I Can See You

by Karen Rose

  For now, he needed to regroup, clear his mind. Out of habit, he started to log in to Shadowland, then stopped. She knew he was Dasich. That meant Webster probably knew, too. They might be watching.

  No matter. He’d create a new account, a new profile. It was, after all, the place you went when you wanted no one to know your name. He’d buy a new avatar, go back to the casino, and start anew. He liked the poker table, always had. He’d made a lot of money in back-room poker games over the years, enough to retire young. With his wife gone, he didn’t have to share. Now, what to call his new Shadowland persona?

  He thought of the woman in his basement. Iblis, he typed, and smiled. He was certain a woman who named her guardian avatar “Greer” would recognize an ancient form of Lucifer. And just as Lucifer crushed his Eve, I’ll crush mine. As he’d crushed every woman he’d thrown into his pit or hung from a rope.

  He thought of Irene, hanging from the tree branch, so long ago. He would have preferred she’d gone undiscovered for days, weeks, however long it took for the vultures to pick her bones clean. Unfortunately John had come home unexpectedly and found her hanging. Like the good son, John had called the sheriff. John had known he’d killed her. But his brother had said nothing. Because he hated her as much as I did.

  But that was done. If nothing else, Irene had done him a service. She’d shown him how mind-clearing a good killing could be. And she’d taught him to play poker. So now he’d return to Shadowland and play, just for a few minutes. Just to clear his mind. And then he’d go back down there and… take what’s mine.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Thursday, February 25, 1:20 p.m.

  So what do you have?” Brian Ramsey asked, setting his briefcase on Abbott’s table.

  Abbott had been waiting for them at the table. A very pale Noah sat off to the side, watching the security video from the parking garage on a small TV. He was hunched over, his face inches from the screen, a remote clutched in one hand.

  Olivia flinched at the image of Kane dropping to the concrete and Eve’s stunned face. She’d watched that clip ten times, her gut roiling each time Eve was shot, injected, then dragged away. She couldn’t imagine what Noah was going through, but on some level he appeared to be holding up.

  “Not much,” Abbott said grimly. “We’re hoping you can be creative. One photo of a shoe next to Eve’s keys. It’s Pierce’s shoe.” He slid the picture across the table to Ramsey. “Someone broke into her house with her keys that night, then returned later.”

  Ramsey shook his head. “It could be anybody’s shoe. What else?”

  “Two,” Abbott said, “we have a photo from the parking garage security camera.”

  “Can’t see his face,” Ramsey remarked blandly. “Or his shoes. Or his height. Next?”

  Abbott looked frustrated. Noah hadn’t said a word, his gaze fixed to the small TV. Olivia wanted to gently pull him away, to take the remote from his hand, but she understood the value of doing something.

  “Three,” Abbott said, “we have pages from Donner’s datebook. His wife found it with his things. She scanned it into her computer and sent it as an email attachment. Shows six meetings with a C.P. One was for last night, but Donner was already dead by then. Mrs. Donner said her husband was seeing a counselor as part of his cancer treatment. She said she knew he knew Pierce, but thought it was only socially.”

  “Now we’re getting somewhere,” Ramsey said. “Where is this date-book now?”

  “Locals got it from Mrs. Donner,” Abbott replied. “She’s grieving, but cooperative.”

  “So we’re good on chain of evidence. What else?”

  “The black BMW,” Abbott continued. “One’s registered to Mrs. Pierce. The plates the garage camera caught were Donner’s, but Donner’s plates are on his car, in his mother’s driveway.”

  “The BMW plates are duplicates,” Ramsey said. “Okay, keep going.”

  “I don’t have any more,” Abbott gritted out. “Isn’t that enough?”

  “I have more,” Olivia said. “A black BMW was used to abduct Liza Barkley this morning.” She explained her phone call with Tom. “Liza’s sister, Lindsay, was last seen getting into a black SUV, registered to Irene Black.”

  Ramsey lifted his brows. “So you said before. Who is Irene Black?”

  Olivia looked at Abbott, who shrugged. “Tell him,” he said.

