radiant, bold and without fear. Eve felt her own spirits lift as she looked at her. “You're right. It's a great day for a walk.” She caught up with her. “But just to the head of the lake. Trevor may not be that eager to see me, but, stiff and proper or not, I'm damn interested in meeting him.”
Ms. Duncan? I'm Mark Trevor.” He rose to meet her as she came into the cottage. “I'm delighted to meet you.” He gestured to Joe, who was standing at the kitchen bar, before moving across the room with hand extended. “Quinn was telling me what a magnificent reconstruction you did. I can't wait to see it.”
“You'll have to go down to the precinct. Joe took it in this morning. I didn't even get a chance to take any photos.” He had a firm, hard handshake and as he met her eyes, she felt a ripple of shock.
Trevor was obviously courteous but that was as far as Jane's description applied. He couldn't have been more than thirty, was dressed in jeans and olive sweatshirt, and was tall, broad shouldered, and muscular. Every ounce of his body appeared charged with energy. Short, curly dark hair framed an amazingly good-looking face dominated by dark eyes that shone with interest and intelligence. His smile exuded a charisma that warmed and flattered at the same time. Good God, he looked more like a male model or actor than a policeman.
“I've already asked him for permission to take a look.” Trevor took the cup of coffee Joe handed him. “We have our own forensic sculptors that work with us at the Yard and I'm a great fan. They've done some amazing reconstructions.”
“So I've heard.” Joe handed Eve her cup. “Where's Jane?”
“Playing with Toby. She'll be along. She was right behind me.” Her gaze went to the briefcase on the coffee table. “Case histories?”
Trevor nodded. “But I'm afraid you're going to be disappointed. As I told Quinn on the phone, we have nothing concrete.” He unfastened the briefcase. “The killings appeared to be random and we didn't make the similar facial connection until he'd moved out of the U.K. . . .” He sat down on the couch. “But please help yourself. You can keep these records if you like. They're copies.”
“You have to have found out something,” Eve said. “In this age of DNA no crime scene is sterile.”
“Oh, we have fiber and DNA, but we have to have a suspect for comparison.”
“Witnesses?” Joe asked.
Trevor shook his head. “One night the victims were alive, the next day they were dead. No one saw them with anyone suspicious. Aldo obviously saw them, stalked them, and then moved in when it was safe for him.”
Eve stiffened. “Aldo? You have his name?”
Trevor shook his head. “Sorry. I didn't mean to raise your hopes. Aldo is only my name for him. I made it up because after all these years of tracking I couldn't think of him on an impersonal level.”
“Why Aldo?”
He shrugged. “Why not?”
“I don't care what you call the bastard,” Joe said. “I just want to nail him. The woman in Birmingham was burned to death and the medical examiner says that there are signs that Ruth was smothered. No similarity.” He gestured to the files. “What about these women?”
“Jean Gaskin was smothered. Ellen Carter was burned to death. He seems to be fond of those two means of killing his targets.” He took a sip of coffee. “However, he doesn't limit himself. Julia Brandon died of a lethal poison gas she inhaled.”
“What?”
“Presumably forced to inhale. Unusual.”
“Horrible.”
“Yes.” He nodded. “And Peggy Knowles, the woman from Brighton, had water in her lungs. She was drowned.” He set his cup down on the coffee table. “Aldo's never in a hurry. He allows himself the time to make his kills in the way he's planned.”
“Can't you identify who he's trying to punish by killing these women? Records? Databases?”
“It would be a needle in a haystack, Eve,” Joe said.
Trevor nodded. “And unfortunately we don't have any technology that sophisticated. We have no central photographic database. However, we did make the attempt to check all our records and came up with nothing.” He paused, his eyes sliding to the window before he brought his attention back to Eve. “However, I have a theory that even if the odds weren't so huge we might not have been able to find him in our records.”
“Why not?”
“When I was digging for information after the last killing in Brighton, I found records of a killing in Italy and one in Spain before the first murder in London. Both women smothered, both with faces destroyed.”
“Christ, we can't even narrow down his country of origin?” Joe asked in disgust. “What about Interpol?”
Trevor shook his head. “Do you think I haven't scanned every bit of info during these last years? If he did kill other women, there's no record I could find.”
“And he didn't leave any calling cards as some serial killers do?”
Trevor was silent a moment. “Well, yes, he did.”
“What? Why the hell didn't you tell us that to begin with?” Eve said.
“I thought you might already know.” He turned to Joe. “Haven't you received your forensic report on your Jane Doe?”
“Not everything. It's coming in bits and pieces.”
“Then they haven't analyzed the ashes yet?”
“Ashes,” Eve echoed.
“They found ashes with Ruth's body,” Joe said. “We thought it might be evidence she was killed in the woods and the campfire was—”
“Not wood ashes,” Trevor said. “And no cozy little campfire. The report will come back volcanic ash.”
“Shit.” Joe started to dial his phone. “You're sure?”
“Quite sure. Particles of volcanic ash were found with every body. Your Birmingham police were understandably negligent in having the ashes analyzed in a case where the victim burned to death. They'd naturally assume any ashes were produced by the fire itself.”
“Then why didn't you notify them?”
“I'm notifying you now. It's your case.” He rose to his feet and moved swiftly toward the window. “Hadn't you better check on her?”
Eve was suddenly aware of Trevor's tension. The easy composure was gone and he was alert, restless, totally focused. She stiffened as she remembered how his gaze had slid to the window moments before. “Jane?”
He nodded curtly. “You said she was right behind you.”
She glanced at Joe.
He shook his head and hung up the phone. “I didn't discuss her with him.”
Trevor stiffened, his gaze narrowing. “There she is.” He turned to Eve. “You shouldn't have left her alone.”
“If you'll look a few yards behind her, you'll see that she's not alone.” Eve went to stand beside him at the window. Jane was coming up the path with Toby at her heels and the two policemen trying to keep up with her. “I'd never leave her without protection.” Her voice was cold. “You can never tell who you can trust in this world. How did you know about Jane?”
He turned to look at her. “I'm sorry. Of course you'd protect her. I spoke impulsively.”
“How did you know about Jane?” she repeated.
“Your suspicions are very healthy. I approve. But I'm the last person you should be concerned about. To make sure that she's safe is the reason I'm here.” He reached into his wallet and pulled out a creased and faded newspaper clipping. “I've had my assistant scanning all the major city newspapers for some time and lo and behold he came up with this photo of Jane MacGuire.”
Eve recognized the photo. It had been taken when Jane had entered Toby in a charity dog show for the Humane Society three months ago. It was a little blurred but Jane's face was clear. Terror iced through Eve.
“He may not have seen it.” Trevor was reading her expression. “I don't know how he picks his victims. Some have to be random. The Millbruk woman in Birmingham. Peggy Knowles in Brighton. She was a prostitute, too. Neither of them had their photos in the newspaper.”
