Baldwin thought it was cruel to let them have hope when the whole team knew there was none, but that wasn’t his call. This wasn’t his investigation-he and his team were simply support.
In the meantime, Sparrow was scouring property rolls and tax records, looking for anything that could be tied to Arlen or anyone close to him. So far, she’d come up with nothing. Butler was in the same boat-he hadn’t found any matching cases within a three-hundred-mile radius. Geroux was still working the other potential suspects, but they were all checking out. Arlen was their last real hope of ending this.
Baldwin was trained to get into the mind of a killer, to anticipate based on the previous kills. Arlen was so squeaky clean that another thought started to form.
Could there be two of them?
A motion caught Baldwin’s eye, chasing the vision of a team away. He watched Arlen’s hands. He was stroking his index finger with his thumb, over and over. Baldwin leaned closer to the speaker to hear better. Goldman was asking about Kaylie Fields. Arlen’s body was completely still except for that repetitive caress. It was almost as if he was fondling…Baldwin realized Arlen was mentally masturbating, using the descriptions of the missing girl as fodder for his disgusting imagination. Since he wasn’t physically capable of having sexual reactions, he was using the hand gestures as a surrogate.
“We have exactly nothing, sir.” The voice made Baldwin jump.
He gave Butler a sheepish grin. “You startled me.”
“Sorry, boss. I’ll give you more warning next time.”
Butler was small, only about five foot seven, lithe and wiry. He had a very slight British accent, a leftover vestige of two years in England when he was a child. He didn’t have the usual look for the Bureau-sandy-blond hair a little long, covering a piercing in the upper left flange of his ear, jeans instead of a suit. Baldwin didn’t care what he looked like-the man was a genius with forensics.
“You were saying?”
“The Fairfax County crime-scene techs got nothing. Not a single hair, a minuscule fiber, a shred of mitochondria. Nothing. His house was completely clean. There is no evidence at all to support the theory that any of the girls were kept there. And now the power is out in his neighborhood, so they had to wrap it up. The storm is really bad. Over an inch of rain so far.”
Yes, he’d heard the wind whipping trees against the bricks, saw the torrential downpours. All he could think about was Kaylie, alone in the vicious rain. Baldwin turned back to the window. He’d missed the last exchange. Goldman was flushed with anger, Arlen grinning slightly. Oh, no. What had just happened?
Goldman came bustling out the interrogation room door.
“Fucking squirrel lawyered up.”
“Now?” Baldwin asked. “It’s been hours. Why now? What did you ask him last?”
“I asked about Evie Kilmeade. He shut down like a freight train ran him over. Smiled that creepy-ass smile and said ‘lawyer.’”
Baldwin looked back through the glass. Arlen had resumed his finger sex, eyes closed, a small smile on his lips. Why now? After hours of being interviewed, after all the games, the denials, why did the name Evie Kilmeade make him put the lid down?
Because he was playing them. And he was doing a damn good job of it.
Forty-One
Nashville 2:30 p.m.
T aylor and McKenzie rolled up to Fane Atilio’s address. Bob Parks was behind them, and another patrol car was on its way. Taylor didn’t anticipate trouble from a fifteen-year-old girl, but if her boyfriend was around… She had to wonder, who was she relying on now? Ariadne’s impression of a couple of teenagers at a rave? Or her own gut, which told her there was more to come?
So far all the kids she’d talked to in this case fell along the clique lines-the good kids, the athletes and high achievers-were pleasant, easy to deal with, cooperative. Probably lying through their teeth to save their own asses, but at least they were respectful about it. The bad seeds were living up to their reputation as well-Juri and Susan were nasty, ill-tempered children.
The exception to all of them was Theo Howell. The clean-cut kid, holding his friends’ drugs to keep them safe. He was due into their offices at noon today. McKenzie told her Theo’s parents were back in the country, would be accompanying their son. She wondered what he was hiding. Self-preservation taken into account, he’d been a little too forthcoming. Was he truly the good kid as he depicted himself, or was there a dark side, a silent specter of the truth waiting to come out?
She pushed it all away. The Atilio house looked deserted. A two-story, it was tan brick with powder-blue shutters, a terrible combination. Taylor stepped out of the car, stared up at the windows. Was this it, then? Would this girl be the key?
She went up the five stairs that led to the front door. She rang the bell, then stepped to the side. At her signal McKenzie and Parks took up positions to her right and left.
She could hear footsteps. She touched her Glock briefly, unlatching the snap so she could unsheathe it from its holster quickly if needed. The door swung open. A sultry voice rang out.
“Silly, why didn’t you use your key?”
Taylor stepped into line of sight to the door. A young girl stood there, mussed, hair askew, half-dressed in a bustier and skirt. Long black hair. Green eyes. Their girl.
“Who are you?” she asked with such a note of horror Taylor nearly laughed out loud. She bit her lip and said, “Fane Atilio?”
The girl straightened-she was eye to eye with Taylor.
“Who’s asking?”
“Lieutenant Jackson, Metro Homicide. I-”
She didn’t get to finish. The girl started to slam the door, face full of panic.
Taylor got the toe of her boot into the crack just in time, but paid the price. She’d have a bruise for a month on the arch of her foot after that.
“Ouch!” she shouted, shouldering the door open. “Stop right there, Fane.”
Not surprisingly, the girl didn’t listen. She bolted up the stairs, her long legs moving gracefully. Taylor took off after her, heard a door slam.
She made it to the top of the stairs just in time to see the wood still quivering. She tried the knob, it was locked.
“Come out of your room, Fane. Right now. Unlock this door,” Taylor yelled.
There was no sound from within. Parks and McKenzie had caught up to her now. Parks whispered, “We’re clear.”
Taylor nodded, then said, “Fane, I’ll force it if you don’t open the door. You have three seconds. Three, two, one.”
Nothing. Taylor stepped back, kicked the door open. It swung back and smashed into the wall, rebounding nearly closed again. Taylor pushed it open with her left hand, Glock pointing into the room.
Fane Atilio was trying to go out the window, one leg over the sill and an arm in a tree outside, calculating the drop. Taylor holstered her weapon, crossed the room in three strides and grabbed the girl by the wrist.
“Stop that. Get back in here right now.” She half dragged the girl away from the window. Though thin, she was still heavy. She collapsed onto the floor and refused to look up, a low, keening moan escaping her lips. Taylor nudged her with the toe of her boot.
“Get some clothes on. We need to talk.”
“I have nothing to say to you,” Fane said. She looked up at Taylor, eyes haughty behind their makeup.
“Oh, really? Well, just you wait and see, little girl. Because I think you have more to tell me than you can possibly imagine.”
