The Killing Game (6 page)

“You lying bastard.”

“Or, rather, I have Bonnie. I'm looking at her right now. She was much prettier when I put her in the ground. It's sad that we all end up as a collection of bones.”

“You're . . . looking at her?”

“I remember her walking toward me across the park at the school picnic. She was eating a strawberry ice-cream cone and her red hair was shining in the sunlight. There was so much life in her. I couldn't resist.”

Darkness. Don't faint.

“You have that same spark. I can tell. Only you're so much stronger.”

“I'm going to hang up now.”

“Yes, you sound a bit under the weather. Shock can do that. But I'm sure you'll recover soon. I'll be in touch.”

“Damn you.
Why?
”

He was silent for a moment. “Because it's necessary, Eve. After this little chat, I'm even more convinced than I was before. I need you. I can feel your emotion like a tidal wave. It's . . . exhilarating.”

“I won't answer the phone.”

“Yes, you will. Because there's always a chance you might get her back.”

“You're lying. If you killed those other children, why did you bury only Bonnie with all those adults?”

“I'm sure I must have buried more than they found. I vaguely recall at least two other children. Let's see . . . two boys. Older than Bonnie. Ten or twelve.”

“Only one child's skeleton was found.”

“Then they missed the others. Tell them to try in the gorge itself. The mud slide must have washed them over.”

The line went dead.

Eve slid down the wall to the floor. Cold. Ice cold.

Oh, God. Oh, God.

She had to do something. She couldn't just sit there in horror.

Joe. She could call Joe.

She dialed his digital number with a shaking hand.

“Come back,” she said when he answered. “Come back.”

“Eve?”

“Come—back, Joe.”

“What the hell's wrong?”

There was something else she should tell him. “Talladega. Tell them—to look in the gorge—itself. Two—little boys.” She hung up and leaned against the wall. Don't think about it. Wrap the numbness around you until Joe gets here.

Don't faint. Don't let out the scream building inside you.

Just wait until Joe comes.

SHE WAS STILL
sitting on the floor when Joe arrived an hour later.

He was across the room in four strides, kneeling beside her. “Are you hurt?”

“No.”

“Then why the hell did you scare me to death?” he said roughly. He carried her to the couch. “I nearly had a heart attack. Christ, you're cold.”

“Shock. He said—I was in shock.”

He was rubbing her left hand, warming it. “Who said you were in shock?”

“Phone call. I thought it was a crank. Like one of those calls I got after Bonnie—” She had to stop for a minute. “But it wasn't a crank. Did you call Talladega?”

“Yes.” He took her other hand and began massaging it. “Talk to me.”

“He said he had Bonnie's bones.” The numbness was wearing off and she was beginning to shake. “He said she wasn't as pretty as when he—”

“Take it easy.” Joe grabbed the throw from a chair and tucked it around her. He crossed to the kitchenette and began making instant coffee. “Just take deep breaths. Okay?”

“Okay.” She closed her eyes. Breathe deep. Ride out the pain. Ride out the horror. In. Out. Let it go or it will rip you open.

“Open your eyes.” Joe was sitting on the couch beside her. “Drink this.”

Coffee. Hot. Too sweet.

He watched her drink half the cup. “Better?”

She nodded jerkily.

“Now talk to me. Slowly. Don't force it. If you have to stop, do it.”

She had to stop three times before she finished. When she finally fell silent, he just sat there for a moment. “Is that all? Have you told me everything?”

“Isn't that enough?” she asked unevenly.

“Hell, yes.” He nodded at the cup. “Drink the rest.”

“It's cold.”

“I'll get you another.” He got up and strode back to the kitchenette.

“He killed Bonnie, Joe.”

“It could have been a crank call.”

She shook her head. “He killed her.”

“You're not yourself. Give yourself some time to think it over.”

“I don't need time. He knew about the ice cream.”

He looked up at her. “The ice cream?”

“He said she was eating a strawberry ice-cream cone that day in the park.”

“That detail has never been released to the press,” Joe murmured.

“Fraser knew it. He told the police that Bonnie had been eating a strawberry ice-cream cone.”

“He also described what she was wearing.”

“He could have found that out by reading the papers.”

