The Bride Collector (21 page)

The cruiser broke right and angled up the ramp into the tall pine trees. Cover, plenty of it. Quinton’s pulse built steadily.
The two cars between his and the cop car drove on, and he clicked on his right turn signal.

The silenced Browning nine-millimeter semiautomatic lay on the passenger seat, and he placed a gloved hand over the steel.
He disliked guns because they were blunt, impersonal tools that were used to kill, and he wasn’t a killer. But they were sometimes
useful as tools of motivation.

The 300M’s steel-belted radials glided over the asphalt up the ramp, like a blade on ice. Generally speaking the Americans
made junk vehicles, but the 300M suited Quinton well. The tinted windows prevented passersby from seeing the occupant, and
any person looking directly through the front windshield would see a dark-haired man wearing aviator sunglasses and black
leather gloves, but beyond imagining Tommy Lee Jones from
Men in Black,
they would think nothing of it. Yet another common man trying to look suave was far less noticeable than a big farmer-boy
type hauling around a meat cleaver.

The police cruiser pulled between two parking lines next to the restrooms. Quinton scanned the rest area and saw that they
were two of only three cars and one eighteen-wheeler that looked bedded down. He let his pulse surge. He could not pass up
this opportunity. God had sent him a gift.

Both doors on the cruiser opened. Quinton slowed his approach. Theresa got out first, a woman with a small bladder. Her dark
hair was pulled back in a ponytail, easy to tuck up under her hat when she wore it. She looked stunning in her uniform. Casting
a glance backward, she headed to the restrooms, followed immediately by her uniformed partner, name yet unknown to Quinton.

He pulled the 300M into a parking spot two down from the eighteen-wheeler and waited. His only prayer now was that their bladders
would empty as quickly as they’d filled. The conditions were good at the moment, but that didn’t mean they would remain optimal.

Theresa, being the first to head in, was the first to head out. Working as smoothly as Tommy Lee Jones now, Quinton slipped
out, shoved the pistol behind his belt, retrieved his case from the backseat, and locked the doors.
Bleep.

After one last look up and down the driveway to be sure no one was pulling in, he headed toward the police cruiser. Theresa,
being a cop, watched him. Watched her enemy approaching head-on, powerless to stop him. She likely assumed he was a salesman
headed into the facilities.

Her partner, a bullish-looking man with red hair, came out, walking fast, eager to catch up with her. He probably had a thing
for her and didn’t want to miss an opportunity to offer a witty come-on. Perhaps he wanted to take her back for a quickie.

Both saw him. Both watched him. But he acted nothing like anyone who’d want to harm a flea, much less them. And he didn’t
have to act, because he really didn’t want to harm them any more than he’d wanted to slap Joshie in the restroom at Elway’s
restaurant.

Quinton timed his approach, allowing them both to slide into their seats before he pulled the silenced weapon from behind
his back and stepped up to the passenger door.

He shoved the barrel in Theresa’s face. “Get out, please.”

BRAD RAINES STOOD
back and watched Roudy make quick work of the photographs, pinning each on a large map of Colorado he’d insisted they hang
against the wall. Each time he pushed in a pin, he uttered a soft, “There we go. There we go.” Each of the five victims was
already affixed to the map, surrounded by a dozen photos from each crime scene. The pictures formed a large symmetrical shape,
but Brad had no clue what that shape could mean.

Next to the files of each crime sat half a dozen artifacts from the scene. The group had already spent twenty minutes poking
and prodding, asking endless questions. But thus far, nothing of interest had presented itself to any of them. Getting all
the photos up on the wall was Roudy’s inspiration, and he’d tackled the task with an animal-like frenzy. “There we go, there
we go.”

Having satisfied some threshold in his mind, he sprang back. “Tell me the first thing that comes to mind. What do you see?”

Andrea and Paradise looked at Brad. Neither had been too talkative, evidently preferring to give Roudy his time in the sun.

“A butterfly?” Brad offered.

“Uh-ha. And now?”

He hadn’t changed a thing.

Brad humored him. “A… flower.”

“Interesting.”

“I don’t see what the point is, Roudy,” Andrea said.

“Understanding Agent Raines’s baseline helps me judge his methodology for perception,” Roudy said in a dismissive tone. “Please,
no comments that don’t help the process.” He went back to studying the wall.

