The Face of Deception (6 page)

“He can wait.”

“Do you want Mark to foul up the connection if she tries to call again?”

He shook his head. “She'd only use her digital. She still might if she knows the phone in her room is bugged.”

“Whatever you say.” He paused. “When do we go for it?”

“Soon.”

He lifted a brow. “You wouldn't be holding out on me, would you?”

“I have to make sure everything's right. Tim-wick's been too close on my tail.”

“You can trust me, John.”

“I said I'm waiting.”

“All right, you closemouthed bastard.” Gil stood up and strolled toward the door. “But I don't like going in blind.”

“You won't.”

“I'll take that as a promise. Get some sleep.”

“I will.”

When the door closed behind Gil, Logan glanced down at the transcript again and then tossed it to one side. Joe Quinn. He couldn't afford to underestimate the detective. Eve had inspired intense loyalty in Quinn. Loyalty and friendship and what else? he wondered. Quinn was married, but that didn't matter.

Hell, it wasn't any of his business if it didn't interfere with what he needed Eve to do. Besides, he had enough to worry about.

Scott Maren was wandering around Jordan and might be taken down at any minute.

Timwick might have seen through Logan and drawn conclusions. Those conclusions would frighten him enough to give the order to secure his position.

Logan couldn't wait to get hold of Maren.

He pulled out his personal phone book and flipped it open to the back page. There were only three names and telephone numbers on the page.

Dora Bentz.

James Cadro.

Scott Maren.

Bentz's and Cadro's telephones might be bugged, but he should still call and verify they were all right. Then he'd send someone to pick them up.

He reached for the telephone and dialed the first phone number.

Dora Bentz.

The phone was ringing.

Fiske finished tying the woman's legs to the bedposts and pushed her nightgown up above her waist.

She was in her fifties, but she had damn nice legs. Too bad about that pouchy belly. She should have worked out, he thought. Situps would have taken care of that pouch. He did two hundred situps a day and his own belly was iron hard.

He got a broom out of the kitchen closet and came back to the bed.

The phone was still ringing. Persistent.

He shoved the broom up the woman. The killing had to look like a sex crime, but he wouldn't risk ejaculating inside her. Semen was evidence. Many serial killers had trouble ejaculating anyway, and the broom was a nice touch. It spelled out woman hatred and home desecration.

Anything else?

Six deep, savage wounds on her breasts, duct tape over her mouth, the open window . . .

No, it was a clean job.

He'd have liked to stay awhile and admire his handiwork, but the phone hadn't stopped ringing. Whoever was on the other end might get worried and call the police.

One more check. He walked to the head of the bed and gazed down at her.

She stared back at him, her eyes as wide open, her expression as terrified as when he'd plunged the knife into her heart.

He took out the envelope with the photographs and the typewritten list Timwick had given him at the airport. He liked lists; they kept the world in order.

Three photographs. Three names. Three addresses.

He crossed Dora Bentz's name off the list.

The phone was still ringing as he left her apartment.

No answer.

It was three-thirty in the morning. There should have been an answer.

Logan slowly replaced the receiver.

It didn't have to mean anything. Dora Bentz had married children who lived in Buffalo, New York. She could be visiting them. She could be on vacation anywhere.

Or she could be dead.

Timwick could be moving quickly to tie up all the loose ends.

Shit, Logan had thought he had time.

Maybe he was jumping to conclusions.

Hell, so what? He'd always trusted his instincts, and they were shouting at him now.

But sending Gil to check on Dora Bentz would be a tip-off. Timwick would know what he only suspected now. Logan could try to save Dora Bentz or he could remain safe for a few more days.

Shit.

He picked up the phone and dialed Gil's number in the carriage house.

Lights. Moving lights.

Eve stopped drying her hair, slowly got up, and went to the window.

The black limousine that had picked them up at the airport was gliding down the driveway toward the gates.

Logan?

Gil Price?

It was almost four o'clock in the morning. Where would anyone be going at this hour?

She doubted if she'd be told if she asked tomorrow morning.

But she'd damn well do it anyway.

