He didn't answer, but brought up another screen. “Inspector Mark Trevor's e-mail. Four victims from the U.K.”
She knew what she'd see but it still came as a shock. “They all look like Jane.”
“Not entirely. They're not identical, but close enough to be sisters.”
And they were all dead. She moistened her lips. “Same serial killer?”
He nodded. “In every case he destroyed the face. By fire, by peeling it off, once it was done by some undetermined chemical.”
“To hide their identity?”
“That didn't seem the purpose except in the last case.”
She drew a shaky breath. “Then he did it because he hated the way they looked. And that's why he's targeting them.”
“It seems the logical conclusion.”
“Logical? I don't feel logical. I'm scared to death.” Her voice was uneven. “Calhoun is just down the highway and if he peeled off her fingerprints he was trying to make it look like the work of a different killer, with a different MO. He didn't want anyone to know he was in this area. Why?”
“Maybe he didn't want the women in this city to be on the alert.”
“But not all of them have Jane's face.” Her hands clenched into fists. “And that's what that crazy is looking for. He's trying to destroy everyone who looks like Jane.”
“He doesn't know about Jane.”
“Then someone who looks like an old girlfriend or his mother. Someone with Jane's face.”
“It would follow the serial killer profile.”
“Oh, yes, I know all about those profiles,” she said jerkily. “I did a lot of studying after Bonnie was murdered, until I almost drowned in them. Well, he's not going to substitute Jane in any of his sicko fantasies. That's not going to happen again.”
“No, it's not,” Joe said quietly. “I won't let it. Do you think you're the only one who cares about Jane?”
No, of course he loved Jane. But he hadn't lost a daughter. He didn't know the constant terror of it happening again.
“I know.” Joe was studying her expression. “You should realize I know how you're feeling. Who knows you better?”
No one. And she wasn't being fair. Fear was clouding her judgment. “I'm sorry. You're as worried as I am. Now what do we do?”
“Contact Trevor and find out all we can about what they know about this creep. His e-mail was scanty at best. I called his cell phone at three this afternoon and got his voice mail. I told him to call me back.” He glanced at his watch. “It's after midnight. We may not hear from him for a few hours. It's only five A.M. there.”
“Call him again. I don't care if we wake him up.”
He nodded. “And we do need to know how they knew the killer moved across the Atlantic if they couldn't put a name to him. The Yard has to have some theories if they've been working on this case for the last three years. We have to know reasons before we can anticipate his movements.”
“They only have to look at those photos to know why he's doing this.” But she didn't want to look at those photos any longer. They frightened her too much. She turned away. “I'm going to check on Jane.”
“She's okay, Eve. We're right here in the next room.”
“That's probably what those parents of that little girl in California said before that murderer came into their home and took her.”
“Jane's not a little girl. She's a tough, smart kid and anyone who messes with her had better look out.”
“No one's going to mess with her. No one's going to hurt her,” she said fiercely. “I'm not going to let that happen. Not again. You just call that Trevor and pump him dry. We're going to find that bastard before he finds Jane.”
Jane was sleeping peacefully.
No dreams tonight, Eve thought as she looked at her. Or, if there were dreams, they were good. Or were they? She couldn't remember Jane ever telling her about her dreams. Perhaps she should have asked before this. Jane had fit so effortlessly into their lives that it had been easy to take her for granted. It was odd since Jane's personality was as strong as her own. But Jane had never wanted to challenge her. She'd given them both affection, worked hard for her place in their family, and never asked for anything.
What a wonder of a person she was.
And no one was going to destroy that wonder.
She turned and left the room. The next moment she was passing Joe, who was on the phone, presumably with Trevor, and went out onto the porch. She sat down on the top step and leaned her head against the post. The air was clear and cold and the lake was still tonight. It was all beautiful and familiar and home.
But home could become a place of desolation and terror. Who could know better than she that no one was really safe?
