Quinn looked up and caught her eye. He didn’t seem surprised to see her, but he didn’t seem happy, either. He said something to the man, then stood and walked over to them. As always, he was dressed impeccably.
“You must be Detective Travis,” Quinn said and extended his hand. “I’m Special Agent Quincy Peterson, Seattle FBI.”
They shook hands. “Zack Travis. My chief fill you in on the case?”
Quinn nodded. “I talked to him last night and again when I arrived this morning. He’s on the phone taking care of the politicians. So far the media hasn’t caught wind, so we don’t have that zoo yet. I have a bureau sketch artist working with Henry Jorge, Nina’s neighbor, who saw the abduction and got the partial off the truck. Your own sketch artist is waiting in a conference room for Nina’s friend to arrive with her parents. They should be here any minute.”
“What happened?”
“Nina Markow was riding her bike home from gymnastics. She practices every day after school. She turned onto her street and, according to Mr. Jorge, a man stepped out of the bushes right into the path of her bike. She swerved and fell. The man helped her up, then dragged her over to a white truck half a block away. He put his hand over her mouth and she couldn’t scream. Mr. Jorge ran after them, but he’s eighty-three. He couldn’t catch up before the truck drove off, though his eyesight was good enough to get a partial number off the rear plate and we’re running it now.”
“Pierson tell you we identified the killer? Christopher Driscoll.”
Quinn nodded. “Our people are pulling every string to get his military records, but it’s not easy. I did get his original military ID photo and the artist can take that with the descriptions from Mr. Jorge and Abby Vail, Nina’s friend who also witnessed the abduction, and come up with a good composite of what he looks like. We’ve brought in a couple of agents to help your team cover the car dealerships, rental agencies, airports, anyplace this guy could get a truck without suspicion.”
“Where’re the victim’s parents?”
“Her mother is single, a widow. She works out in the county, and a-” Quinn glanced at his notepad “-Detective Jan O’Neal went out to inform her and bring her down here. But with commuter traffic I don’t expect them for another thirty or so minutes.”
Quinn glanced at Olivia, then said, “Detective, do you mind if I have a word with Agent St. Martin? It won’t take long.”
“Use the conference room. I need to check in with my chief and I’ll get you when the witness comes in. Call me Zack.”
Quinn nodded. “Thanks. I’m Quinn.”
He put his hand in the small of Olivia’s back as he steered her toward the conference room, shutting the door behind them.
“What the hell have you been doing?” Quinn said, obviously trying to temper long-simmering anger. “Have you lost your mind?”
“I can explain.”
“You’d better start talking. When I came here this morning and found out that Agent St. Martin had been a vital part of this investigation, I couldn’t imagine it was you. ‘Olivia St. Martin?’ I asked. Chief Pierson sang your praises and told me you were in Redwood City interviewing Brian Hall!”
“I didn’t-I told Zack about Missy. I told him I couldn’t be in the room with Hall, he probably wouldn’t take my presence very well, and I didn’t want to jeopardize the case.”
“Jeopardize the case! Hell, Olivia, you’re not an agent! You’ve already jeopardized the case.”
“Like hell I have!” Olivia swallowed, surprised at her outburst. “Quinn,” she said, trying to remain calm, but her frustration and anger were closer to the surface than she thought. “I went through the proper channels. I went to Rick Stockton and showed him what I’d put together on these cases. Yes, I knew it was circumstantial, but there was so much of it! I couldn’t just not do anything! And when he said his hands were tied, there was nothing he could do, he couldn’t send a team out to help, I didn’t have a choice.”
“You’ve always had a choice. You could have called me. You know I would bend over backward to help you. Anytime, anyplace.”
She took a deep breath, her heart tight. “I know. I know you would have. But don’t you understand? My testimony put an innocent man behind bars.”
“You don’t know Hall wasn’t involved.”
“No, I don’t know, but I believe he wasn’t. Zack and I talked it through and neither of us thinks Driscoll has a partner. The attacks are too personal, too intimate.” She paused. “And Hall is too stupid.”
“Olivia-”
“Hear me out. I had to do something. I had to get the information about Driscoll’s killing spree in the right hands. I had to talk to someone on the case, walk them through the evidence. They wouldn’t have listened to me; I’m a lab scientist!”
“This is serious, Olivia. You could get fired.”
“Don’t you think I know it’s serious? Do you think I care about getting fired?” Olivia clasped her hands together to stop them from shaking. “I put an innocent man in prison, leaving a killer free to prey on little girls. He’s killed at least thirty children. Because of me. Me! There was no way I could sit back and not do something-I know him. I know the way he works. I spent weeks studying every similar crime in the country. There are two men sitting in prison right now who I think are innocent because they were framed for Driscoll’s crimes. This guy is smart. Wily. Methodical. Disciplined.” She took a deep breath.
“He has control most of the time,” she continued. “He preys on the innocent. Waits until they’re alone before going in for the kill. And when things get too hot, when the police start to close in, he sets someone else up or just walks away. Leaves the jurisdiction. Controls his sick urges just long enough to establish a home base somewhere else. Then he starts all over again.”
“Liv, it’s not your fault. You were five years old when Missy died,” Quinn said.
“It’s not just about Missy. It’s about all the other children. It’s about Chris Driscoll and the families he has destroyed. I don’t care if I get fired as long as we catch him. You think my job is that important to me?” She shook her head.
“Dammit, Olivia.” Quinn ran a hand through his hair and paced the conference room. He stared at the white board, recognizing Olivia’s small, perfect printing. He read the timeline, looked at the photos, saw the time and effort and dedication she had put into the case. “Who knows the truth?”
“No one. No one here. Greg knows.”
“Greg,” he repeated, shaking his head.
“Quinn, please. Please let me stay. I have to see this through.”
The door opened and Zack Travis filled the opening. “Abby Vail is here with her parents. Ready?”
Olivia looked at Quinn. “I am,” she said.
“Let’s go,” Quinn said, turning away from Olivia’s stare.
She breathed an inaudible sigh of relief.
For now, she was okay.
Thank you, Quinn.
Olivia, Quinn, and Zack went into another conference room to speak with Abby Vail, the ten-year-old neighbor and friend of Nina. The victim.
What was going to happen to Abby if Nina died? Would she feel guilty for the rest of her life? That she didn’t, couldn’t, do anything to stop the bad man from taking her friend? Would the memory of Nina being abducted haunt her forever?
Abby Vail was small for a ten-year-old, skinny with short blonde hair, big brown eyes, and dimples that deepened when she talked.
“Did you find Nina?” she asked as soon as they walked through the door.
“Everyone is looking for her,” Zack said. He nodded to the parents. “Thank you for bringing Abby down. I’m Detective Travis, this is Special Agent Quinn Peterson and Olivia St. Martin with the FBI.”