“Then suppose you give me a cup of coffee. Then we’ll get down to going over those reports.”
“I’ll give you the coffee.” She went to the cabinet and got down a tin of coffee. “But I’m going to ask another favor. Would you leave me and let me look through these reports by myself tonight?”
“Why?”
“Because I can concentrate better if-” She shook her head as she put on the coffee. “No, I won’t lie and protect myself. You were right when you said that I’d be upset when I read about these kids. I can be tough about some things, but not about children. After I get through the reports once, I think that I’ll be okay.” She smiled with an effort. “I guess I don’t want you to see how weak I can be.”
“Then by all means read them by yourself. I’m just a guy, and I have trouble coping with tears. I’ll come back in the morning, and we’ll talk.”
“That would be good.” She glanced at the files. “There seem to be quite a few. I didn’t realize that there were that many cases.” She frowned. “I thought I read… six? And that included the little boy they found in the grave by the freeway.”
“That was all the ATLPD and the media had on their list. But they were all local and within the last five years. They checked nearby cities and came up with nothing. But I found cases in more distant cities in Georgia and Tennessee that I thought were worth looking at. And I dug down another ten years. I ran across a story about the body of a child found in a swamp near the Florida border twelve years ago.”
“Fifteen years. You think he’s been killing that long?”
“Or longer. It might not be the same man, but it could be. Serial killers like what they do. They tend to make it a life’s vocation.” He took the coffee she handed him. “You’ll find enough there to keep you busy tonight. There are eight or nine that I thought close enough to run a comparison.”
“And only two bodies found?” She shivered. “Those poor parents. In agony all these years, not knowing…”
“After a certain amount of time passes, just the lack of knowledge is a sort of proof that the child is never coming home. That must be a kind of comfort.”
“The hell it is. There’s nothing worse than a child who’s lost or thrown away like some piece of garbage. A child has value, she should be cared for and brought in from every storm.” Her voice shook with passion. “Dead or alive, I’d have to bring my child home.”
“Then maybe we can help some of those parents in the reports.” He poured her a cup of coffee. “But you need to calm down and get a breath of air before you start. Walk me to the porch.”
She took the cup and followed him out onto the porch. “I get too… upset. I didn’t used to be like this. You’re being very patient with me.” She leaned against the porch rail and lifted her gaze to the night sky. “Everything reminds me of her. We’d sit here on the steps and look up at the stars and I’d tell her stories about all the constellations and we’d try to identify the Big Dipper and Orion and…” She took a sip of coffee. “Sorry. I’ll shut up.”
“Not for me. She’s part of you. And memories can save, not destroy, if you accept them.”
“Can they? I only know I wouldn’t give up a single memory of her no matter how much it hurt.” She added, “My mother doesn’t feel that way. She loves Bonnie, but she’s trying to block the thought of her. I guess everyone handles grief differently.”
“I haven’t seen your mother the last two times I’ve been here. Is she still staying in her room?”
Eve shook her head. “She’s been going to church. She was never religious, but a local pastor came to visit and invited her to come to services. I think the congregation has taken her on as a project. They keep her busy. That’s fine, Sandra needs people. It may keep her off the drugs. She quit when Bonnie was born, but this is a dangerous time for her.”
“What about you? She’s the only family you have. She should stay with you and give-”
“Stop being so protective.” She smiled and finished her coffee. “The last thing I need is Sandra hovering over me. We’re both surviving in the best way we can. She has her congregation, and I have Joe Quinn.” She took Joe’s empty cup and turned toward the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Joe. It’s time I got to work.”
“Good night. Lock your door.”
“Why? I’m not worried about being in any kind of danger.”
“I know. But I’m worried for you. It’s a violent world. Lock your door.”
“Whatever.”
He watched her as she entered the house and waited until he heard the click of the lock.
No, she wasn’t worried. She couldn’t care less about her own physical safety. It had no meaning for her in comparison to her loss of her child. He realized that he was the one who was going to have to care for her.
Another duty for him to assume in the emotional storm that had come to him.
Protecting Eve.
Watching over Eve.
Loving Eve.
That word was coming easier to him now. He was beginning to understand the elements that comprised it. Perhaps the fact that he had to block sexual desire made him more aware of what else he was feeling.
But it also made him aware that the storm of feeling was growing stronger. He was no longer rejecting it. He wanted to go back inside the house and stay with her, be with her…
Tomorrow.
He turned and went down the porch steps and strode toward his car.
“COME IN,” EVE CALLED, when Joe rang the bell the next afternoon. She looked up impatiently from the papers she was working on as he opened the door. “For heaven’s sake, why are you still acting like a visitor? Just walk in.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. Have you gone to bed yet?”
“For a couple hours. I had to get away from them.” She grimaced. “But they followed me. I decided I’d rather deal with them than dream about them. There’s coffee on the stove.”
“Have you had any?”
“Too much.” She nodded at the two piles of files that were in front of her. “I’ve divided the children into two categories. Male and female. Whoever took these children obviously preferred girls. There are nine cases here, and six of them were girls. But evidently he doesn’t entirely rule out little boys.” She leaned back in the straight chair. “I had questions. I wanted you here.”
“I wanted to be here.” He poured a glass of orange juice and brought it to her. “What questions?”
“You know about profiling and all that stuff. You were studying records of sexual molesters.” She moistened her lips. “Are these killings all about sex? Is that why he likes little girls? Does he rape them?”
“Probably.” He looked away as she flinched. “But it’s not about the sexual act as much as it is about power. Most serial killers are addicted to power. Sexual domination is a form of power. Perhaps little boys don’t give him the same rush as little girls.” He sat down across from her. Look at her. Ignore the fact that every word was hurting her. “Perhaps that’s why he butchered that little boy so terribly. He was angry with him for not being what he wanted him to be. But we can’t be sure because we’ve never found any of the little girls’ bodies.” He stared her in the eyes. “Any more questions?”
“Not for the moment.” She swallowed hard. “But thank you for not trying to sugarcoat your answer. I had to know. Then it’s all about power?”
“And ego. If a killer has murdered successfully for a long time, then he begins to think he’s impervious to capture. He usually develops a pattern according to how often he needs his fix.”
“Fix,” she repeated. “It’s truly an addiction?”
He nodded. “And he’ll be as reckless as a heroin addict to get what he needs. More, because he believes no one can touch him.”
“A pattern.” She looked down at the sheet of paper in front of her. “The dates of the disappearances of the first three girls are approximately five months apart. Janey Bristol, six years, disappeared from Dunwoody three years ago on August 10. Linda Cantrell, eight years, was reported missing on January 30 from her home in Marietta. Natalie Kirk got off the bus but never made it home on June 5.” She glanced up. “But the other disappearances were less predictable. The next disappearance didn’t happen for another eighteen months. And the next two followed