SIX

Eve didn't fall asleep until five, and then her slumber was restless. She woke at nine but forced herself to stay in bed until almost ten, when a thunderous knock sounded on the door.

The door opened before she could answer, and a small, plump woman strode into the room. “Hi, I'm Margaret Wilson. Here's the gate control you wanted.” She set the remote on the nightstand. “Sorry if I woke you, but John says I screwed up on the lab. How the hell was I to know you wanted pretty? What do I need to get? Pillows? Rugs?”

“Nothing.” Eve sat up in bed and gazed curiously at Margaret Wilson. The woman was probably in her early forties. The gray gabardine pantsuit she wore slimmed her plump figure and complemented her dark, sleek hair and hazel eyes. “I told him that I wasn't going to be here long enough for it to matter.”

“It matters. John likes things right. So do I. What's your favorite color?”

“Green, I guess.”

“I should have known. Redheads are pretty predictable.”

“I'm not a redhead.”

“Well, almost.” She looked around the room. “This kind of thing okay?”

Eve nodded as she threw back the covers and got out of bed.

“Good, then I'll get on the phone and order some stuff. It should be— Oh, my God, you're a giant.”

“What?”

Margaret was glowering at her. “How the hell tall are you?”

“Five nine.”

“A giant. You'll make me feel like a midget. I hate tall, skinny women. They do something to my psyche and I become overaggressive.”

“You're not that small.”

“You're patronizing me.” She grimaced. “And I'm being defensive. Oh, well, I'll have to fight it. I'll just keep telling myself that I'm much smarter than you. Get dressed and come on down to the kitchen. We'll grab some cereal and then I'll take you for a walk around the grounds.”

“That's not necessary.”

“Sure it is. John wants you kept happy and he says you don't have anything to do right away. If you're anything like me, you'll go crazy.” She headed for the door. “But we'll take care of it. Fifteen minutes?”

“Fine.” She wondered what the response would have been if she had said otherwise. Margaret's tactics made a steamroller look subtle.

But it was hard not to like her. She hadn't smiled once, but she exuded a vibrant energy and cheerfulness. She was blunt, bold, and like no one Eve had ever met. She was a breath of fresh air after the dark tension she sensed in Logan.

“The Barrett family graveyard.” Margaret waved a hand at the small iron-fenced cemetery. “There's no grave later than 1922. Do you want to go in?”

Eve shook her head.

“Thank God. Cemeteries depress me, but I thought you might be interested.”

“Why?”

“I don't know. All those bones and stuff you work with.”

“I don't hang around graveyards like some kind of ghoul, but they don't bother me.” Particularly family cemeteries. No lost ones here, and it was extremely well kept. All the graves were even covered with pallets of fresh carnations. “Where did all the flowers come from? Are there Barretts still in the neighborhood?”

“No, the direct line died out about twenty years ago.” She pointed at a gravestone. “Randolph Barrett. The family scattered over the years and Randolph Barrett was the last to be buried here back in 1922. The graveyard was in pretty sad shape when John bought the property. He gave orders for it to be cleaned up and fresh flowers brought in every week.”

“I'm surprised. I wouldn't think Logan would be that sentimental.”

“Well, you never know what John is going to do. But I'm glad he brought in a landscaper for this job. Like I said, cemeteries depress me.”

Eve turned and started down the hill. “They don't depress me. Sadden me, maybe. Particularly the babies' graves. Before modern medicine, so many children didn't live to grow up. Do you have any children?”

Margaret shook her head. “I was married once, but we both had careers and were too busy to think about kids.”

“Your job must be very demanding.”

“Yep.”

“And varied.” She paused. “Like this one. You can't say that skeleton hunting is in many people's job description.”

“I don't hunt, I just do what I'm told.”

“That could be dangerous.”

“John will keep me clear of trouble. He always has before.”

“He's done this before?”

“Bones? No, but he's been known to walk some mighty thin lines.”

“But you trust him?”

“Hell, yes.”

“Even if you don't know what he's looking for? Or do you?”

Margaret grinned. “Stop pumping me. I don't know anything about anything and I wouldn't tell you if I did.”

“You won't even tell me if it was Logan who left in the middle of the night?”

