Under Cover of Darkness (18 page)

Andie glanced nervously at her outline in front of her. This wasn't part of her prepared speech.

"Come on, Andie. You're right there with the killer. He sees Colleen. He's going to strangle her. What does he need?"

"Control. Control the victim."

"How does he get it?"

"A weapon?"

"No. His weapon is the rope. He needs control before he can use his weapon of choice."

"He surprises her. Sneak attack."

"And then she gouges his eyes out, leaves traces of his flesh under her fingernails for our DNA analysts. No good. Get back to the blunt trauma. The broken eardrums."

Andie blinked, searching her mind for whatever image she could conjure. "He stuns her."

"How?"

"Both hands. Has to be both hands. Both eardrums were broken. He slaps her on the ears,
-
both hands simultaneously. Like those martial arts experts."

"Is he in front or behind?"

"I--I don't know."

"Go back to Jane Doe. The left eardrum busted. Only the left. Now what do you see?"

Andie squirmed, thinking. "He's standing right in front of her."

"How do you know?"

"I don't. Not for sure. If he's right-handed, he's stronger in his right hand, it lands with more force. Face to face, his right hand goes to Jane Doe's left ear, the one that ruptured. If he's standing behind her, his left hand goes to her left ear."

"Which means?"

"We have a right-handed killer who attacks from the front, or a left-handed killer who attacks from the rear."

Victoria was silent. Andie waited nervously for a response--like a pupil waiting on her grade.

"Well done, Andie. I had to talk to a martial-arts expert before I figured all that out."

"You led me exactly where I needed to go."

"Just take the compliment and shut up. There's very little stroking in this business."

"Okay," she said with a thin smile. "Thanks. Does that mean the quiz is over?"

"It's never over. What does this tell you about the men? No ruptured eardrums in either case."

Andie visualized it. "He must have overtaken them in some other manner. Possibly held them at gunpoint, then handcuffed them, then strangled them. Maybe that proved too easy. The next time around, he needs more thrills, more of a challenge. So he uses the martial-arts stuff on the women."

"I'll buy that. For now." Victoria checked her watch. "Listen, overnight the whole file to me here at the hotel. We can talk more once I've read it."

"One last thing," said Andie. "There's an interesting detail that may seem irrelevant at first blush, but I think it might be important in the big picture."

"What?"

"Colleen Easterbrook's employment. She was a hotel manager."

"So?"

"It may help further support our bookend theory."

"Are you saying you somehow divined that Jane Doe was also a hotel manager?"

"No. But consider this. I've had a few conversations with Gus Wheatley this week, the lawyer whose wife disappeared Sunday. Beth Wheatley is her name. A few years back Beth accused Gus of abuse. It got pretty ugly, but nothing came of it. And that's not my point, anyway."

"What is your point?"

"They separated for a few months. It's the only time Beth worked outside the house during their entire marriage. She took a job downtown. Get this. She worked in a hotel booking conventions. You might call it an assistant hotel manager."

"So that gives her something in common with Colleen Easterbrook."

"More than something. Same age, hair, eye color. Easterbrook was divorced, but she used to be married to a lawyer. Not as prominent as Gus Wheatley, but still a lawyer. And both victims took jobs as hotel managers."

"Except you don't know if Beth Wheatley is a victim."

"No. But she's still missing. Vanished."

"Andie, I hope you aren't groping for similarities just to bolster your bookend theory."

"To the contrary. It's like Detective Kessler told me. A third female victim blows my bookend theory. Especially if it turns out that Jane Doe worked in hotel management. That would give us one pair, followed by three of a kind."

An eerie silence came over the_ line, as if they both had the same sudden insight. Victoria asked, "Do you think w
e c
ould have missed the first murder in this series? A solo shot?"

"Which would mean our killer is playing some kind of numbers game. The first strike is one victim. The second is two. The third is three."

"Each time he amplifies the experience, ratcheting things up. So that the fourth would be four, and on down the line, until we stop him:'

"Which leaves one very intriguing question," said Andie.

"Yes, it does. And now you know the reason I do this godforsaken job. I have to know why."

Chapter
Twenty-Two.

B seven A
. M
. Gus was dressed and ready to leave the house. He had to go into the office to check the mail and reroute a few assignments before the weekend. The rest of the day was set aside for the latest brainstorm on finding Beth.

He threw on his coat, grabbed his keys, and started down the hall. Carla was asleep in the guest room, the door shut. The door to Morgan's room, however, was half-open. He stopped and peeked inside. She was an ill-defined mound on the mattress, asleep somewhere beneath a heap of blankets. He stood in the doorway, watching in silence.

Yesterday, he had made several attempts to have that serious talk with her. The right moment never arrived--Morgan had made sure of it. She was surely in pain from the loose tooth she'd yanked out prematurely, but she was making more of it than she might have. She had spent the whole day in bed. Gus had visited her room a dozen times to talk. Light conversation was fine. Whenever he had tried to steer the conversation toward Beth, however, she suddenly needed sleep, another pillow, or a story read to her. It was frustrating, but he didn't want to force it. After the horror of that newscast on Tuesday night, talking on any level was a positive.

He checked his watch. He needed to get going, but hi
s f
eet wouldn't move. His gaze drifted across the room, a little girl's dreamland. Tiny ballerinas danced in synchronized patterns on the walls, the curtains, and matching quilt. Minnie Mouse guarded the toy chest beneath the window. Barbie was parked in her pink convertible beside the bed. Gus had paid for all of it. He had selected none of it. It was all Beth's doing. Morgan was all Beth's doing.