“He knew about the birthmark on her back.”

Eve rubbed her aching temples. Joe was right. That was why they had been so sure that Fraser had killed her. Why had she been so sure? “He said he tricked Fraser into calling him back by saying he was a newspaper reporter and then fed him details. Is that possible?”

Joe thought about it. “It's possible. Fraser was giving interviews to anyone who would listen. It drove his defense attorney crazy. And no one would have known the substance of their conversation since Georgia has a law against taping without permission. Why would they have even tried to tape it? Fraser had already confessed to the murders. It was going to be an open-and-shut case.”

“None of the bodies he'd said he'd buried had been found.”

“That wasn't as important to them as it was to you.”

God, she knew that. It had been like beating her head against a wall to get them to keep on searching after the confession. “It should have been.”

Joe nodded. “But they had enough to send Fraser to the electric chair. Open and shut.”

“And the ice cream . . .”

“A lot of time has passed. The vendor might have told any number of people.”

“The police told him not to discuss it.”

Joe shrugged. “For some people the case was closed when Fraser was executed.”

“Okay, the vendor could have told someone. But what if he didn't? What if Fraser didn't kill her?”

“Eve . . .”

“What if that bastard who called me killed her? He stole her from the lab. Why would he do that, unless he—”

“Shh.” Joe brought her the fresh cup of coffee and sat down beside her again. “I don't know the answer to any of those questions. I'm just playing devil's advocate so we can strike a sane balance.”

“Why should we be sane? That son of a bitch who killed her can't be sane. You should have heard him. He loved hurting me. He kept hammering away at me until he drew blood.”

“Okay, let's talk about him. What about his voice? Young? Old?”

“I couldn't tell. He sounded like he was talking from the bottom of a well.”

“Mechanical distorter,” Joe said. “What about phrasing? Accent? Vocabulary? Slang?”

She tried to remember. It was difficult to separate the manner from the words that had caused her so much pain. “No accent. He seemed . . . well spoken. I think he's educated.” She shook her head wearily. “I don't know. I wasn't trying to analyze anything from the moment he mentioned Bonnie. I'll try to do better next time.”

“If there is a next time.”

“There will be. He was exhilarated. He said so. Why would he call me once and just leave it at that?” She started to take a sip of coffee, then stopped. “You have an unlisted number here. How did he get it?”

Joe shook his head. “I'm more concerned that he found you.”

“Guesswork?”

“Possibly.” He paused. “We have to consider that he still may be some kid at the university playing a nasty joke on you.”

She shook her head.

“Okay, then there's the possibility that he was the murderer of those people at Talladega. But he didn't kill Bonnie and wants to take credit for it as he accused Fraser of doing.”

“He knew about the ice cream.”

“Or he's one of those people who confess to every murder and had nothing to do with any of them.”

“We'll know soon enough about that one,” Eve whispered. “If they find those boys at Talladega.”

“They're searching now. I called Robert Spiro the minute I hung up with you.”

“Who's Robert Spiro?”

“An agent with the FBI Behavioral Science Unit. He's part of the team handling Talladega. Good man.”

“You know him?”

“He was at the Bureau when I was there. He moved to the Profiling Unit a year after I resigned. He'll call me if they find anything.”

“No.” She set down her cup and tossed the throw aside. “I need to go to Talladega.”

“You need to rest.”

“Bullshit. If they missed those bodies before, I'm not going to let them make the mistake again.” She stood up. Jesus, her legs felt weak. They'd get better. Walk. “Can I take the Jeep?”

“If you take me with it.” Joe put on his jacket. “And if you wait until I make enough coffee to fill a thermos. It's cold outside. This isn't Tahiti.”

“And you're afraid I'm still in shock.”

He headed for the kitchenette. “No, you're almost back to normal.”

She didn't feel normal. She was still shaking inside and felt as if her every nerve was exposed and raw. Joe probably knew it and was tactfully ignoring it. She had to ignore it too. Just do one thing at a time. First, find out if that bastard had told her lies about Talladega. If he had lied about Talladega, then he could have lied about Bonnie.

But what if he was telling the truth?

THEY REACHED
T
ALLADEGA
Falls after midnight, but the searchlights and lanterns dotting the surrounding cliffs made it seem like day.