“Sure. John's still here. I saw him before he disappeared into his study this morning. It was Gil who left.”

“Why?”

Margaret shrugged. “Ask John.” She added bluntly, “You came here because John made it worth your while. I handled the transfer to the Adam Fund. He'll tell you everything when he thinks it's time. Trust him.”

“I don't have your faith in him.” She glanced at the carriage house. “Is that where the gates are monitored?”

Margaret nodded. “It's a pretty elaborate system with video cameras all over the place. Mark Slater does all the monitoring.”

“I haven't met him yet.”

“He doesn't come up to the house much.”

“Does Logan's house on the West Coast have security like this?”

“Sure, there are lots of nuts out there. Men in John's position are prime targets.” Her pace quickened. “I have some work to do. Will you be okay if I leave you alone this afternoon?”

“Yes. You don't have to baby-sit me, Margaret.”

“Actually, I enjoyed it. You're not what I expected from a bone lady.”

Bone lady. That's what Gil had called her. “The correct term is forensic sculptor.”

“Whatever. Like I said, I expected someone very cool and professional. Hence the mistake I made with the lab. Not that I'd admit to John that I made a mistake. I told him it was all his fault because he didn't let me know what I had to contend with. It's not good for him to know that I'm not perfect. It would make him feel insecure.”

Eve smiled. “I can't imagine that.”

“Everyone has insecure moments, even me.” She added gloomily, “But only when I stand next to giants like you. It comes from growing up a shrimp with four six-foot brothers. Is your mother tall?”

“No, only medium height.”

“Okay, then you're a freak and I'll magnanimously forgive you. I won't mention it again.”

“Thank you. I appreciate the—”

“I was wondering where you were.” Logan had come out of the house and was walking toward them. “Did you have a good night?” he asked Eve.

“No.”

“I have those reports to finish,” Margaret said quickly. “See you later, Eve.”

Eve nodded, her gaze on Logan. Dressed in black jeans and sweatshirt, he looked very different from the man she had met that first day. Not only because of the clothes, but because he seemed to have stripped off the sleek image and completely discarded it.

“Strange bed?”

“Partly. Why did Gil Price leave right after we got here last night?”

“I had an errand for him to run.”

“At four in the morning?”

He nodded. “It was a rather urgent errand. He should be back tonight.” He paused. “I was hoping you'd have a day or two to become acclimated to the situation, but we may have to pick up the pace.”

“Good, I don't need to become acclimated. Just bring me the bones and let me get to work.”

“We may have to go to them.”

She stiffened. “What?”

“You may have to do a cursory examination right after we excavate and determine if it's worthwhile to bring the skeleton here. My source could have lied, and the skull might be damaged too badly for a face to be reconstructed.”

“You want me to be there when you dig it up?”

“Maybe.”

“Forget it. I'm not a grave robber.”

“It may be necessary for you to be there. That could be the only—”

“Forget it.”

“We'll talk about it later. It may not be necessary. Did you enjoy the graveyard?”

“Why does everyone assume I enjoy grave—” Her gaze narrowed on his face. “How did you know I was at the cemetery?” She glanced at the carriage house. “Of course, your video cameras. I don't like being spied on, Logan.”

“The cameras scan the grounds continuously. They just happened to catch you and Margaret at the cemetery.”

It could be true, but she doubted if anything just “happened” in Logan's life. “I liked the fresh flowers.”

“Well, I'm living in the Barretts' house. I figured that was the least I could do.”

“It's your house now.”

“Is it? The Barretts built the inn, they lived and worked here for over a hundred and sixty years and saw a lot of history troop by. Did you know Abraham Lincoln stayed here right before the end of the Civil War?”

“Another Republican. No wonder you bought the place.”

“Some of the places Lincoln stayed in I wouldn't have touched on a bet. I value my comfort too much.” He opened the front door for her. “Have you called your mother?”

“No, I'll do that this evening when she gets home from work.” She smiled. “Providing she's not out on the town. She's keeping company with a lawyer from the D.A.'s office.”

“He's lucky. She seemed very nice.”

