'I can't get in touch with Jim.'
'He could still be okay. That doesn't-' She broke off, her gaze scanning the report. 'Joe Quinn is a lieutenant with ATLPD. Lots of commendations, formerly with the SEALs and FBI. There's a photo.'
He glanced at the picture. Quinn appeared to be in his late thirties, brown hair, square face, broad mouth, and wide-set brown eyes.
Annie went on, 'He went to Harvard and is supposed to be very, very smart. He lives in a lake cottage outside Atlanta with an Eve Duncan.'
He punched the elevator button. 'Tell me about Eve Duncan. Is there anything on her?'
Annie nodded. 'Yeah, evidently they've worked together on several cases. She's a forensic sculptor, one of the best in the world, and does work for police departments all over the country. Several years ago her daughter, Bonnie, disappeared and was presumed killed by a serial killer who was later executed. Her body was never recovered and later it was suspected that the man who was executed for her death was innocent of that particular killing. Though he was guilty of several more child murders. Eve Duncan went back to school to study forensic sculpting and has been searching for the killer and the remains of her murdered daughter ever since. Joe Quinn has taken several leaves of absences from the department over the years to investigate possible suspects.'
'Like Kistle,' Dodsworth said grimly. 'And this time he may have hit the jackpot.' He was going down the steps toward the patrol car parked in front of the building. 'Why the hell couldn't he have stayed out of our town?' He jumped into the car. 'If Torrance calls back, cover my ass, Annie.'
She frowned. 'What's happening, Charlie? Where are you going? It must be pretty serious if you're willing to risk your job like this.'
He backed out of the parking spot. 'Dead serious.'
FLASHING LIGHTS. HIGHWAY patrol cars drawn across the highway ahead.
Roadblock.
This was farm country and a roadblock was big stuff, Kistle thought. Those cops weren't going to be checking for seat belt violations.
He stomped on the brake, made a U-turn, and pressed the accelerator to the floor.
He could hear the sirens behind him.
He should have had more time. He'd hidden the sheriff's body and he should have had a chance to get out of the county before the police were able to martial their forces.
Eve Duncan had done this.
He knew he'd shaken and sickened her, but she must have rallied quickly, to get this fast a response. He felt a thrill of excitement as he went around a curve in the road. He could feel the blood pumping in his veins. He hadn't been this close to capture in a long time. He'd forgotten the adrenaline rush, the feeling of being alive. These days it usually came only with the kill.
They were getting close.
But according to his GPS there was a forest up ahead. Clayborne Forest.
He put on more speed and skidded around the next turn. Then he turned off his lights, left the road, and drove into the woods, bumping along on the rutted ground, branches swatting the windshield of his car.
The two highway patrol cars raced past him and around the curve, sirens blaring.
But they'd be back.
This car was a handicap now. He'd have to abandon it and go it on foot. He grabbed his duffel, rifle, and memory box and jumped out of the car.
No one would be able to catch him once he took to the woods. As a kid, he had spent all his free hours in the forest near his home. Later, in the Army, his skills had been honed to supreme sharpness. None of these country bumpkins could touch him, much less catch him.
If they got close, he'd just take them out one by one.
He splashed through a stream. He was acutely aware of the power of his muscles, the wind in his face. He was beginning to feel a sense of primitive joy. They thought him prey, but he was really the hunter. As a child, he'd seen a movie about a werewolf and in the forest he'd always pretended to be that monstrous, lethal entity. Now that he was grown he'd gone far beyond those fantasies and become far more deadly.
No one could catch him.
No silver bullet could kill him.
Hurry. Put distance between himself and the car. The first patrolmen after him would probably be novice trackers, but they'd pull in more experienced woodsmen if they didn't catch him. He had to have time to mask his signs.
These stupid cops won't catch me, Eve. I told you I'd get away from them.
He could feel again that surge of excitement.
Eve Duncan. Eve Duncan. Eve Duncan.
The name repeated in his mind like a mantra, he could hear the rhythm of it in his heartbeat as he ran.
Are you thinking about me, Eve? You shouldn't have done this to me, you know. You'll have to be punished.
The thought brought a swelling wave of pleasure. There were so many ways she could be hurt. He had hurt her tonight, but she had bounced back immediately. It would take time and study to find a way to bring her to her knees. But he didn't want to wait that time. He wanted that exquisite satisfaction now.
So what do I know about you, Eve Duncan?
You're a tough bitch who grew up in Atlanta's slums. Let's see, you're illegitimate and so was your Bonnie. Then when she was born, you turned your life around. You finished school and went on to college. What a sparkling example for those other street kids. But all that drive didn't help you, did it? Your Bonnie died and you couldn't do anything about it. Take away a child and the world stops turning, and the one who takes her away is all-powerful. It's the ultimate way to play God. You were helpless. And you're helpless now, but you don't know it.
But you'll know it soon.
TWO
'KEEP BEHIND THE YELLOW tape,' the policeman said roughly. 'If you're that curious about forensic procedures, watch
'I'm sorry, sir,' Miguel Vicente said sympathetically. 'I heard the victim was a sheriff? One of your own. I can understand how you'd be upset. I was in the military and the bond is much the same.'
'You don't look old enough to have been in the military. You can't be more than nineteen or twenty.' The officer's gaze traveled over Miguel's slender body and lingered on his thickly bandaged hands. 'Iraq?'
'Not all wars are in Iraq. But I've had friends die fighting beside me. I know how you must feel.'
'Jim Jedroth was a damn fine officer and a great guy. We'll get the pervert who killed him. We're hunting the woods for him now.' He turned and walked back toward the forensic team, who were making a chalk mark around the body. 'Stay behind that tape, kid.'
'Yes, sir. Whatever you say.' Miguel pushed his way back through the crowd cordoned off from the crime scene. He didn't pull out his phone until he was on his way to his rental car parked down the street. He slowly dialed Montalvo's number, wincing with pain as he tried to make his fingers work. 'We're too late, Colonel,' he told Montalvo when he picked up the phone. 'I think Kistle's on the run.'
Montalvo muttered a curse. 'You're sure?'
'There's a dead sheriff outside Kistle's flat and a deputy who's swearing vengeance on the pervert who killed him. He said they were hunting the woods for him now. I'd say that was a pretty good indication. I'll find out more, but I thought you'd want a report.'
'Dammit, I thought we'd be able to rope Kistle in and hand him to Eve on a plate. We were so close.'
'Evidently so were the local police. He must have been under suspicion.'
'Why? Kistle is smart as hell. I'd bet they were alerted to watch him.'
'Joe Quinn?'
'Probably. We knew he was doing his own investigation. I just didn't think he'd get there before we did.'
