and that FBI operatives were busting in on the monster at this very moment.
She'd gotten the killer to speak to her; small comfort, but it was something. Warren's vigilant men must have gotten the killer's voice on tape, which meant a voice-print-surefire evidence against him once they apprehended the creep. Too late for poor, defenseless Mel. She was obviously gone now, the way of Chris Lorentian.
'God,' she wondered aloud, 'could he be in the hotel again?' Could he have remained that cool, to stay that close to her and the scene of his crime, she wondered, knowing that criminals, more often than not, enjoyed revisiting the scene of the crime in an effort to relive the moment of their having been in complete control of the murder victim's life, to feel again that sense of power over another life.
She instantly and instinctively reached for her Browning automatic, a gun that had saved her life on more than one occasion. A million questions positioned themselves all in a row for her consideration, but all of the little soldiers were tripping over one another as in a Laurel and Hardy movie, causing a havoc of confusion and wonder. But uppermost and clear in her mind was one question: What was his reasoning? Did he believe that he would eventually do her in the fashion of his other victims? Did this bastard believe himself born of fire, that he would die by fire, and did he want her in that fire with him? Why had he singled her out for his sick game of flesh-burning murder? Why was he so bent on torturing her through vividly displaying the torment he inflicted on his victims? And again she wondered, how close was he to her at this moment?
She wanted to yank the receiver up again, call the desk to determine the origin of the call, but she couldn't. She was expecting another phone call any moment from Harry Furth, the genius who put the tap on her phone, but she hadn't seen him actually get the job done, and she hadn't gotten back to Warren's Las Vegas FBI branch to find out for certain. She cursed the possibility that once again she might be the only one privy to the killer's chilling audio setup. She hadn't been 100 percent happy with the idea of people listening in on her phone calls, but for the sake of narrowing down the facts about their Phantom Killer, she had little choice in the matter.
The phone rang.
Could it be the monster returned? She hesitated until it rang three times.
Finally, she lifted the receiver, saying nothing.
'We got the asshole. We got 'im.'
'And this is?'
'Agent Harry Furth.' Harry Furth's thick voice sounded a direct opposite of the killer's hollow tone.
'Where? Where is he?'
'Page.'
'Page what?'
'Arizona.'
'Arizona? Page?'
'Lake Powell.'
'Lake Powell?'
'Page, Arizona.'
'But… isn't that… hundreds of miles away?'
'I don't need a geography lesson, Doctor.' Harry sounded tired, brittle. No doubt like herself, feeling helpless as he listened in on this brutality he could not stop. 'But it's not really so far. It's near Bryce Canyon and Zion National Park, actually closer to Monument Valley. By air, you can be there in under a couple of hours.'
'We got anybody there, on it, now?' she wanted to know.
'We've got local law enforcement on it. They're crashin' the place as we speak. Keep your fingers crossed.'
'Where… I mean, exactly how far is this place from here?'
'A day's drive. Not far. Happened at the Wahweap Lodge and Marina, on Lake Powell. Great place to vacation.'
'Not so for Mel Martin, obviously…'
She was relieved in one sense that this cruel, sadistic monster was not in the building, that he was not as close to her as he'd been only the night before, but she was disappointed he'd not remained in the city, that he was expanding the geography of his kill spree, in a sense creating a larger radius for them to cover. Was it part of his plan? Usually, the Behavioral Science Unit of the FBI must work diligently to narrow the geography of the crimes to a specific location, to hone in on the killer, often doing so well as to locate the street on which the killer lived. Usually, the killer lived and worked and killed within a relatively confined area, close to home and to places he felt familiar and comfortable with. The crime geography remained fairly constant with most serial killers-save the Henry Lee cross-country types-even if the killer happened to be mobile, but this pyromaniac killer had jumped to another square quite quickly and unexpectedly, enlarging the geography overnight.' It made her wonder where next he might strike. No one could possibly know using the normal techniques. Not with this guy any more than they'd been able to use normal procedure in the apprehension of the Night Crawler in the Caribbean the year before.
She considered her options. Stay put; return to Quantico; go to the second fire death scene. 'I'm getting dressed, Harry. I want to get out there to Lake Powell.'
'Whoa, wait up there, Doctor. You need to stay next to this phone, where he can reach you. We need as much tape on this creep as possible, need to study the tape in depth, and we need to get a fix on him next time. Somehow you have to keep him on the line longer.'
'That's ridiculous. He's not on the line with me, his victims are! How do I keep the victim alive and on the phone longer, long distance, when this mother's in control of her and me and the time clock?'
'I don't know, but the phone line's our only link to this crazoid.'
'Harry, if you want someone to man this phone, then get someone, but I won't be a prisoner to this madman, and I don't intend staying in the Flamingo another night. Do you understand?'
'But Dr. Coran-'
'No, no argument.'
'All right… all right. We'll get an actress to play you, a decoy.'
'Now, that makes a great deal more sense, Harry. My time's worth more than that of an actress.'
'Guess you ain't heard the latest contract Julia Roberts signed with Disney.'
She only snorted her reply. 'Hmmmph.'
'Meantime, we'll get a voiceprint made. This time the guy screwed up big time. We got 'im on tape, and we got 'im spoutin' off in the background, but the scatter needs cleaning up. I can do that, but it'll take twenty, maybe thirty hours, depending.'
'Do it, and let me hear of the results. As for now, can you get me to Lake Powell, to this Wahweap Lodge?'
'I'll get a chopper prepared out at the airport; go to Hangar Twenty-four. They'll be expecting you.'
'John Thorpe may be accompanying me.'
'Gotcha, and I'll let the guys in Arizona know what's going on soon as I hear back from them.'
'Do you think they might've gotten in there on time?'
'Doubt it. There was only a small window, a few minutes watching her burn, and he may've gotten out before the fumes got to him, which doesn't leave our guys much time to converge.'
'Then you heard the entire conversation?'
'Every word, Doctor. Made no sense. Guy's completely nuts. I don't know how you held it together as well as you did, but you did, and you got a hell of a heart-gumption, my pappy used to call it.'
She didn't feel like she had any gumption, or that she'd held anything together. Still, she replied, 'Thanks, Harry. Tell 'em at Powell to not disturb the body or the crime scene. Understood?'
'Will do.'
'Will I see you at the airport?'
'No, I want to get right on this tape. See what comes of it. Maybe later, I'll see you in Page, you know, when I've got something.'
'Damned glad you got in here and set up the tap when you did, else we'd have nothing.'
'Couldn't do otherwise. My boss was roasting my chops to get this set up. He seems to think you're pretty special… priority one, Dr. Coran.'
She smiled at this. 'Tell Bishop thanks for me. And Harry, I've jotted down a couple of things the killer said that may be especially relevant to our narrowing this mystery man down. I want you to tell Bishop these could be
