“He taught there four times,” she added, “and Perry signed up for all the classes. He’s a chameleon. Perry. He acclimates. He’s acclimating in prison, doing his time, keeping his head down. Cooperating. So he becomes, in a way, ordinary again.”
“And they don’t pay as much attention?” Simon shrugged. “Maybe.”
“He’s a student of observation. It’s how he picked his victims, and how he blended so well for so long. He probably stalked and discarded dozens of women before the ones he abducted. Watching them, judging their behavior, their personality type.”
“Moving on if they didn’t fit his needs well enough.”
“That, and calculating the risk factors. Maybe this one’s too passive, and not enough of a challenge, or this one’s too chaotic and difficult to pin down.”
She rubbed her hand between her breasts, on her thigh—couldn’t keep it still. “He knows what to look for in people. It’s how he killed so many, how he traveled and engaged others so easily. I understand that. I can usually tell if a dog will respond to advanced training, if the dog and the handler will forge a team. Or if they’re better off strictly as the family pet. You can see the potential if you know where and how to look—and you can begin molding that potential. Perry knows where and how to look.”
Maybe she just needed to believe it, Simon thought, but she was damn convincing. “So you think Perry saw, we’ll say, potential, in this guy?”
“It could be it. It could be this Eckle approached Perry. Nobody’s really above flattery when it comes to their work. And killing was Perry’s work. But if either of those happened, if these two made that connection, Perry would know how to begin the mold. And, Simon, I think—if this is how it went—that the payment for that training, that molding, is me.”
She looked back at the photo. “He’d kill me to repay Perry for recognizing and grooming his potential.”
Perry’s dog, Simon concluded, who’d want to please his handler. “Perry’s never going to collect on that IOU.”
“He should’ve come for me first. They both made a mistake there. I was relaxed. I felt safe, and would’ve been an easier target at that point. Instead, they wanted me to live with the fear. That was stupid.”
He saw it happen, saw the nerves funnel into a steady anger and steely confidence.
“I’ve lived with fear before, and I’m older and smarter and stronger than I was then. Knowing I’m not invincible and that terrible things happen, that’s an advantage. And I have you. I have them.”
She looked over as the dogs played a kind of tag-team tug-of-war with the battered rope.
“You’re older and smarter and stronger—good for you. But if he tries to put a hand on you, I’ll break him to pieces.” When she turned her head and stared, he met her eyes with a blink. “I don’t say what I don’t mean.”
“No, I know you don’t. It’s a reassuring, if occasionally frustrating, behavior. It helps hearing you say it, and knowing you mean it. And I’m really hoping you don’t have to follow through. They have his face now, and his name. I’m going to believe that before much longer, they’ll have him.”
She let out a breath, tipped her head to his shoulder for a moment. “I have to get ready for my next session. Actually, you might want to keep Jaws in the shop with you for the next hour or so.”
“Because?”
“He’s not as mature or calm as my boys, and I’m doing a one-on-one behavioral correction session with a rottweiler with aggression issues.”
“A rottweiler with aggression issues? Where’s your body armor?”
“He’s coming along. We’ve had a couple sessions already, and he’s making good progress. Normally I’d go to the source on this sort of thing, but under the circumstances, I asked the client to bring Hulk here.”
“Hulk. Perfect. Are you carrying your gun?”
“Stop it. This is what I do,” she reminded him. “Or one of the things I do.”
“If you get bit, it’s going to piss me off. Hang on a minute.”
He got up, walked inside. She considered if they kept going down the path they were on now, he’d probably get pissed eventually. She’d rarely been nipped, but it did happen once in a while.
He came out with a box. “Those slats you wanted.”
“Oh, great. Thanks.”
She came through the session unscathed and decided to busy herself in the kitchen for the next hour. And since she had a chunk of time on her hands and was—more or less—confined to quarters, she thought she might make use of what could very loosely be termed Simon’s home gym once she’d finished up her kitchen project.
Dogs weren’t the only ones who needed to keep up with their training. Pleased with her first project, she emptied one of the kitchen drawers, scrubbed it, measured and cut the liner she’d asked Sylvia to pick up for her. Using the pattern she’d outlined in her head, she slid in the wood dividers—and deemed them perfect.
She’d nearly completed the third drawer when the phone rang. Her mind on organization, she answered it without thinking.
“Hello.”
“Oh, I must have the wrong... I’m looking for Simon.”
Fiona laid spatulas, slotted spoons, serving forks in their allotted space. “He’s here, but he’s out in the shop. I can go get him for you.”
“No, no, that’s fine. He’s probably got the music blasting and machines running. That’s why he didn’t answer his cell. Who’s this?”
“Ah, Fiona. Who’s this?”
“Julie, Julie Doyle. I’m Simon’s mother.”
“Mrs. Doyle.” Wincing a little, Fiona closed the drawer. “I know Simon would want to talk to you. It’ll just take me a minute to—”
“I’d much rather talk to you—if you’re the Fiona Simon’s told me about.”
“He... really?”
“He may not say much, but I have years of experience prying things out of him. You’re a dog trainer.”
“Yes.”
“And how’s that puppy doing?”
“Jaws is great. I hope your years of experience helped you pry out of Simon that he’s madly in love with that dog. They’re a great team.”
“You do Search and Rescue. Simon mentioned to his brother you’re training the pup for that.”
“He mentioned to his brother?”
“Oh, we e-mail a lot, all of us. But I need a phone conversation at least once a week. The better to pry, plus I’m angling for him to come home for a visit.”
“He should.” Guilt stewed in her belly. “Of course he should.”
“And he will when everything’s back to normal. I know you’re in a hard situation. How are you doing?”
“Mrs. Doyle—”
“Julie, and why would you want to talk about all of that with a perfect stranger? Just tell me, are you staying with Simon now, at his place?”
“Yes. He’s... he’s been wonderful. Generous, supportive, understanding. Patient.”
“I think I must have the wrong number after all.”
Fiona laughed and leaned back on the counter. “He talks about you. Just little things he says once in a while. He’s madly in love with you, too.”
“The madly’s often the key word in the Doyle family.”
It was easy to chat. Relaxed, Fiona opened the drawer again and filled it systematically as she and Julie Doyle got acquainted.
When the door opened, she glanced over her shoulder. “Well, here’s Simon now, so I’ll turn you over. It was really nice talking to you.”
“We’ll do it again, soon.”
“Your mom,” Fiona mouthed and offered the phone.
“Hey.” He stared at the open drawer, shook his head.
“I’ve already spent most of the time I have talking to the delightful Fiona. I don’t have much left for you.”