The room was so peaceful, deceptively so. He wondered what was going on inside her head, deep beneath the covers. He could only guess. One thing, however, rang clear in the silence. He had something to tell her. Something that couldn't wait.

Gently, he pushed the door the rest of the way open and stepped closer. A three-foot teddy bear was in the rocking chair beside the bed. Gus removed it and lowered himself quietly onto the quilted cushion. He whispered softly, almost mouthing her name. "Morgan."

She didn't stir.

He drew a deep breath. It didn't matter that she was asleep. He had to get it off his chest. His eyes closed, then opened. He spoke in a low, hoarse whisper.

"I came to see you last night," he said, a lump in his throat, "but you were already asleep."

The ball beneath the blankets was perfectly still, save for her breathing. He continued, "Your books were scattered on the floor, so I picked them up and put them on the shelf. That's when I noticed the little marks on the inside of the closet door. Little lines, all about a half inch apart. The first one was about two feet off the ground, the next one a little higher, up and up and up. Each one had a date beside it. Your mother's handwriting.

"I just stood there and stared. It shocked me. Seeing how you had grown, all the time that had passed. It was literally the writing on the wall. Your mother had been there for you every inch of the way. The first step, the first word, the first day of school. All the big days in your little life, and th
e n
ot so big days. Day in and day out, your mommy was there."

He glanced toward the closet, his gaze unfocused. "And all I could think was . . . where the heck was I? I missed it.
. I
've missed all of it."

His eyes welled, the voice cracked. "And when I woke up this morning, I felt even worse. I realized that Monday was the first time I'd ever picked you up from school. Yesterday with your bloody tooth was the first weekday morning we've ever spent together, just the two of us. I don't understand how that happened, how time gets away. I just wish it
. D
idn't take your mother's disappearance to make your father wake up."

He laid his hand on the covers gently, so as not to wake her. "I just wanted to say I'm sorry. I know it doesn't count when you're sleeping. But I truly am sorry. And I couldn't wait to tell you that."

He was motionless in the rocking chair. It was hard to say where the rush of emotion was coming from. But it was coming, unstoppable. It was as if the whole horrendous week were racing to a head. The fears about Beth. The rejection from Morgan. The sparring with Carla and snakes at the law firm. He was a smart guy. He could handle the law firm. Only with things that really mattered was he utterly powerless.

Slowly, he noticed movement beneath the covers. He didn't want to wake her, but he felt the urge to give her a hug. He waited for her to come around, but the movement stopped.

"Morgan?" he said softly.

He heard a click that sounded mechanical, followed by muffled music. He gently tugged the blanket, peeling away the top layer, exposing the back of Morgan's head. A black wire was tangled in her hair. It ran to her ear. She was wearing headphones, listening to music. She had turned it up so loud even Gus could hear it three feet away.

The sight crushed him. She had been awake throughout. She had heard everything. He waited a few moments, hoping her eyes would open. They didn't. The garbled music just kept coming from the headphones. Without uttering a word, her response was loud and clear.

She had nothing to say to him.

Slowly, sadly, he rose from the rocking chair and walked out the door.

Andie left the Federal Building around three-thirty, her first opportunity for a lunch break. Victoria hadn't asked for one, but Andie was preparing a summary of the common behavioral indicators exhibited in all four murders. She wasn't so presumptuous as to take a stab at the actual criminal profile, though she was quietly hoping that Victoria might suggest it.

Isaac Underwood caught her on her way out the door. Seems the lunch schedule for the assistant special agent in charge was also on a three-hour delay. He hustled down the granite steps till his gait was even with hers.

"Mind if I join you?"

"Actually, I was headed over to the market. Good deals toward the end of the day."

"Mind if I walk with you?"

"I was going to take the bus."

"Not a good place to talk business. Come on, the walk will do you good."

As they covered the long five blocks up First Avenue to Pike Place Market, Andie filled him in on the latest developments, including the rendezvous with Martha Goldstein. A light north breeze was in their face, but gloves, overcoats and a very brisk pace kept off the chill.

Traffic, both cars and pedestrians, got heavier as they neared the historic market. It was nothing like a sunny summer afternoon, however, when the chance of winning the state lottery was better than finding a parking spot. Pike
Place was the nation's oldest continuously operating farmers market, and with as many as forty thousand visitors daily it was to many the heart and soul of Seattle. The twoand-half-block stretch was prime for people watching, or it was just as fun to explore the many old buildings that had been strung together over the years by ramps, alleys and stairways. The city council had forbade singing by market vendors since 1947, but that didn't dampen the loud and continuous hawking of everything from Guatemalan cigars and Turkish pastries to African violets and Pacific Northwest salmon. No chain stores or franchises were allowed, which made it a true bazaar, not another mall.

Andie headed toward the main arcade, a semi-open area facing the street. About half of the fresh-produce stalls were there, side by side with the gleaming rows of fresh crab and halibut in angled, iced beds. The crowds weren't peak, but there was still a steady stream of shoppers. A magician performed tricks beneath the big market clock. A guitarist on. the corner sang an old Jimmy Buffett tune. A fishmonger hurried by with a very recently deceased eel draped over each shoulder. Andie's eye was on the live Maine lobsters at the bottom of the big glass tank, but Isaac was still talking business.

"How are you and my old buddies at Seattle P
. D
. getting along?"

"Good, I think." She stopped at Arcade No. 8 to check out the homegrown Asian vegetables, one of the sure signs that spring was coming to Seattle. "You hear differently?"

"I had lunch with Detective Kessler yesterday. Tells me you learned a valuable lesson with that leak to the newspapers about the bookend theory."