At the moment, Roudy’s methodology struck Brad as absurd. Certainly neither brilliant nor particularly insightful. But then,
Brad didn’t think the way Roudy did. Either way, he hadn’t come for Sherlock’s insight.

He was here for Paradise.

She’d greeted him cordially enough but remained distant, dressed in jeans and a black T-shirt. Brad smelled the scent of shampoo
when she passed. For the most part she stood by the window, watching Roudy and Andrea.

Andrea seemed more interested in Brad than in the case. In fact, the only one really engaged in the case was Roudy, who leaped
about the evidence like a tiger dressed in gray corduroy pants and black bow tie. His hair was a rat’s nest, and his goatee
had been twisted and bent in all directions by nervous fingers.

Brad’s conversation with Allison several hours earlier had come as a surprise to him. Rather than scold him for requesting
a return to CWI, she paused only a second before agreeing. “And Nikki just might be right,” she’d said. “I say so for ulterior
reasons, naturally. I care about your case, don’t get me wrong. But I’m more interested in seeing Paradise break out of her
shell. What you’re suggesting will challenge her, but I think she could use a good head-to-head confrontation with a man.”

“I’m sorry, I think you’re misunderstanding me,” he’d said. “Nobody’s suggesting a head-to-head confrontation. I would only
try to encourage her to trust me so that—”

“Oh, I realize what you’re doing, Mr. Raines. And I’m saying it will lead to conflict with someone like Paradise. But that
may be good for her.” Then, after a pause: “Win her confidence, sir. Sweep her off her feet if you can. You have my full blessing.”

Brad had called Nikki at eight fifteen, right after he hung up with Allison, and informed her that the director had agreed.
He was heading out to the center with the files as soon as he could get it all together. Nikki was headed to her mother’s
for the day, but said she’d be available by phone and would check in the minute she got back in the afternoon. Maybe she could
join them then.

Her reaction to finding the note on Brad’s window the previous night had surprised him. He found it interesting that Nikki,
whom he’d always considered such a secure woman, had expressed some jealousy over Paradise. How could she have interpreted
his care for her as anything more than concern?

Was there something in his voice or eyes that had drawn a question mark in her mind? Had she picked up on something that not
even he consciously considered? Thinking about it now, in the same room as Paradise, made him feel self-conscious. The notion
that Nikki had picked up on something distracted him from Roudy’s antics. If he looked at Paradise, would she see what Nikki
had seen in his eyes? Would she get the wrong impression?

Then again, wasn’t he here to win her trust? He was, yes, but he felt awkward stepping in that direction. The whole idea of
leading her on so that she might lower her guard and cough up the images trapped in her mind was offensive to him.

He glanced in her direction and saw that she was staring at him. To avoid any embarrassment, he shifted his eyes to Andrea.
But she, too, was watching him. The blond beauty smiled, then looked at Paradise, who still hadn’t broken her stare.

Brad offered Paradise a gentle smile. “So, you’ve been quiet.”

“She’s had a couple of hard days,” Andrea said.

“I’m sorry to hear that. You okay?”

“Well, I’m not sure, Mr. Raines,” Paradise said. “They say I’m mentally ill, but even in my state of insanity I can see that
you’re not getting what you came for.” Her arms were crossed and she held his gaze. From the corner of his eyes Brad could
see that Andrea was glancing back and forth between them, surely picking up on this strange chemistry. Was this what Nikki
had sensed? But it wasn’t anything to be jealous about. He and Paradise simply had an understanding. A connection that bypassed
normal pretense. She was bone-deep honest, and he was attracted to people who exchanged society’s shell of propriety for such
stark truth telling.

Then again, she wasn’t transparent, was she? Truth hid behind her eyes, in her mind. And if Nikki was right, she might be
complicit in that hiding.

Paradise finally averted her eyes, lowered her arms, and walked toward the evidence spread all over the desk and wall. “So,
let’s see if we can’t help him out a little. What do you say, Roudy? Right, Andrea?”

Roudy looked over his shoulder. “What do you think we’re doing? We’ve made tremendous headway already. I’m working as fast
as humanly possible and then some.”

