a moment of silence so absolute, they could hear the soft crackle of the tissue paper she touched.

"Where is he, Cassie? What is he thinking?"

"He's safe. He knows he's safe." Her head tilted to one side, as though she were listening to a distant voice. "The cops will never find him now. Bastards. Stupid bastards. He left them all those clues and they never saw them."

Logan didn't allow himself to be distracted by the disturbing information. "Stop listening to him, Cassie. Look at what he's doing, where he's going."

"He's going… to get the girl. To take her to his secret place. He's ready for her now. He's ready to – "

"Where is it? What's around him, Cassie?"

"It's… dark. She's… he's got her tied up. He's got her tied up… in the backseat of a car. It's in a garage. He's getting into the car, starting the engine. Backing out of the garage. Oh! I can hear her crying…."

"Don't listen," Logan insisted. "Stay with him, Cassie. Tell me where he's going."

"I don't know." Her voice was desolate. "It's so dark. I can't see beyond the headlights."

"Watch, Cassie. Look for landmarks. What kind of road is he on?"

"It's… a blacktop. Two lanes. There are mailboxes, we're driving past mailboxes."

"Good, Cassie, that's good." He glanced aside at his partner, who grimaced helplessly, then returned his attention to that dark, bent head. "Keep looking. Keep watching. You have to tell us where he's going."

For a few moments there was nothing but the sound of her breathing, quick and shallow. And then, abruptly she said, "He's turning. The street sign says… Andover."

Logan's partner moved a few steps away and began talking softly into a cell phone.

"Keep watching, Cassie. What do you see? Talk tome."

"It's so dark."

"I know. But keep watching."

"He's thinking… horrible things."

"Don't listen. Don't go too deep, Cassie."

She lifted her head for the first time since they had begun, and Logan flinched. Her eyes were closed. He'd never seen such pallor in a human face before. Not a living face. And that pale, pale skin was stretched tautly over her bones.

"Cassie? Cassie, where are you?"

"Deep." Her voice sounded different, distant and almost hollow, as though it came from a bottomless well.

"Cassie, listen to me. You have to back off. Just see what he sees."

"It's like worms," she whispered, "feeding on rotting flesh. On a rotting soul…"

"Cassie, back off. Back offnow. Do you hear me?"

After several moments she said, "Yes. All right." She was trembling visibly now, and he knew if he touched her, he would find her skin cold.

"What do you see? What does he see?"

"The road. No mailboxes now. Just winding road. He's getting tense. He's almost at his secret place."

"Watch, Cassie. Keep watching."

Several minutes passed, and then a frown tugged at her brows.

"Cassie?"

She shook her head.

Logan stepped aside quickly and spoke in a low voice to his partner. "Any luck with Andover, Paul?"

"There are five variations on the street name Andover within two hundred miles. Bob, we can't even get to them all, much less cover them effectively. She has to give us something else."

"I don't know if she can."

"She has to try."

Logan returned to Cassie. "What do you see, Cassie? Talk to me."

In a tone that was almost dreamy now, she said, "There's a lake. I've seen the lights shining on the water. He's… his secret place is near the lake. He thinks he'll dump her body there when he's done. Maybe."

Logan looked swiftly at his partner, but Paul was already on the cell phone.

"What else, Cassie? What else can you tell me?"

"It's getting harder." Her voice became uncertain, shaky once more. "Harder to stay inside him. I'm so tired."

"I know, Cassie. But you have to keep trying. You have to keep us with him."

As always, she responded to his voice and his insistence, drawing on her pitifully meager reserves of strength to maintain a contact that revolted and terrified her. "I hear her. The little girl. She's crying. She's so afraid."

"Don't listen to her, Cassie. Just him."

"All right." She paused. "He's turning. It's a winding road now. A dirt road. I can see the lake sometimes through the trees."

"Do you see a house?"

"We're passing… driveways, I think. There are houses all around. Houses on the lake."

Logan stepped aside as Paul gestured. "What?"

"There's only one Andover Street close to a lake. It's Lake Temple. Bob, it's only fifteen miles away."

"No wonder she's picking him up so well," Logan muttered. "She's never been this deep before, not inside this bastard. The teams moving?"

"I've got everybody en route. And we're chasing down a list of all the property owners on the lake. I'm told this is one of those places where the people name their houses, give them signs and everything. If we get really lucky…"

"Keep me advised," Logan said, and returned to Cassie.

"Lake Temple," she said, dreamy again. "He likes that name. He thinks it's appropriate."

"Don't listen to what he thinks, Cassie. Just watch. Tell me what he's doing, where he's going."

Five minutes of silence lasted seemingly forever, and then she spoke suddenly.

"We're turning. Into a driveway, I think."

"Do you see any mailboxes?"

"No. No. I'm sorry."

