Quentin just a short time ago.'
'Interesting. He's the one your father told you tried to kill him? That he was nuts?'
'Yes. My father told me that was why Belinda shouldn't have kids. She had too many crazy genes in her. My father also told me that Belinda was already well on her way to being as nuts as her father. I think I'll call the shrinks at San Quentin and see what they have to say about it.'
He rose. 'Go ahead and call San Quentin, that's a good idea. You want to ride downtown with me?'
Ollie greeted her with a hug and began talking immediately about a string of kidnappings and murders in Missouri. 'It's the same perps, that's pretty well established. They kidnap a rich couple's child, get a huge ransom, then kill the kid. Actually, it's likely that they kill the kid immediately, then string the parents along. There have been three of them, the most recent one in Hannibal, you know, the birthplace of Mark Twain. These folk are real monsters, Sherlock. They drown the kids in bathtubs, then after they have the ransom, they call the parents and tell them where to get their child.'
She felt rage deep inside her. She took a deep breath. After all, monsters were their business. She understood that, she accepted it, and wanted to get them put away, that or get them on death row. But children. That was more than monstrous. Once they had Marlin and Erasmus, she wanted to concentrate on the kidnappers. No, they were murderers, the kidnapping really didn't count.
She went back to her desk and booted up her computer. Dillon had put a lion on her screen, and he roared at her out of the small speakers on either side of the console. She heard two agents shouting at each other. She heard a woman laugh, saw a Coke can go flying past her desk, heard the agent shout his thanks. She heard the hum of the Xerox, someone cursing the fax machine, heard an agent speak in that deep, rich FBI voice on the phone. Everything was back to normal chaos. Only it wasn't, not for her, at least not yet.
Marlin Jones was still free. Belinda's killer, whoever that was, was still out there. She just prayed that both Marlin and Erasmus were in Ohio, with the state police getting really close. She hoped the police would just take both of them out.
She looked up to see Ollie stretching. 'Anything new on Missouri?'
Ollie shook his head. 'Nothing, nada, zippo. But you know, I got this funny feeling in my gut. I just know that we're going to get the perps. Despite MAXINE being really stumped on this one, I just know it's going to come to an end soon now.'
She sighed. 'I hope so.' But what she was thinking about was smoke and mirrors. Her life seemed filled with smoke and mirrors. Everyone looked back at her, but their faces weren't real, and she wondered if they were looking at her or at someone they thought was she. No one seemed as he really was. Except for Dillon.
'You haven't called Chico for a karate lesson,' Dillon said as he revved up the engine of his 911 just after six o'clock that evening in the parking garage.
'Tomorrow. I swear I'll call this madman of yours tomorrow.'
'You'll like Chico. He's skinny as a lizard and can take out guys twice his size. It will be good training for you.'
'Hey, can he take you out?'
'Are you crazy? Naturally not.' He gave her a fat smile. 'Chico and I respect each other.'
'You going to tromp me into the ground tonight?'
'Sure. Be my pleasure. Let's swing by your place and pack up some more things for you.' Actually, he wanted all of her things at his house. He never wanted her to move back to her town house, but he held his tongue. It was too soon.
But it was Lacey who swung by her own town house, Dillon having gotten a call on his cell phone. He dropped her off at home for her car, then headed back to headquarters. 'An hour, no longer. There's this senator who wants to stick his nose into the kidnappings in Missouri. I've got to give an update.'
'What about Ollie?'
'Maitland couldn't get hold of him. It's okay. I'll see you at the gym in an hour and a half, tops. You be careful.' He kissed her, patted her cheek, and watched her walk to her own car. He watched her lock the car doors, then wave at mm.
The night was seamless black, no stars showing, only a sliver of moon. It was cold. Lacey turned on the car heater and the radio to a country-western station. She found herself humming to 'Mama, Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up to Be Cowboys.'
She'd have to ask Dillon to sing that one to her. Her town house was dark. She frowned. She was certain she'd left on the foyer light that lit up the front-door area. Well, maybe not. It seemed as though she'd been gone for much longer than a week. She supposed she might as well rent the place out, furnished. She'd have to call some realtors to see how much would be appropriate to ask. Why had Douglas been leaning over her mother, kissing her, talking to her as if she were his lover?
She knew this was one question she'd never be able to ask her mother. And Douglas had denied it was true. She wondered if all families were as odd as hers. No, that just wasn't possible. Not all families had had a child murdered.
She wasn't humming anymore when she slid the key into the dead bolt and turned it. She was wishing she were at the gym. She wished he were throwing her to the mat when she turned the lock and pushed the front door open. She felt for the foyer light, flipped it on. Nothing happened.
No wonder. The miserable lightbulb had burned out. It had been one of those suckers guaranteed for seven years. She had replacement lightbulbs in the kitchen. She walked through the arch into the living room and found the light switch. Nothing happened.
Her breathing hitched. No, that was ridiculous. It had to be the circuit breaker and that was in the utility closet off the kitchen, with more of those seven-year-guaranteed lightbulbs. She walked slowly toward the kitchen, past the dining area, bumping into a chair she'd forgotten about, then felt the cool kitchen tile beneath her feet. She reached automatically for the light switch.
Nothing happened. Of course.
Little light slipped in through the large kitchen window. A black night; that's what it was. Seldom was it so black.
'Technology,' she said, making her way across the kitchen. 'Miserable, unreliable technology.' 'Yeah, ain't it a bitch?'
She was immobile with terror for a fraction of a second until she realized that she'd been trained not to freeze, that freezing could get you killed, and she whipped around, her fist aimed at the man's throat. But he was shorter than she was used to. Her fist glanced off his cheek. He grunted, then backhanded her, sending her against the kitchen counter. She felt pain surge through her chest. She was reaching for her SIG even as she was falling.
'Don't even think about doing something that stupid,' the man said. 'It's real dark in here for you but not for me. I've been used to the dark for a real long time. You just slide on down to the floor and don't move or else I'll just have to blow off that head of yours and all that pretty red hair will get soaked with brains.'
He kicked the SIG out of her hand. A sharp kick, a well-aimed kick, a trained kick. She still had her Lady Colt strapped to her ankle. She eased down, slowly, very slowly. A thief, a robber, maybe a rapist. At least he hadn't killed her yet.
'Boy, turn on the lights.'
In the next moment the house was flooded with light. She stared at the old man who stood a good three feet away from her, a carving knife held in his right hand. He was well dressed, shaved, clean. He was short and thin, like the knife he was holding.
He was Erasmus Jones.
The boy came into her vision. It was Martin.
They weren't in Ohio. They were both right there, in her kitchen.
34
HI, MARTY. HOW'S TRICKS?'
Dillon would miss her in another forty minutes, maybe thirty-five minutes. He'd be worried. It would be an unspecified worry, but worry he would. He might wait another five minutes, then he'd come here. She looked from father to son. She smiled, praying that only she realized it was a smile filled with unspoken terror. 'Hey, tricks is just fine, Marlin. How long have you and your dad been squatters in my house?'
