He was the first man she wanted with her in the night when ghosts haunted her sleep.
He was there, and she was grateful for it, when Tawney and his partner returned.
“You should go on to work,” she told Simon when she recognized the car. “I think I’ll be safe in the hands of the feds.”
“I’ll stick around.”
“All right. Why don’t you let them in? I’ll make some more coffee.”
“You let them in. I’ll make the coffee.”
She opened the door, holding it open to the morning air. It looked like rain heading in, she noted. That would save her from watering her pots and garden beds—and add a realistic element to the training classes she had on tap for the afternoon.
Dogs and handlers couldn’t pick just sunny days for a search.
“Good morning,” she called out. “You’re getting an early start. Simon’s making some fresh coffee.”
“I could use some,” Tawney told her. “Why don’t we go back, sit in the kitchen?”
“Sure.” Remembering Mantz’s aversion, she gestured the dogs out. “Go play,” she told them. “I’m sorry I missed you the other day,” she added, leading the way back. “We’d planned to be back earlier, but we dragged our feet. If you want a place to go and unwind, it’s the spot for it. Simon, you’ve met Agents Tawney and Mantz.”
“Yeah.”
“Have a seat. I’ll get the coffee.”
Simon left her to the pouring and doctoring. “Anything new?”
“We’re pursuing the avenues,” Mantz told him. “All of them.”
“You didn’t have to make another trip out here to tell her that.”
“Simon.”
“How are you, Fee?” Tawney asked her.
“I’m all right. I’m reminded daily how many people I know on the island, as somebody drops by to see me—read: check in on me—several times a day. It reassures, even as it makes me itchy.”
“We can still offer you a safe house. Or we can work putting an agent here, with you.”
“Would it be you?”
He smiled a little. “Not this time.”
She took a moment just to look out the window. Her pretty yard, she thought, with its tender spring gardens just starting to pop with color and shape. And all that bumping up against the tower of trees that climbed up the slopes and walked down again, offering countless paths to stroll, lovely surprises of wild lupine and dreamy blue cannas.
Always so quiet and restful to her, so hers season by season.
The island, she thought, was her safe house. Emotionally, yes, but she absolutely believed in every practical sense as well.
“I think, realistically, I’m covered. The island itself makes me less accessible, and I’m—literally—never alone.”
Even as she spoke, she watched her dogs wander by. On patrol, she mused.
“He broke pattern with Annette Kellworth. It’s possible he’s not interested in me anymore, not interested in mirroring Perry.”
“His violence is increasing,” Mantz stated. “Perry duplicated himself, obsessively repeating the same details with each murder. The UNSUB isn’t as controlled or disciplined. He wants to flaunt his power. Sending you the scarf, increasing the time he holds his victims, and now the added physical violence. But he continues to use Perry’s methods, to select the same type of victim, to abduct and to kill and dispose in the same way.”
“He’s adapting his work, finding his own style. Sorry,” Simon added when he realized he’d spoken out loud.
“No, you’re not wrong. Kellworth may have been an aberration,” Tawney continued. “Something she said or did, something that happened that pushed him to the increased violence. Or he may be looking to come into his own.”
“I’m not his.”
“You’re still the one who got away,” Mantz pointed out. “And if you’re going to talk to the press, it keeps you front and center, and makes you more of a challenge.”
Annoyed, Fiona turned from the window. “I’m not talking to the press.”
Mantz reached into her briefcase. “This morning’s edition.” She laid the paper on the table. “And the article’s been picked up by a number of online venues and cable news crawls.”
TRAIL OF THE RED SCARF
“I can’t stop this. All I can do is not give interviews, refuse to cooperate.”
“You’re quoted. And your picture runs inside.”
“But—”
“ ‘Surrounded by her three dogs,’ ” Mantz read, “ ‘outside her tiny woodland home on scenic and remote Orcas Island where purple pansies tumble out of white pots and bright blue chairs sit on the front porch, Fiona Bristow presents a cool and competent demeanor. A tall, attractive redhead, slender in jeans and a stone-gray jacket, she seems to approach the subject of murder with the same practical, down-to-earth manner that has made her and her canine training school fixtures on the island.
“ ‘ She was twenty, the same age as Annette Kellworth, when she was abducted by Perry. Like Perry’s other twelve female victims, Bristow was incapacitated by a stun gun, drugged, bound, gagged and locked in the trunk of his car. There, she was held for more than eighteen hours. But unlike the others, Bristow managed to escape. In the dark, while Perry drove the night roads, Bristow sawed through the rope binding her with a penknife given to her by her fiancé, Officer Gregory Norwood. Bristow fought off Perry, disabling him, and used his own car to reach safety and alert authorities.
“ ‘ Nearly a year later, still at large, Perry shot and killed Norwood and his K-9 partner, Kong, who lived long enough to attack and wound Perry. Perry was subsequently arrested when he lost control of his car in his attempt to escape. Despite her ordeal, and her loss, Bristow testified against Perry, and that testimony played a major role in his conviction.
“ ‘ Now, at twenty-nine, Bristow shows no visible scars from that experience. She remains single, living alone in her secluded home where she owns and operates her training school for dogs, and devotes much of her time to the Canine Search and Rescue unit she formed on Orcas.
“ ‘ The day is sunny and warm. The dogwood trees flanking the narrow bridge over the creek that bubbles across the property are in bloom, and the native red currant flames in the quiet morning. In the deep green woods where shafts of light shimmer through the towering firs, birds twitter. But a uniformed deputy drives his cruiser down her narrow drive. There can be little doubt Fiona Bristow remembers the dark, and the fear.
“ ‘ She would have been XIII.
“‘She speaks of the “movie sequel” title this mimic of George Allen Perry has been given, and the headlines his brutality has generated. It’s attention this man known as RSKII seeks, she believes. While she, the lone survivor of the one who came before him, wants only the peace and the privacy of the life she has now. A life forever changed.’ ”
“I didn’t give her an interview.” Fiona shoved the paper aside. “I didn’t talk to her about all of this.”
“But you did talk to her,” Mantz persisted.
“She showed up.” Struggling with rage, Fiona barely resisted ripping the paper to shreds. “I assumed she was here to ask about a class—and she let me assume that. She talked about the dogs, then she introduced herself. The minute she did I told her to go. No comment, go away. She persisted. I did say he wanted attention. I was angry. Look what they’re calling him, RSK Two, so it gives him flash and mystery and importance. I said he wanted attention, and she was giving it to him. I shouldn’t have said it.” She looked at Tawney now. “I know better.”
“She pushed. You pushed back.”
“And got just enough to run with it. I ordered her off the property. I even threatened to call Davey—Deputy Englewood—back. He’d just left because we both thought she’d come for class. She was here five minutes. Five goddamn minutes.”
“When?” Simon demanded, and a quick chill skipped up her spine at the tone.