  Glancing at Noah from the corner of her eye, Olivia did. “Eve found the account the killer used in the game, by following messages sent by Virginia. The name on the account is Irene Black. She couldn’t get an address or financials because she didn’t have the access and the program booted her out.”

  Ramsey closed his eyes. “Eve hacked in, didn’t she?”

  Noah’s shoulders stiffened, the only indication he was still listening. He’d rewound the video to the beginning and was watching it again. Torturing himself, Olivia thought.

  “Yes,” Olivia said to Ramsey, flatly. “When we find her alive you can arrest her.”

  “But you got an address,” Abbott said.

  “A PO box in Wisconsin, from the license plate of an SUV that abducted a missing hooker,” Olivia said tautly. “That should expand the good doctor’s psych profile.”

  Ramsey looked pained. “It’s not enough. Basically you have Donner’s datebook and Pierce’s wife’s black Beemer. Everything else is fruit of a poisoned search.”

  “The plate from Damon isn’t,” Olivia insisted.

  “But it only connects to Pierce because of what Eve found in the game,” Ramsey said, frustrated himself. “I wish I could help you, but I can’t. Even if I wrote a warrant based on that information, no judge would sign it.” He rose, sliding the photos back across the table. “Call me when you have more.”

  Olivia watched him go, her heart in her throat. “Dammit.”

  “Get him back.” The growl came from Noah, whose face was an inch from the TV screen, his body vibrating like a plucked string. “Now. Get Ramsey back now.”

  Ramsey waited for the elevator, looking miserable. “Brian,” Olivia called. “Come quick.”

  They ran back to find Abbott squinting at the TV screen. Noah had frozen the video to a single frame. Eve was being dragged by a bent-over figure in a tan overcoat. The coat’s lapels were turned up and his fedora was pulled low, hiding his face. The frame was frozen with the man’s gloved hand on the handle of the back door of a black BMW.

  “Look at the window,” Noah said urgently, enlarging the picture.

  “Stop. Freeze it,” Ramsey commanded. Because there, reflected in the window glass for one frame only, was the face of Carleton Pierce.

  Noah looked over his shoulders, his eyes blank. “Is this enough?”

  “More than enough,” Ramsey said. “Get moving. I’ll call you when the warrant is signed.”

  Abbott was already putting on his coat. “Liv, you’re with me. Noah, you stay here.”

  Noah rose. “No. I’m coming. I’ll follow orders once there, but I’m not staying here.”

  Abbott took a second to assess, then nodded. “All right. One false move and I’ll have you removed. Clear? Olivia, have Kane track the Wisconsin PO box for Irene Black, then you and Micki meet us at Pierce’s. Thanks, Brian.”

  “I’ll follow you in a few,” Olivia said. “I’m expecting Tom Hunter any minute. I need to get Liza Barkley’s description out on the wire.”

  Thursday, February 25, 1:50 p.m.

  “We have a warrant,” Abbott said as he and Noah got out of the car in front of Pierce’s very expensive home. Micki was already waiting with the CSU team.

  “He’s not here,” Micki said, and although Noah had expected it, his heart sank. “A neighbor saw Pierce leave this morning driving his wife’s car, a black BMW. It’s not here, either, just Pierce’s Mercedes.”

  “Noah, you take the upstairs,” Abbott said, “I’ll take the main floor and Micki, you have the basement. Let’s go in.”

  Pierce’s house was as qui
et as a tomb. Abbott announced them loudly, while Noah ran upstairs, heart in his throat, despite the certainty that Eve wasn’t here. She was still alive. He had to believe that, or he’d lose his mind.

  He searched two empty bedrooms before he found the master. The bed was tidily made and nothing seemed out of place. But he could smell bleach. He moved to the master bath and gasped a breath. The odor was so strong here, his eyes watered.

  Not Eve. He would not let it be Eve. He stepped back, touching nothing, and went downstairs to find Micki. She was in the kitchen, opening cabinets.

  “Basement was clear. Nothing but spider webs. These cabinets are arranged by type, each box and can alphabetized. Textbook obsessive personality our good doctor has,” she said, then held up a can of cat food. “I haven’t seen a cat. Have you?”

