“With my back to them in the alley. Got it.”
When I was turning, I caught a blur of a face. Quinn, judging by the height. His dark clothing blended with the shadows.
Jack positioned us so we were standing side by side, partly turned toward one another, our backs to the alley as we watched the traffic.
Jack smoked while I told Quinn and Felix what had happened. To anyone driving by or watching from the opera house, I’d seem to be speaking to Jack. When I finished, Quinn let out an oath.
“So he did manage it,” Felix murmured. “We thought as much when we noticed the agents stream into the street after the show began.”
“So they’re out here?” I said, scanning the road. “They think he left.”
Jack passed me the cigarette. As I took it, I caught a glimpse of Quinn. He’d moved to the edge of the alley, still in shadow, but behind Jack now. He frowned as he watched me raise the cigarette to my lips.
“Yes, it’s a nasty habit,” I murmured. “And one I’m supposed to have quit but, sadly, I’m not above temptation.”
I smiled as I spoke, but his expression didn’t change. He watched me take a drag, then pass it back to Jack.
“Can’t spring for a fresh smoke for Dee, Jack?” he said.
Jack grunted, and my cheeks heated as I realized what Quinn had been gawking at. Not the cigarette, but the sharing. I’d never really thought much about it, and I knew Jack was only being considerate. He knew that as an ex-smoker, I’d refuse a full one, but could reason that a few puffs didn’t count, like a dieter taking bites from someone else’s dessert. To an outsider, though, the shared cigarette might seem rather…intimate.
“So where are they?” I asked, looking around.
“Most went back inside,” Quinn said. “But a few are still patrolling the perimeter, stopping people who look like they might be leaving.”
As I turned left, my heart skipped a beat. “Someone like that?”
Jack followed my gaze to see silver-haired man cutting briskly through the smoking crowd. He checked his watch, as if hurrying off to do something before the intermission ended.
“Son of a bitch,” Quinn said. “What do you want to bet…?”
“I don’t,” Jack said. “Watch, Dee. Don’t react.”
“I know.”
He held out the cigarette again, and this time, I’ll admit, thinking of Quinn’s reaction, I hesitated before taking it. But I did take it, if only for the nicotine hit.
The man crossed the road, walked past us on the other side and ducked into an alley.
“Felix?” Jack said under his breath.
“I know, Jack, but we can’t. If Quinn and I cross that road, we’re going to be seen. We can try looping around-”
“Do that.” Jack retrieved the cigarette and stubbed it out on the wall, then dropped it into his pocket and took my arm. “Let’s go.”
We walked about fifty feet farther down the road, bringing us past the alley. Jack was curbside, so he looked down it.
“Still there,” he said. “Walking.”
We crossed, jogging between cars, then backtracked.
Jack’s arm tightened around my waist, getting my attention. “Your turn.”
I looked down the alley. It was dark, but I could see the silver-haired man had passed through into a well-lit parking lot on the other side. I swallowed the urge to tear after him and told Jack. He only nodded, still moving.
“Find another way,” he murmured. “Lane up here.”
“And, judging by that parking sign, it leads right where we want. Can-” I stopped and rephrased. “Should we turn down it?”
Jack hesitated, then nodded. As I passed the lane, I started veering that way, my gaze fixed on the entrance, a tunnel that would lead me to-
“What the fuck is this?” a man’s voice echoed. “I was taking a piss, okay? You try getting to the bathroom in there.”
There, partway down, two cops had a guy spread-eagled against the wall. He was beefy, with a crew cut, no older than me, wearing a rented ill-fitting tux.
“You guys had better explain to my date why I’m not in there, ’cause if she thinks I cut out on her, after I blew five hundred bucks…”
One of the officers saw me watching and gave a “move along” wave.
“Fuck,” Jack muttered as we continued past. “You see another route?”
“No, and I’ll bet you Mr. Silver Hair didn’t get stopped by the cops. Too old to fit their damned profile.”
Jack stopped and exhaled, pretending to watch traffic for a break to cross.
“Maybe if we walked back and took the same alley he did. It’s not the safest move, but we need to go after-” I stopped as I turned in the direction of the alley. “Or maybe not.”
There was the silver-haired man, jogging across the road, a cashmere cardigan in his hand. His wife, waiting on the other side, took it and pecked his cheek. Then they headed into the opera.
“Fuck.”
I took a deep breath, working past the sharp disappointment. “I second that. So should we-?”
The intermission buzzer sounded.
“Head back in,” Jack said. “Try afterward.”
Our postshow plan was to get outside ahead of the crowd and watch for any middle-aged men exiting alone. Sounded great. Failed miserably. We even split up, and each of the four of us followed a lone man over forty- five…only to discover he was just bringing the car around for his wife or girlfriend.
Chances were that the killer wouldn’t walk back alone to his car. He’d follow someone as far as he could. So when our first idea failed, we tried hanging out in the main lot, looking for men veering off from a group. Again, abject failure.
Finally, as the last of the opera-goers dispersed and we started looking obvious standing around, we admitted defeat and headed back to the motel.
THIRTY-FIVE
Earlier this evening I’d envisioned two possible scenarios. One, the killer would see he had no chance at success, and cut his losses. Two, he’d try, fail and be caught. Even when I’d considered the possibility that he’d kill someone, I’d been certain he’d be caught before he could escape. To succeed, and so easily, without a single apparent slip…I’m an optimist, but there’s a point at which realism and optimism collide, and we’d reached it. Tonight only proved that we were in over our heads and it was starting to seem that nothing short of handing over two hundred million would stop the killings.
I didn’t remember the trip to the motel or the walk to the room. The next thing I knew I was sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at myself in the mirror. I’d run my hands through my hair so many times I must have looked like Medusa-all snaky curls and jutting bobby pins. I’d caught my dress in the car door and dragged the hem over ten miles of wet road. I looked like bedraggled alley cat. And I didn’t care.
Fixing my wig and my dress wasn’t going to change what had happened tonight and would happen tomorrow and every day after that because all our running around solving the puzzle was for nothing if we couldn’t stop this bastard. I’d been right there, less than a hundred feet away when he’d killed that man, and there hadn’t been a damn thing I could do about it.
Failure. Complete, abject failure.
