“So you put a big target on your back?”
“We have nothing, Beck. We don’t know why he picked the women he picked, or where he met them or how he convinced them to come with him or where he keeps them. There are three crime scenes for each of these killings, and the only one we can explore is the last one, the place where he disposes of the bodies. And those scenes have yielded us exactly one big fat zero’s worth of trace. This guy is so good. He doesn’t leave a crumb.”
“So we know he wears a condom when he’s assaulting the girls and wears gloves while he’s wrapping them up.”
“Which leads us nowhere.” She sighed deeply. “He’s going to take another victim again, very soon. He’s due for another fix, that high he gets from living out his fantasy.”
“Aren’t you afraid of being part of that fantasy?” Beck lowered himself to the grass and sat down.
“No. I’m more afraid for someone else. That pretty girl who works at the ice cream place, or that cute little waitress in the sandwich shop or even Vanessa, maybe.” She pulled one leg up onto the seat and leaned forward on it. “You think your sister would hold up under that type of torture for very long?”
“No.” He shook his head. “No, she wouldn’t hold up at all. Vanessa just doesn’t get that anyone would want to hurt her.”
“After two bad marriages?” Mia raised an eyebrow. “She is trusting.”
She hesitated, then added, “Would she be trusting of, oh, say, someone like Mickey Forbes?”
Beck looked up sharply. “Why Forbes?”
“He fits the profile, don’t you think? His mother is domineering and most likely has been all his life. Hal told me that Christina’s been focused more on building up the community than either of her marriages. Maybe that extended to her child as well. Was he neglected, do you know? Did Christina bully her husband, demean him in front of their son?” She started to refill her glass, but under Beck’s scrutiny only poured half a glass. “What do you really know about him, anyway?”
“I know he’s a jerk, but that doesn’t make him a murderer.”
“Maybe. Maybe not.” She put both feet on the ground and rested her forearms on her thighs, holding the glass between her knees. “Right now, we need to look at everyone as a possible killer. That’s my point. We haven’t been able to narrow the field at all, so we can’t eliminate anyone. Whoever this guy is, he’s flown under the radar for a long time.” She held up a hand to silence the protest he was about to launch. “Yes, I realize he may not have gone to this extreme in the past, but I think that when we find him, we’ll find that he’s raped before. He’s simply carrying that fantasy several steps forward.”
“If that’s true, why now?”
“Something’s set him off. Something’s changed in his life. Maybe he’s been passed over for a promotion. Maybe for someone like Mickey Forbes, for the sake of argument, it was the breakup of his marriage. I know everyone who is passed over for a promotion or who gets divorced doesn’t turn into a serial killer. I’m just saying, these can be life-changing situations.”
“So how do we smoke him out?”
“I’m still working on that.”
“Well, don’t try to fly solo on this one, okay?” He reached out and touched her arm. “I’d hate to see you become his victim.”
“Oh, trust me, so would I.” She shook her head slowly. “I have no intentions of ending up in one of his cocoons.”
Beck looked at his watch. It was after midnight already.
“It’s late. I need to get home and get some sleep so I can do it all again tomorrow.” He stood and extended a hand to her. “Come on, I’ll walk you to your cabin.”
“That’s okay. I can walk twenty-five feet by myself.”
“I don’t doubt it. But I want to be able to leave here and know for certain that I’ll be seeing you in the morning.”
She held up the bottle.
“You afraid I’ll polish this off by myself, wake up with a hangover, and be unfit to report in tomorrow?”
“No. I’m afraid I might not be the only person who knows where you’re staying tonight.”
“You mean the killer-”
“You stirred him up, Mia. He may not be able to resist.”
She gathered her things and stood.
“I admit I’m tired. I might as well turn in.”
They walked across the grass to her cabin.
“Did you lock it?” he asked when they reached the door.
“Of course.” She hoisted her bag up higher on her shoulder and dug in her pocket for the key, then unlocked the door. The lights were all still on, just as she had left them. “See? All’s well.”
“Good. Lock the door behind me, then get some sleep. We have miles to go with this case.”
“Agreed. I’ll see you in the morning.” She closed the door halfway. “Thanks, Beck.”
“Any time.”
Mia closed the door and turned off the outside light, then went into the bathroom and caught her reflection in the mirror. Her hair was loose around her shoulders and her eyes were slightly rimmed in red. She stared at herself for a long time before going into the sitting room to find the bottle and the glass.
Returning to the bathroom, she rinsed out the glass, poured what remained of the bottle into the sink, and turned off the light.
Beck stood in the shadows until the only light still visible in the cabin was in the small back room. He shoved his hands into his pockets and walked across the grass to the chair in which she’d been sitting and turned it around to face her cabin.
Mia would have a fit if she knew he was there, but he couldn’t walk away knowing she might have set herself up. He knew she was strong and he knew she was capable-and armed. But there was also a chance her reflexes were impaired, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d painted a target on her back. He wasn’t about to let anyone take aim on his watch.
He stretched his long legs out in front of him and eased back into the chair. Overhead the moon was full, and off in the distance a dog barked. He made himself as comfortable as he could in the wooden chair and waited for the sun to rise.
18
Mia poked her head into Beck’s office at eight the next morning.
“Hey, I have some good news,” she told him excitedly. “There was a message on my phone from JoJo.”
“JoJo?” He frowned. Who the hell was JoJo?
“FBI JoJo who works magic with damaged tapes?” Mia sat in the chair closest to the door. “We sent her the tape that was found with the body we believe belongs to Holly Sheridan?”
“Right. JoJo.” He suppressed a yawn. “Got a thing for one of your brothers.”
“Andy, yeah. Anyway, JoJo couldn’t restore all of it, but she’s made a copy of what she has, and overnighted it to us. We should have it in a few hours.” Mia leaned forward. “Beck, she said he called the woman Holly on the tape.”
“Pretty much what we expected.”
“She said it was really gruesome, what she could hear.”
“I’m sure it was. The whole damned thing has been gruesome.” He snapped. “It isn’t likely to get any better.”
“Sounds like someone got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.”
“You could say that.” He rested an elbow on the edge of the desk.
“You okay?”
“I’m fine. Let me know when you get that tape.”
“Sure.” Feeling as if she’d been dismissed, Mia gave Beck a mock salute and went into the conference room where she’d set up a temporary office.
She’d just hung up the phone from a conference call with the agents who were tracking down the 2000 and 2001 victims when Lisa Singer stuck her head through the doorway. She wore what was apparently her summer uniform: khaki walking shorts accessorized by a holster attached to the front of her belt, and a short-sleeved shirt. Large round tortoise shell sunglasses sat atop her head.