“Yes, and she's smart too. After Bonnie was born, she finished high school and then went to technical school to learn court reporting.”

“She finished school after your daughter—” He stopped. “Sorry, I'm sure you don't want to talk about your daughter.”

“I don't mind talking about Bonnie. Why should I? I'm very proud of her. She came into our lives and made everything different.” She added simply, “Love can do that, you know.”

“So I've heard.”

“It's true. I'd tried to get my mother off crack, but couldn't. Maybe I was too bitter and resentful. God knows, sometimes I thought I hated her. But Bonnie came and I changed. Somehow all the bitterness was gone. And my mother changed too. I don't know whether it was just the right time and point in her life or it was because she knew she had to get off the crack in order to help me raise Bonnie. My God, how she loved Bonnie. No one could help but love her.”

“I can understand that. I saw her picture.”

“Wasn't she beautiful?” She smiled luminously. “So happy. She was always so happy. She loved every waking hour that she—” She had to swallow to ease the tightness in her throat and then said brusquely, “I'm sorry, I have to stop talking now. I can go only so far, and then it starts to hurt. But I'm getting better all the time.”

“Christ, stop apologizing,” he said roughly. “I'm sorry I made you talk about her.”

“You didn't make me do anything. It's important that I keep her with me, that I never let myself forget her. She existed. She became a part of me, maybe the best part.” She turned away from him. “And now I think I'll go to my lab and see if I can do a little work on Mandy.”

He looked at her in surprise. “You brought those fragments with you?”

“Of course. There's probably not much I can do with them, but I couldn't give up without trying.”

He smiled. “No, I can see you couldn't.”

She felt his eyes on her as she walked away. She probably shouldn't have shown him how vulnerable she could be, but the conversation had seemed to flow from one subject to another. Logan had listened intently and sympathetically and made her feel as if he really cared. Maybe he did care. Maybe he wasn't the manipulator she suspected him of being.

And maybe he was. What the hell difference did it make? She wasn't ashamed of how she felt about Bonnie, and there was no way he could twist anything she had said and use it against her. The only advantage he might have gained was that she felt a little closer to him now; the very act of talking to him about Bonnie had caused the most tentative of bonds to be formed. But a connection that tentative was easy to break and wouldn't influence her in any way.

She opened the door of the lab and went directly to the briefcase she had left on the desk. She unlocked it and began taking the skull fragments out of the case. Putting them together would be like working on a jigsaw puzzle with some pieces the size of tiny splinters. What was she thinking? she wondered in despair. It was crazy, probably impossible.

The task would be impossible if she took that attitude, she thought impatiently. Reconstructing Mandy was her job, and she'd find a way to do it. The connection with Mandy was one she could trust, a bond she could afford to hold on to.

“Hello, Mandy.” She sat down at the desk and picked up a nasal bone, the largest left intact. “I guess we'll start here. Don't worry. It may take a long time, but we'll get there.”

“Dora Bentz is dead,” Gil said baldly when Logan picked up the phone.

“Shit.” His hand tightened on the receiver.

“Stabbed to death and apparently raped. She was found by her sister in her apartment about ten this morning. They were planning on going to an aerobics class together. The sister had a key and let herself in after she kept knocking and didn't get an answer. The window was open and the police think it's a simple rape-murder.”

“Simple, hell.”

“If it's not, it was done very well,” Gil said. “Extremely well.”

Like the vandalism of Eve's lab in Atlanta. “Were you followed?”

“No doubt about it. You knew I would be.”

“Can you find out from one of your old buddies who Timwick might be using?”

“Maybe. I'll put out some feelers. Do you want me to come back there?”

“No. I've been trying to contact James Cadro all morning. According to his office, he's camping with his wife in the Adirondacks.” He paused. “Hurry. I wasn't the first one to inquire about him.”

“Do we know where in the Adirondacks?”

“Somewhere near Jonesburg.”

“Great. That's what I like. Precise directions. I'm on my way.”

Logan replaced the phone. Dora Bentz dead. He could have saved her if he'd acted yesterday. But, dammit, he'd thought they'd all be safer if he didn't display any interest in them, if he seemed to ignore their existence.