  To hell with the cat. His heart clambered up into his throat. “No, but somebody used extra-concentrated bleach in the master bathroom.”

  She grimaced. “Oh, hell. I’ll get up there in a second.” She opened the trash can and dug a minute, coming up with an opened cat food can in one hand and something shiny in another. “Look.”

  Noah was losing patience. “I don’t care about the damn cat,” he ground out.

  “Look,” she repeated, more forcefully. “This collar has Martha’s cat’s name on it.”

  He took the collar and held it up to the light. “Ringo.”

  “I saw some old vet records in the trash Olivia and Kane cleared out of the empty apartment next to Martha’s. Pierce took her cat.”

  “So he’s an animal lover,” he snarled. “Damn it, Micki, it doesn’t help us find Eve.”

  “You’re thinking like a man, Noah. Think like a cop or get out. It’s all important. Like the cat hair Pierce tried to dismiss this morning. Think.”

  “You’re right.” He tried to think. “He dismissed Christy’s missing shoes, too.”

  “Called them souvenirs,” she said. “Said shoes weren’t special enough. I’d say a cat would make one hell of a special souvenir. Sonofabitch was mocking us. We’ll treat the master bath with Luminol, see what he was trying to hide with the bleach. We’ll also see if we can link it to the bleach he used at Rachel’s.”

  “Because it’s all important,” Noah murmured. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay. Go find Abbott. He’ll keep you focused.”

  Abbott sat in Pierce’s study, behind his desk. Noah steeled himself to say the words that were choking him. “I think he killed someone in the master bath. It reeks of bleach.”

  Abbott considered. “I don’t think he brought Eve here, Web. Neighbors said he left with the Beemer, and it’s not here. I don’t think he’s been back.”

  Noah let the breath he held slide out. “Thank you. I needed to hear that.”

  “It’s okay. I don’t think I’d be holding up so well in your shoes. I’m not finding anything incriminating here in his desk, just a lot of old tax files.”

  Noah pushed at the stack of papers. “He’s got copies of his wife’s W-2s, so we know where she works. She’s not here and he took her car this morning.”

  “And the bathroom reeks of bleach,” Abbott said grimly. “I’ll call her employer. You keep looking for something we can use.”

  Noah took a walk around the office, looking for anything out of place, finding it in a door wallpapered so skillfully that its outline nearly disappeared into the wall. For a moment hope soared. A secret room. Eve. But the door opened easily and the disappointment tasted bitter on his tongue.

  Behind the door there was a walk-in closet. Think like a cop. He dropped his eyes to the carpet. There was a deep groove in the carpet a fraction of an inch from the edge of a filing cabinet, as if it had recently been moved.

  Noah hefted it to one side, surprised when it moved easily. Behind it in the wall was a small safe. “Now we’re in business,” he murmured. He re-entered the office just as Abbott was hanging up.

  “Pierce’s wife didn’t show up for work this morning,” Abbott said.

  “If he did kill her,” Noah said, “why now? According to those tax returns they’ve been married for twenty years.”

  “I don’t know, but this is interesting. She’s a biologist at an animal research lab. And guess what species they keep there? Timber rattlers.”

  Christy Lewis. “Pierce’s wife helped him get the snake, or he got in with her key.”

  “Her boss doesn’t think she’d remove an animal from the lab. He says she’s very dedicated. He’s checking key card access. The lab is checking their snake ‘inventory’ now.” Abbott shuddered involuntarily. “God.”

  Noah thought of Jack and how terrified he’d been. “Pierce must have laughed at Jack for being so afraid,” he said bitterly. “I found a safe back here. Let’s get it blown.”

  Thursday, February 25, 1:50 p.m.

  “Where is she? Goddammit, Olivia, where is Eve?”

  Olivia looked up to see three men rushing toward her desk. Two were tall, dark, one with a cane and one with his arm in a sling. The other was lanky, blond, and old beyond his twenty years. The Hunter men had arrived. David, his older brother Max, and Tom, who looked as if he’d been crying. David had let the question fly across the bullpen and two detectives had already grabbed him and were trying to hold him back.

