He stopped as if he had heard her call him and looked back at her. “I meant it,” he said softly. “It’s going to be different for us from now on. I’ve never been a believer in fate, but I am now. I feel as if it’s our time, and I have to reach out and take it before it goes away. Trust me.” He turned and went down the hall.
“Trust me.”
Only two words, but a concept so difficult for her to accept.
Because trust meant commitment, and that was even more difficult for her.
She shook her head to clear it and went into the room and closed the door. She couldn’t think right now about Trevor and the promise that he offered. She had only one commitment, and it was to Eve.
She took the journal out of her bag and put it on the coffee table in the sitting room. Just looking at it jarred her out of the beauty of the moments before. Ugliness and horror and malice beyond imagination.
And, like Margaret, she wanted to get as comfortable as possible to mentally gird her loins at what was soon to be faced. She took her suitcase to the adjoining bedroom to wash and change. Then she’d order coffee from room service.
Twenty minutes.
* * *
“COFFEE, GOOD.”MARGARET plopped down on the couch in Jane’s sitting room. “I grabbed one of those little sandwiches on the buffet at the service, but I need some caffeine.” She had changed to jeans, tunic, and her usual flip-flops and looked even younger than her nineteen years. “You need a cup, too, Jane. You look more tired than I do.”
“Yes, she does,” Caleb murmured. He poured coffee into a cup and handed it to Jane. “But she’ll be fine … for tonight.”
“I’ll be fine. Period,” Jane said firmly as she took a sip of coffee. “It’s been a rough day.”
“Yes, it has.” Trevor’s thoughtful gaze was on her face. “You’ve had a lot of rough days since that blowup in the ghost town. I’ve been worried.” His gaze shifted to Caleb. “So worried that I’m even glad of reassurance from you.”
“You should be glad,” Caleb said. “No one can know her physical condition better than I do.” Before Jane or Trevor could reply, he turned to Margaret. “But we’d be wise to get this little meeting over with so that she can get to bed.” He glanced down at the journal on the coffee table. “Jane said that when you read that piece of filth, you might have found something that will give us a lead.”
“Maybe. It’s a hodgepodge of grandiose bragging, porn, and poetic quotations.” Margaret picked up the journal and flicked it open to one of the earlier pages. “As you say, it’s all pretty much filth, particularly during these passages when he’s describing his victims.” She shivered. “Those poor little girls. It made me cry.”
“The lead,” Caleb prompted.
“Every now and then, during those obscene meanderings, he’d drop in a line that could be lost because of the sheer disgust you’re feeling.” Her gaze ran down the page. “Like this one. “Smooth skin, child skin, as satin soft as mother’s.” She flipped through more pages. “Blue eyes, staring at me, scared eyes, hating what was happening to her. Beautiful, beautiful eyes, almost as beautiful as mother’s eyes.” She looked up as she closed the journal. “There are several more comparisons like that one.” She added deliberately, “Kevin’s mother. All we’ve heard about is Doane, Kevin’s father. But when he was committing these atrocities, he was thinking about his mother. And from the sampling I’ve read, there’s nothing vengeful about those thoughts. If you weave them together, you get a picture of a son almost besotted by his mother.”
Jane frowned. “But from what I’ve heard from Joe, most serial killers are driven by hatred for their mothers if the relationship enters into motivation at all.”
“And it may not be a motivation,” Margaret said. “I don’t know. I just thought that since we have no clue about where to find Doane, we should try another avenue. She evidently had a powerful influence on Kevin.” She paused. “If she’s still alive. I don’t even know that.”
“Venable didn’t mention Kevin’s mother when he was talking about Doane?” Trevor asked.
“No,” Jane said. “But evidently Venable left out a lot that we should have known.” She reached for her phone. “And I can find out if she’s still alive. Catherine Ling.” She accessed her directory and dialed. Catherine picked up in three rings. “I need help. Venable’s never mentioned Kevin’s mother. Is she still alive? What do you know about her?”
“Nothing. Why do you want to know?”
“It’s a question of exploring every avenue at the moment. Can you find out about her from Venable?”
“Probably. He’s trying to keep me from rocking his boat, so he’s being very cooperative. If not, I’ll access CIA records. Give me twenty minutes.” She hung up.
“Twenty minutes,” Jane repeated as she hung up her phone. “Catherine is nothing if not efficient.”
Catherine called back in fifteen minutes and Jane put her on speaker. “Harriet Relling is still alive. She divorced her husband when Kevin was only fifteen. Then she changed her name and moved to Muncie, Indiana. She teaches English Literature at Ferry Road High School.”
“Any contact with Doane since the divorce?”
“No. The divorce papers said irreconcilable differences, but according to Venable’s reports, she’s very bitter. He did a thorough investigation on her five years ago when he put Doane under protective custody. As of that time, she’d never had another relationship after the divorce and was reputed to be something of a man-hater. Has a few friends but is pretty much a loner. She’s an advocate for better schools and gives talks around the state. She has a doctorate in English Literature and has been offered positions at several universities but has always refused. She organized the local autism walk three years ago. And, as I said, she changed her name. She’s now Harriet Weber and told everyone in Muncie that she was a widow.” Catherine paused. “Venable says that she was not put under the same surveillance as Doane because the chances seemed miniscule that she had anything to do with either of them since the divorce.”
“And Doane’s surveillance was not as tight as it should have been,” Jane said. “Or he’d have never been able to take Eve.”
“I’m not arguing. Venable’s judgment is usually fairly good, but he’s failed miserably in this. Do you think it’s worthwhile going to question Doane’s wife?”
“From what you say, probably not,” Jane said slowly. “But I think I’m going to do it anyway. There was something in the journal that was very curious. It won’t hurt to go check her out.”
“Then I’ll forward you the file that Venable sent me on her,” Catherine said. “If you need anything else, call me.”
“I will. What are you working on?”
“Zander. Who else? He seems to be the center of the storm.”
“You’re going to Vancouver?”
She was silent. “No, I’m taking another route. I’m leaving right away. I’ll let you know if I come up with anything.” She paused. “Good luck with Kevin’s mother. I can’t imagine what kind of woman could give birth to a monster. Yet there are quite a few monsters in the world, and they all had to come from someplace. Personally, I don’t believe in heredity. I believe everyone is born with a soul, and that dictates his character. It was one philosophy upon which Eve and I agreed.”
“What about Doane? It appears that he’s also a monster. You’re saying he didn’t pass those traits on to his son?”
“Maybe Doane’s soul was always tarnished, and it just became visible when his son revealed his own malignance.” Catherine added impatiently, “I don’t know. I don’t sit around thinking about theories about good and evil. Everyone has gut instincts, and that’s what I go by. My gut instinct tells me that Doane is a terrible man and growing worse with every passing day. I’ll let God decide how Doane got that way … after I kill him.” She hung up.
Caleb was chuckling. “I do like her.” He got to his feet. “I, too, believe in gut instinct. But I don’t entirely agree about heredity not having a part in what we are. I’m the living proof that certain traits are passed down through generations.”