Under Cover of Darkness (7 page)

Morgan asked, "Where did she go?"

"That's her secret. She didn't say."

"Why didn't she take me with her?"

His throat tightened. "It's just something she had to do by herself, sweetheart. That's all. Sometimes parents have to do things by themselves."

She didn't look satisfied. Gus moved closer, urging her toward the pillow. "Let's go back to sleep now."

She leaned back obediently. Gus sensed the stiffness in her body, the unresolved fears. He stroked her forehead gently. "Just close your eyes and go to sleep."

Her eyes closed, but the lids quivered. He wondered what she was thinking. She sure asked smart questions. She could probably handle a witness better than half th
e s
o-called trial lawyers at his law firm. One question in particular stuck in his brain. The one Morgan had struggled to ask. The one Gus had found most difficult to answer.

If Beth had just decided to leave him--if she'd really wanted to get his attention--why didn't she take Morgan with her?

He remained at her side and watched her fall asleep, searching for an answer that didn't seem to be there.

Andie went straight home from the morgue, thinking. Gus hadn't really given them sufficient details to test her "bookend" homicide theory. Still, she didn't buy Kessler's idea that Gus was being intentionally evasive. For whatever reason, he and his wife had simply become strangers while living under the same roof.

Somehow, that seemed almost as sad as her disappearance.

Andie was in bed by eleven-thirty, but the night would be a restless one. She was definitely nervous about meeting Victoria Santos at the airport. She set two alarms just to make sure she didn't oversleep. Assuming she ever fell asleep. Her eyes were wide open, staring at the ceiling. The bed felt different these days. Although Rick had never officially moved in, they'd spent nearly every night together for several months before the wedding. It didn't matter that she owned one of those expensive coil mattresses on which ybu could drop a bowling ball and not disturb your mate. When you're used to sleeping with someone, you know when you're alone.

By midnight her thoughts had turned from Rick to Gus, then to Gus's wife. It was certainly possible that something horrible had happened to her. But she couldn't dismiss another possibility. She knew the pain of almost marrying a man who didn't truly love her. She could only imagine what a woman might do after a wasted decade of living with her mistake. Sure, Andie had experienced more tha
n h
er share of lonely Saturday nights. But nothing was worse than feeling alone when you weren't.

The alarm buzzed but she woke unrested, unable to distinguish her dreams from the things she had lain awake worrying about. She was dressed and ready to go by the time Tuesday's early edition of the Seattle PostIntelligencer landed on the doorstep. She stepped right over it on her way out the door, but the blazing headline practically reached out and tripped her: SERIAL KILLER LEAVES THIRD VICTIM. Beneath it in smaller typeset: May Be Killing in Pairs.

Andie tore open the paper and devoured the lead article. She finished with a two-word summary of her own, uttered aloud. "Oh, shit."

Victoria Santos was scheduled to arrive at Sea-Tac airport in thirty-five minutes, so she jumped in the car and then dialed Isaac Underwood at home on her cellular phone. She knew he was an early riser, probably staring at the paper and choking on his corn flakes right about now.

"Isaac, hey it's Andie. Seen this morning's P-I yet?"

"Just did. Not one of your better moves, Andie."

"Isaac, I swear. I don't know how it hit the papers. All that stuff about bookends--I just came up with that last night. I haven't told anyone but Kessler. I would never leak without prior approval from a supervisor."

"I believe you. The problem is, it looks like you did an end run on an ISU profiler. That isn't going to sit well with Victoria Santos. Yesterday she had a clean slate. Now you've got her boxed inside a theory she may think is silly."

"What should I do?"

"First, don't freak. Second, check the mirror every now and then. If you find your face turning blue, remind yourself: breathe."

"I'm serious. I'm meeting Santos in less than an hour." "You want me to talk to her?"

"No. It's my mess. I'll fix it."

"That's what I thought you'd say. I know you're short on time, but it would help if you could get a handle on how this leaked."

"I'll call Kessler."

"Good. But be careful with him."

"How do you mean?"

"I get along fine with him, but not everybody does. Back in my days with the department, people used to say he's perfectly balanced. Got a chip on both shoulders."

"Now you tell me."

"Hey, if anybody can dust off his shoulders, it's you."

"Thanks, boss," she said, then hung up. Morning traffic on the interstate was getting heavier by the minute. With one eye on the road, she dug Kessler's business card out of her purse and dialed him at home. His wife answered and said he was in the shower.

"Can you get him, please? This is extremely important."

Andie cut off a van as she veered toward the airport exit. Finally, Kessler came to the phone. "He-low," he said, a bit like a bumpkin.

"Dick, I don't mean to level any accusations, but how did the sum and substance of our conversation last night in the autopsy room make it into this morning's newspaper?"

"I called them."

"Without telling me?"

"I'm a firm believer in using the media to help solve crimes. Victoria Santos is, too. I've heard her lectures."

"I don't argue with the concept," said Andie. "But floating an untested theory might just put ideas in some whacko's head and make it come true. Hell, even you didn't buy the theory when I first suggested it."

"The more I thought about it, the more sense it made." "We should have at least run it by Agent Santos."

"It's too damn late for that now. FBI politics is you
r p
roblem, not mine."

"That's true," said Andie. "I was just hoping we all could get off to a little better start than this."

"Should have thought of that before you started making smartass remarks about who does the grocery shopping in my family."

"Come on, Dick. Let's not get petty, all right?"

"I'm not being petty. I'm actually doing you a favor.

This press leak gives you the perfect opportunity to fin
d o
ut right from the get-go whether the rumors are true." "What rumors?"