“Remember what you said,” Andrea said in a soft but firm tone. It sounded like a warning.

“I know what I said, Andrea, but I’ve changed my mind.”

Whatever had been said didn’t sit right between these two.

Paradise faced him, eyes bright now. “So, maybe it would be helpful if I summarized what we have here. Would that be helpful?
Get us back on track?”

“Okay. Yes, that would be good.”

Roudy turned and lifted a finger. “The first question I’m considering is,
Why?
The why before the who. And on that front, I do have some thoughts.”

“If you don’t mind, Roudy,” Brad said, “I would like to hear what Paradise has to say.” The man looked shocked. “Before you
offer your full analysis.” That calmed him.

Paradise caught his eye, and for the first time she hinted at a smile, as if to say,
That was nice of you, thinking of me without dismissing Roudy.

“Should I give you thoughts on why, then?”

“Yes. Roudy?”

“Yes. Yes, by all means.”

“I have some thoughts, too,” Andrea said, stepping closer to Brad. “They don’t call me Brains for nothing. But I’m good with
more than just my mind, as you can probably see.”

Paradise shot her a stern warning. “Andrea!”

“I have to take a shower, Paradise.” Andrea’s face wrinkled in pain. “I feel dirty.”

“Then you’ll have to go on your own.” Her tone softened. “Our guest is depending on us to help him.”

This was like playing a game with children. If he wasn’t mistaken, there was some kind of rivalry brewing here. Surely not
over him…

“Paradise?”

“Thank you.” She looked up at the three notes pinned to the right of the map. “It’s painfully clear that the Bride Collector
is psychotic. He sees himself as God’s messenger, thwarting a terrible evil. It’s the most common kind of delusion suffered
by even the most intelligent psychotics. Thoughts of grand plots to upset the war between good and evil invade his every waking
moment.”

“This is more the who,” Roudy said.

“No, this is the why,” she returned. “Let me finish.”

“Sorry.”

“Sorry,” Andrea said. “Sorry, sorry.”

“As I was saying, the Bride Collector is doing the right thing in his eyes. He knows he’s evil, and thinks of himself as a
demon who is enslaved and tasked to find the bride of Christ. This is why, Roudy. He is taking these women because God has
chosen them, through him. If he decides, it’s God’s decision.”

Her theory was similar to Nikki’s, but somehow more complete and certain. And with only a few minutes’ exposure to the evidence.

“What else?” Brad asked, fascinated by her insight.

Paradise stared at the victims spread like angels on the wall of each crime scene. A tear from her right eye ran down her
cheek. She walked up to the wall and traced the picture of the latest victim, whom she’d seen in person two days earlier.

“In his mind, taking their lives is a necessary act. He does it for their sakes as much as for God’s purpose. There’s no anger.
No revenge. He wouldn’t take someone because he’s angry with them.”

“So he wouldn’t kill a victim out of, say, spite.”

“No,” Roudy said. “If you don’t mind me interjecting.”

“Go ahead, Roudy.” Brad walked up behind Paradise. The scent of her shampoo lingered in the air. She glanced up as he came
close, then quickly looked at the wall again.

“The question is,
Who’s next?
” Roudy said. “We must fixate on that question. Who, who, who, not just the why. And I do have a theory.”

The man seemed to be contradicting himself. “Do you mind if Paradise finishes?” Brad said, looking down on her dark hair.
It was parted in the middle and ran in long strands down either side of her head, recently combed but unevenly cut and with
split ends.

“Don’t delay me much longer, Agent Raines. I have some light to shed here!”

“Of course. But I think Paradise has hit on something crucial.” He was deferring to her in part to show her a preference that
would earn her trust, but it wasn’t all posturing on his part. Her analysis really was quite amazing.

“Don’t forget about me,” Andrea said, stepping up on Brad’s other side. He ignored her for the moment, at a loss.

“Please continue, Paradise.”

She looked up into his eyes, and again they shared a moment of connection. “Thank you,” she said.

Then, frowning at the wall of pictures: “No, I don’t think the Bride Collector would kill someone just to hurt that person.
I don’t think he’s wired that way.”

“Be quiet!” Andrea whispered, looked at the corner. “I will.” Beat. “Sorry. Sorry, sorry.”

They ignored her.