“Want to wait here?” Joe asked as he got out of the Jeep.

She was staring up at a cliff. “Is that where they found them?”

“The first skeleton was discovered on the next ridge, the rest up there. The child was found nearest the gorge.” He didn't look at her. “It's just a hole in the ground. There's nothing there now.”

But a little girl had been buried at that spot all these years. A little girl who might be Bonnie. “I have to see it.”

“I thought you would.”

“Then why did you ask if I wanted to wait here?” She got out of the car and started walking.

“My protective instinct.” He turned on his flashlight and followed her. “I should know better.”

“Yes.” There had been a frost earlier in the evening, and the earth crunched beneath her feet. Was she walking in the footsteps of the murderer as he carried his victims to their graves?

She could hear the roar of the falls. Then, as she reached the top, she saw it pouring in a long, silver stream across the gorge. Brace yourself. Don't turn your head. Not yet.

“To your left,” Joe said quietly.

She drew a deep breath and tore her gaze from the falls. She saw yellow tape and then . . . the grave.

Small. So small.

“Okay?” Joe was holding her elbow.

No, she wasn't okay. “She was buried here?”

“We think so. This is where she was found, and we're pretty certain the mud slide just uncovered her.”

“She was here all along. All this time . . .”

“It may not be Bonnie.”

“I know that,” she said dully. “Stop reminding me, Joe.”

“I have to remind you. You have to remind yourself.”

The pain was too strong. Block it out. “It's beautiful here.”

“Very beautiful. The sheriff says the Indians called the falls ‘the place of tumbling moonlight.' ”

“But he didn't bury them in this place because it's beautiful,” she said shakily. “He wanted to hide them where they'd never be found and brought home to the people who loved them.”

“Don't you think you've been here long enough?”

“Give me a minute more.”

“Whatever you need.”

“God, I hope he didn't hurt her,” she whispered. “I hope it was over quickly.”

“That's enough.” Joe turned her away from the grave. “Sorry, I thought I could stand it, but I can't. I've got to take you away from—”

“Stop right where you are and don't move a muscle.”

A tall, thin man was walking toward them along the edge of the cliff. He was holding a flashlight in one hand and a revolver in the other. “Identify yourself.”

“Spiro?” Joe stepped in front of Eve. “Joe Quinn.”

“What are you doing up here?” Robert Spiro demanded. “It's a good way to get shot. We've got this area staked out.”

“The FBI? I thought you were here in an advisory capacity.”

“We were, but we've taken over the investigation. Sheriff Bosworth didn't argue. He wanted out.”

“You think the murderer is going to come back? Is that why you're staking out the graves?” Eve asked.

Spiro glanced at her. “And who are you?”

“Eve Duncan, this is Agent Robert Spiro,” Joe said.

“Oh, how do you do, Ms. Duncan.” Spiro shoved the gun in his underarm holster and lifted the lantern higher to look at her. “Sorry to scare you, but Quinn should have let me know you were coming.”

Spiro was in his late forties with deep-set dark eyes and brown hair that sharply receded from a broad forehead. Lines bracketed both sides of his mouth, and the expression on his face was more world-weary than anything Eve had ever seen. She repeated, “You think he's going to come back? I know it's not uncommon for a serial murderer to return to the graves of his victims.”

“Yeah, even the very smart ones can't resist that last thrill.” He turned to Joe. “We haven't found anything yet. You're sure this is a solid tip?”

“It's solid,” Joe said. “Are you stopping to wait until daylight?”

“No. Sheriff Bosworth said his men know the gorge like the backs of their hands.” He looked at Eve. “It's cold near these falls. You need to get out of here.”

“I'll wait until you find the boys.”

He shrugged. “Suit yourself. It may be a long time.” To Joe he said, “I need to talk to you about that ‘solid' tip. Care to take a walk?”

“I won't leave Eve alone.”

“Charlie!” Spiro called over his shoulder, and a man with a flashlight appeared. “Joe Quinn, Eve Duncan, this is Agent Charles Cather. Take Ms. Duncan to her car and stay with her until Quinn comes back, Charlie.”

Charles Cather nodded. “Come with me, Ms. Duncan.”