"And really the only way he could do it," Lucas said slowly. "We're here investigating his last abduction, so if he wanted us on the scene before his next one, he'd pretty much have to plan it here, while we were here."
Jaylene looked at the clutter of files and photographs on the table. "So… if he got us here before the fact, and it's part of his game, then it's at least possible that he has left us a… clue, for want of a better word. Something that offers Luke at least a fighting chance against him. Otherwise, the game's winner is predetermined. And there's no contest."
Metcalf scowled. "I hate to admit that Zarina had a point, but that comment about broken minds makes a certain amount of sense. I mean, can we reasonably expect this guy to play by any kind of rules?"
"He'll play by his rules," Lucas said slowly. "He has to. Being careful and meticulous has been a point of honor for him, so this will be too. The game has rules. And he will abide by those rules. The trick for us… is figuring out what they are."
Jaylene said, "Which goes back to my point. He can't reasonably expect you to play his game unless and until the rules are clear. So at some point they have to be. Maybe at this point. And since he didn't send us a printed list, they have to be here." She gestured to the paperwork spread out on the table. "Somewhere."
Metcalf said, "You can't be serious? It's the proverbial needle in a haystack."
"Not much of a haystack," Lucas reminded him. "Even after eighteen months, we have very little in the way of evidence. We have cause of death; we have crime-scene reports but only from locations where the bodies were found, never where the vics were killed; we have the statement from the single surviving victim, which tells us only that he spoke to her, sounded intelligent and, in her words, 'scary as hell'; we have statements from friends, family members, and coworkers of the vics; we have some minor trace evidence, hair and fibers that may or may not be connected to the kidnapper; we have ransom notes printed on a very common brand of ink-jet printer-and that's about it."
"Lotta paper," Lindsay said. "But not a very helpful haystack."
"Yeah, but it has to be," Jaylene pointed out. "Doesn't it? He's here, we're here. After following him around for a year and a half, we've apparently reached the next stage of the game."
"If Zarina's right about that," Metcalf reminded them.
"Her name," Lucas said, "is Samantha."
"That's not what the posters say."
"Wyatt," Lindsay murmured.
"Well, it isn't. She goes by Zarina, right?"
"Only when she's working," Lucas said. "Wyatt, please. The problem with assuming about Sam's prediction-either way-is that we have to wait. We won't know if the kidnapper is still in this area unless and until he abducts another victim. Now, we can assume he's already gone and wait for a kidnapping report somewhere in the East, or we can assume he's still here and about to snatch his next vic-and wait for that to happen."
"Our part of the game plan sucks," Metcalf noted.
"Or," Lucas continued, "we can expect him to grab someone by tomorrow evening or Thursday morning-Carrie Vaughn, if Sam's right-and we can spend that time looking for his goddamned game rules and watching the potential target very, very closely."
"We already know one of his rules," Lindsay said. "When he takes the victims. Sometime between noon on Wednesday and noon on Thursday. Right?"
Jaylene nodded. "Right. Every single victim was snatched during that twenty-four-hour period."
"Rule number one," Lucas said. He reached out to draw a file folder close. "Let's start looking for rule number two."
Wednesday, September 26
Metcalf came into the conference room, saying briefly, "Carrie Vaughn has a detective in her living room as well as a patrol car in her driveway. She's safe. She's not happy, but she's safe."
Lucas glanced at his watch. "Just before noon. If he's still in Golden and has another kidnapping planned so soon, he'll move by noon tomorrow."
"If we got that rule right," Lindsay said.
"Yeah. If."
Metcalf said, "Just for the record, I locked Zarina in her room."
Lucas frowned slightly but didn't look up as he said, "A sensible precaution, from your point of view."
"I thought so. And she didn't seem too upset about it."
"Probably because you didn't call her Zarina to her face."
Shrugging, Metcalf sat down at the table. "I'm still surprised all her carnie friends haven't shown up here."
"She probably told them what she meant to do and asked them to stay away. They're a tight group; they'd handle it however she asked them to."
"You almost sound like you respect them."
"I do. Most of them have been on their own since they were kids but still managed to carve out a fair living for themselves without breaking a law or hurting others. That puts them in the Decent Human Being column of my book."
Lindsay noted that her hardheaded lover wasn't pleased to hear that information; it put human faces on his easy targets and made it more difficult for him to lump them together under a neat label. It also made him aware of what he was trying to do, and that naturally irritated him.
She couldn't help smiling wryly, but all she said was, "I guess we're all eating lunch in today. What does everybody want, and I'll go get it."
For the remainder of that day, they were all in and out of the room, going over the paperwork again and again, discussing the previous kidnappings and murders. And getting nowhere.
Even what had seemed a promising clue-the handkerchief Samantha had picked up at the carnival-proved to be fairly useless according to the report from Quantico. Mass-produced and sold in any retail store one might name, the handkerchief held a few grains of dirt, undoubtedly acquired when it was dropped onto the ground, but no sign of any human secretions whatsoever.
The lab technician allowed that there was a faint spot containing an oily residue, as yet unidentified, but it would require more time to determine what it might be.
"Ten to one," Metcalf said, "it'll turn out to be popcorn oil. And they've got-what?-at least two booths selling the stuff?"
"Four on a busy night," Lucas said with a sigh.
"Dead end," Jaylene murmured.
There was no good reason for them to remain at the station that night and every reason for them to rest while they could, so they called it a day well before midnight and went to their respective homes or hotel rooms.
Thursday morning proved to be busy, with numerous calls pulling both Metcalf and Lindsay out of the station for a considerable period of time, so Lucas and Jaylene found themselves alone in the conference room more often than not.
"Is it just me," he said around ten-thirty, "or is time crawling by?"
"It's definitely dragging." She glanced up to watch him prowling restlessly back and forth in front of the bulletin boards where they had pinned information and a timeline for the kidnappings and murders. "At the same time, we 're running out of it. If he's going to act this week…"
"I know, I know." He hesitated, then said, "You talked to Sam this morning."
"Yeah."
"And she didn't have anything else to add?"
"No. But she's as restless and jumpy as you are."
Lucas frowned, and returned to his chair at the conference table. "I just hate knowing I'd rather he went ahead and did whatever he's going to do so we might have something new to work with. I don't want another victim, and yet-"
"And yet another victim will tell us we're on the right track. More or less."
"Yeah, goddammit."