"Keep watching."

"It's a steep driveway. Long. Winding down toward the lake. I see… I think there's a house ahead. Sometimes the headlights touch it…."

"Keep watching, Cassie. When you see the house, look for a sign. The house has a name."

"There – there's the house." Her voice quickened. "It has a sign near the door. The sign says… 'retirement fund.' "

Logan blinked, then glanced at Paul, who mouthed, "Typical."

Logan turned back to Cassie. "Talk to me, Cassie. Is he stopping the car? Is this house where he's going?"

Cassie said, "Wait… we're going past it. Oh. Oh, I see. There's… a boathouse. I think it's a boathouse. I see…"

"What, Cassie? What do you see?"

"It's… a weathervane on top. On the roof. I can see it moving in the breeze. I can… hear it creaking."

"Hear it? Cassie, has he stopped the car?"

She seemed startled. "Oh. Oh, yes, he has. The lights are out. I can see the shape of the boathouse, the darkness of it. But… he knows his way. He's… he's getting her out of the back. Carrying her into the boathouse. She's so little. She hardly weighs anything at all. Ohhhh…."

"Cassie – "

"She's so afraid---"

"Cassie, listen to me. You can only help her by paying attention to what he's doing. Where he's going." He looked at his partner. "Where the hell are they?"

"Almost there. Five minutes."

"Goddammit, she doesn't have five minutes!"

"They're moving as fast as they can, Bob."

Cassie was breathing quickly. "Something's wrong."

Logan stared at her. "What?"

"I don't know. He feels… different about this one. Sly, somehow, and almost… amused. He means to give the cops something new. He – oh. Oh, God. He has a knife. He wants to just cut her open – " Her voice was thready with grief and horror. "He wants to… he wants to… taste…"

"Cassie, listen to me. Get out. Get out,now."

Logan's partner started forward. "Bob, if she stays with him, she might be able to help us."

Logan shook his head, never taking his eyes off Cassie. "If she stays with him, and he kills the girl, it could pull her in too deep, into his frenzy. We'd lose them both. Cassie? Cassie, get out.Now. Do it." He reached over and plucked the tissue-paper rose from her fingers.

Cassie drew a shuddering breath, then slowly opened her eyes. They were so pale a gray, they were like faint shadows on ice, strikingly surrounded by inky black lashes. Dark smudges of exhaustion lay under those eyes, and her voice shook with strain when she said, "Bob? Why did you – "

Logan poured hot coffee from a thermos and handed her the cup. "Drink this."

"But – "

"You helped us all you could, Cassie. The rest is up to my people."

She sipped the hot coffee, her eyes on the rose he still held. "Tell them to hurry," she whispered.

But it was nearly ten long, long minutes later before the report came in, and Paul scowled at Cassie.

"The boathouse was empty. You missed the fork in the driveway. One branch led to the boathouse, and the other led to a cove less than fifty yards away, where a cabin cruiser was tied up. He was gone by the time we found it. The little girl was still warm."

Logan quickly caught the cup that fell from Cassie's fingers and said, "Paul, shut up. She did her best – "

"Her best? She fucking missed it, Bob! There was no weathervane on top of the boathouse – there was a flag flying above the boat. That's what she saw moving in the wind. And the creaking she heard was the boat in the water. She couldn't tell the difference?"

"It was dark," Cassie whispered. Tears filled her eyes but didn't fall. Her shaking hands twisted together in her lap, and she breathed as though struggling against an oppressive weight crushing her lungs.

Paul said, "Five minutes. We wasted five minutes going the wrong way, and that little girl's dead because of it. What am I supposed to tell her parents? That our famous psychic blew it?"

"Paul, shut your goddamned mouth!" Logan looked back at Cassie. "It wasn't your fault, Cassie." His voice was certain.

But his eyes told her something else. Her own gaze fell, and she stared at the tissue rose he held, its delicate perfection emphasized by the blunt strength of his cop's hand.

Such beauty to have been created by a monster. Sick fear coiled in the pit of her stomach and crawled on its belly through her mind, and she was barely aware of speaking aloud when she said huskily, "I can't do it. I can't do this anymore. I can't." "Cassie – "

"I can't. I can't. I can't." It was like a mantra to ward off the unbearable, and she whispered it over and over as she closed her eyes and shut out the mocking sight of the paper flower that now lived in her nightmares.

 

ONE

RYAN'S BLUFF, NORTH CAROLINA FEBRUARY 16, 1999

As towns went, it didn't have much to boast of. It was about as broad as it was long, with more acreage than buildings. There was a scattering of churches and car lots and small stores that didn't call themselves boutiques but charged enough for their plain little dresses to be considered just that. There was a Main Street with a grassy town square, enough banks to make a body wonder where all the riches were, and a drugstore so old, it still had a soda fountain.