"From what I hear, Santos has one trait that overshadows even her brilliance."

"Her patience?" Andie said hopefully.

"Her ego. Best of luck, kid. Call me when her royal majesty is ready to meet."

Andie tossed the phone onto the passenger seat and checked herself in the rearview mirror. "Breathe," she said as she approached the airport.

Chapter
Eight.

Morgan was dressed in her plaid jumper and knee socks, ready for school, asleep on the couch in Gus's office. Gus had gotten her up much earlier than usual, dressed her in her elementary school uniform, and taken her to work with him. She'd been out cold since they'd arrived downtown more than two hours ago, before dawn. He'd managed not to wake her as he held her in the elevator and carried her to the couch. She didn't have to be at school till nine, but he had to be at the office before seven. He arrived on time, sleepy kid in tow.

At eight-fifteen the eyes blinked open, and she began to stir. Gus looked up from the paperwork spread across his desk. He had never watched Morgan wake before, at least not the whole adorable process. It was such a contrast to the adult world of buzzing jolts from alarm clocks. He thought of those time-released films of flowers in bloom. She yawned like a bear cub shaking off hibernation, fending off the sunlight streaming through the east window of the big corner office.

She slid off the couch and went straight to the window, struck by the view from the forty-ninth floor. "Wow. This is like the Space Needle."

Her nose was pressed against the glass as she gazed toward snow-capped Mt. Rainier. Gus smiled wanly, the
n s
hrank inside. Six years old, and Morgan had never been to her father's office.

"No wonder you live here." The window fogged as she spoke into it.

"This is just an office, sweetheart. Daddy doesn't live here."

"Mommy says you do."

The words cut to the core. No point debating it.

Morgan stepped away from the window. The colorful collection of carved wooden horses on the end table had caught her attention. She took one. Gus jumped up before she could grab the others. "Those aren't toys, honey."

"They look like toys."

"That's because they were, once. But now they're antiques. Expensive antiques." He took the carved thoroughbred and put it back on the table by the others.

"Are you going to take me to school today?"

"Sort of."

A young man appeared in the open doorway. "Ready, Mr. Wheatley?"

Morgan glanced up, as if to ask, "Who's that?"

Gus got down on one knee so they could speak eye to eye. "Morgan, this is Jeremy. He's very nice. He works in the mail room. He's going to take Daddy's car and drive you to school."

"Why don't you take me?"

"I can't. Not today."

"Why can't Mommy take me?"

"It's like I said last night. Mommy is taking some time away."

She frowned. "Will she pick me up?"

"I don't know. We'll see.'

Morgan lowered her head in silence. Gus wasn't sure if he should say something, maybe give her a hug. He rose and gave Jeremy the car keys. "She goes to Bertschi."

"To what?"

Jeremy wasn't the kind of kid who'd know the way to a grade school with a five-figure annual tuition. Gus quickly sketched a map on his legal pad. "It's on Tenth Avenue. Easy to find. Drive carefully. And be sure she rides in the backseat."

"No problem."

Morgan was still visibly upset. With one finger Gus lifted her chin from her chest. "Hey, no long faces, okay? I promise, if your mother doesn't pick you up this afternoon, I'll pick you up myself. Is that a deal?"

She clutched her nylon book bag, saying nothing.

He gave her a kiss on the cheek. "Can Daddy have a hug?"

Her arms never left her side. He hugged her anyway, but she didn't hug back. He rose, somewhat embarrassed in front of Jeremy. "You better get going. She has to be there by nine."

Jeremy guided Morgan to the door. Gus watched as they passed the secretarial pod outside his office and started down the hall. Instinct told him to act normal around Morgan until he heard from the police, not to say anything that might scare her. Problem was, he had very little sense of what was "normal" between him and Morgan.

He closed the door and started back toward his desk. He stopped in mid-step. The end table caught his attention, his collection of antique horses. One of them was missing. The one Morgan had been playing with.

He checked first under the table. Nothing. He searched the couch where she'd been sitting, shoving his hand between all the seat cushions. A couple of pens emerged, a lost nickel. But no carved horse.

He glanced out the window, focusing on the waist-high palm prints Morgan had left on the glass. An unsettling feeling slowly washed over him, but the conclusion was inescapable.

His own daughter had just shoplifted.

Andie entered the main terminal through the American Airlines entrance. The sun had yet to rise, but the airport was bustling. The hour before dawn was like yin and yang at SEA-TAC. Half the people were full of energy, hurrying toward flights that marked the start of their day. The other half were like zombies, arriving from some faraway place after a long night of travel. Andie was somewhere between the extremes, excited about her new assignment yet sickened by the shaky start. She hadn't decided exactly what to tell Victoria Santos about the press leak, but she had to think of something fast. Throughout the terminal, it seemed like every fifty feet there was another newsstand blasting the premature headlines about a serial killer. She tucked a copy of the Seattle Post-Intelligencer under her arm and moved with the crowd toward the baggage carousels.

At the turnstile she stopped short. Just ahead was Victoria Santos.

She was dressed comfortably for the long flight, slacks and a sweater, but Andie recognized her instantly. Santos was a bit of an FBI legend, especially among female agents. Years ago she had made a name for herself with the Child Abduction and Serial Killer Unit. It was her profiling and hard work that had cracked the famous "tongue murder" case, a nationwide string of bizarre murders that were connected only by the killer's gruesome signature--the extraction of each victim's tongue. It was the first of many success stories. She was well established as a supervisory special agent by the time Andie had met her for the first and only time, at a training course Santos taught at the academy.