The Hunt

“All the men who had known her.”

“Those totaled in the hundreds.”

“I know.”

“They were returned to the University.”

Shit. He’d have to get a warrant because of the Privacy Act.

Quinn ran a hand through his hair. “We need to get them back. We’ve already determined that Penny was likely the first victim. After fifteen years, we can rule out most of those men on the list, but we have to go through them one by one. Cross off those who are married, dead, or moved far from the area. It at least gives us a place to start.”

“It sounds like a long shot.”

“I don’t know that anything will come of it,” Quinn said, his voice surprisingly bitter. “I really hate serial killers. They’re smarter, shrewder, harder to pin down. Their mistakes are usually small. But this is all we’ve got.”

Quinn didn’t want to jump down Nick’s throat again. He’d already made it clear this morning that following up on Penny’s abduction was crucial.

Instead, he asked, “Did you ever wonder why the killer didn’t come after Miranda after she escaped?”

Nick looked surprised. “Actually, no.”

“I have. I’ve thought about it a lot. All my training says that the killer would hate her for getting away, a mistake, his screwup. He considers himself superior to women, or feels a driving need to prove his superiority because he felt inferior as a boy. He hates women. It’s about control. Domination. But he couldn’t control Miranda.

“The fact that Miranda got away should enrage him,” Quinn continued. “But he’s never gone after her. Which leaves me with the conclusion that he’s proud of her in some fashion. Or, that he keeps her alive to remind him of something. The hunt, or that he lost his prize.”

“That she beat him in the hunt?”

Quinn rubbed his forehead. “It just doesn’t make sense. He should want revenge. He should have gone after her. Instead, it’s as if he respects her enough to stay away.

“And that, Nick, goes against the grain and makes me think we could be looking in all the wrong places.”

CHAPTER 13

By the time Quinn pulled up next to Miranda’s Jeep at the Lodge, it was nearly midnight and he was physically exhausted. His mind, however, had different plans and moved in all directions.

The lights were on in the restaurant and he saw Miranda’s father and his jack-of-all-trades partner Ben Grayhawk sitting at the bar. Bill motioned him over, and Quinn slid onto the stool next to him.

“Bill. Gray. Good to see you again.”

Gray held up his glass of amber liquid and arched his brow in question. “It’s the good stuff.”

“Thanks,” Quinn said. A double Scotch might slow down his mind enough so that he could sleep a couple of hours.

Bill reached above the bar and picked a glass off the rack, then poured Quinn a hefty shot from a half-empty bottle of Glenlivet.

“Salut,” Bill said.

Quinn raised his glass and took a long sip. The Scotch slid down his throat like liquid glass and he sighed approvingly.

They sat in silence for several minutes. “You didn’t tell Miranda I was here,” Quinn said.

Bill shook his head. “I didn’t want an argument. Randy can be mighty stubborn.”

“I don’t want to interfere with your relationship,” Quinn said.

“You won’t.”

“I appreciate the hospitality.”

Bill finished his Scotch and poured a short shot. “Randy says you found the shack where poor Rebecca Douglas was held.”

“Yeah. She’s a good tracker.” Better than good, Quinn thought.

“Damn straight. She’s a smart girl,” Gray said.

Quinn remembered his interview with Ryan Parker and his friends. “Gray, I meant to ask you. Did you talk to Ryan Parker about an old Indian burial ground up north of the ridge? Few miles east of the river?”

Gray cracked a smile, revealing crooked white teeth. “Yeah, I did. The boys come down here on their horses on occasion; we have some good trails for exploring. They’d heard about it, of course. Kids at school say it’s haunted, and you can only find it at night on a full moon.” He croaked out a laugh, then coughed.

“You been there?”

Gray shook his head. “Naw. Don’t even know if it really exists. Suspect it does; I’ve heard of the place since I was a boy. But my ma never knew where it was. We were always looking for it, though. Kept us out of trouble.” He paused. “Does this have to do something with the murder?”

Quinn shook his head. “Doubt it. Just checking the kids’ story.”

“Ryan’s a good boy,” Gray said.

“You close to the Parkers?”

“Not really. But I teach a gun safety class. Had Ryan last year with the older McClain boy. And like I said, they ride our trails around here, I want to make sure they know the rules.”

Bill stood. “You’re welcome to sit down here as long as you like, or take the bottle to your room. I need to be up early, so I’d best be hitting the sack.”

Quinn drained his glass and shook his head. “Thanks for the conversation.” He bid them farewell and went up to his room.

An hour later, he was still awake. His mind couldn’t stop thinking about why the Butcher never went after Miranda again. Somehow, he thought it was important, but for the life of him, he didn’t know why.

He turned on the lights and sat at the desk. He jotted cryptic notes to himself that only he could understand.

Vigo. Hans Vigo was a top profiler with the department, as well as a friend. Maybe he had some new insights.

Old cases. He needed to review the case files of the victims again. Maybe there was a common thread-other than their gender and age-that tied them all together. Or maybe Miranda was unique. Why? Why was she spared? Yes, she escaped, but she’d have been considered a liability.

Wouldn’t she?

Penny Thompson.

First thing in the morning, Quinn planned to head over to the University and pull every string he knew to get those old records.

Olivia.

It was two in the morning in Virginia, far too late to call Olivia, though he knew she wouldn’t mind. He’d call her in the morning and ask if she had some time to help with trace evidence at the state laboratory in Helena. It would take diplomacy to bring a federal crime tech into the state lab, but Quinn was confident in both his ability to maneuver it and Olivia’s ability to keep the relationship cordial.

Finally, he realized why he couldn’t sleep. Hunger. He and Nick had grabbed a quick burger that he’d left half- eaten at the station.

Knowing Bill wouldn’t mind if he raided the kitchen, Quinn went downstairs to make himself a sandwich.

Sharon slept and Miranda planned.

There had to be a way out. Some way. Any way.

Though blindfolded, she knew it was daytime. Not because of the light, but because of the lack of cold.

She didn’t think she’d ever be warm again. At night she feared she’d freeze to death. But it never