  “It’s okay,” she called to the detectives. “Let him go.” Olivia hung her head for a minute, digging deep for the energy to do her job and be the friend they’d need. She rose and met each man’s eyes in turn. “We don’t know where she is, but we know who took her. Come on, I’ll tell you what I can.”

  She led them to the same small room she and Eve had used when talking to the real Kurt Buckland’s boss at the Mirror only the day before. “Sit, please. I don’t have the energy to keep looking up at the three of you.” It wasn’t a quip, wasn’t a joke. It was the weary truth, and the men sat, Max between them.

  “We want to know what’s going on,” Max said with quiet authority. The older brother and Tom’s stepfather, he’d clearly taken charge. “Now.”

  “Of course. How’s your arm and head?” she asked David, taking charge back.

  “Fractured and pounding,” he said between his teeth. “You know my brother Max.”

  She met Max’s steel-gray eyes, identical to David’s. “I met you at Mia’s wedding. All right, here’s what I know. First, we took Dell Farmer into custody last night after he tried to kill Eve and one of our detectives.”

  “Farmer ran David off the road,” Max said, but Olivia shook her head.

  “No, he did lots of other really bad stuff, but that wasn’t Farmer.”

  David had gone white beneath his winter tan. “If Farmer’s in jail, then it’s this… Shadowland guy.”

  Olivia nodded. “Yes. We had Eve en route to a safe house when she was taken.”

  David surged to his feet. “How did this happen? Webster promised he’d watch her.”

  “Sit down, David,” Olivia commanded, and vibrating with fear and rage, he obeyed. “Noah was at the scene of another homicide.”

  David looked ill. “Six. That was number six.”

  Olivia hesitated. “Yes.”

  “He’s killed more,” Max said thinly.

  Olivia nodded. “Yes.”

  “He’s got Liza, too?” Tom asked, more calmly than his elders.

  Olivia nodded. “Yes. And I don’t know why or how it connects, so don’t ask, but it does. Your black SUV tip may be really important, Tom.”

  David and Max turned to look at Tom. “What black SUV?” David asked.

  “Who is Liza?” Max asked at the same time. “What is this?”

  She met Tom’s gaze. “You play the white knight, you gotta come clean. Tell them the details, but later. I have to go and so do all of you. I have a house to search.”

  Max had returned his sharp gaze to her face. “You said you knew who had Eve.”

  “Yeah, and I’m not going to say who, so don’t ask.” Ther
e was a commotion outside and one of the detectives who’d stopped David stuck his head in the door.

  “You’ve got someone here demanding to see you, Detective Sutherland.”

  Sal burst through the door. “I heard. Down at the bar, I heard.” His eyes were red-rimmed. “Dammit, Olivia, what happened?”

  “Sal.” She gave him the two-minute version, then rose. “You guys can’t stay here.” She held up her hand to quell the four dissenting voices. “Sal, take them back to your place. I’ll call you when I have any news. I promise. Now go. I have work to do.”

  Thursday, February 25, 2:20 p.m.

  “Luminol was positive,” Micki said, joining Noah and Abbott in Pierce’s study. “Blood in the tub. I’ve got a tech checking the drains.” She stuck her head into the walk-in closet. “How’s that safe coming, Sugar?”

  “It’d come faster if you all would be quiet,” Sugar Taub said testily from the closet.

  Noah was pacing a groove into the carpet, but abruptly stopped at a section of books when a title caught his eye. “It’s in German,” he said, and Abbott came to look.

  “I found books in French over there. Carleton is, unfortunately, a very smart man.”

  But Noah wasn’t listening, instead staring at the book spines. “This one’s by Freud. Das Ich und Das Es.” He heard a piece of the puzzle fall into place. “Das Ich. Dasich. He was the avatar that played poker with Natalie Clooney and Virginia Fox.”

  “What does Das Ich mean?”

  Noah googled it on his cell. “The book is The Ego and The Id. This says that the ego’s job is to find balance between the primitive drives of the id and reality.”

  “The drive to kill is pretty damn primitive,” Abbott said. “Smug sonofabitch.”

  “That’s what Eve called Dasich,” Noah said. She’s been gone three hours.

  “Don’t think about her right now,” Abbott said. “We’re getting closer.”