The FBI Profiler Series 6-Book Bundle

by Lisa Gardner

  Friday, May 18, 11:27 A.M.

  Becky O’Grady placed her finger carefully over Big Bear’s black-stitched mouth. He regarded her steadily with his big golden eyes.

  “Shh,” she told him. “We have to be very quiet.”

  Big Bear helped her out. Becky knew he didn’t like the closet. He’d always been afraid of the dark. But now he was a very brave brown bear. He didn’t make a single noise as she gently twisted the knob on the closet door and eased it open.

  There was a break in the argument in the family room. Becky froze instantly. Her mommy and daddy had been fighting for a long time now. Something about some man her mommy had talked to this morning. She shouldn’t have done that, Becky’s daddy said. Why didn’t she trust him to take care of things?

  Becky’s mommy wasn’t happy. She told Becky’s dad he was in denial. Becky didn’t know what that meant, but she was sad it made her mommy so angry, because Becky was in denial too. The doctors had said so.

  Maybe it was a bad disease. That would explain why Becky’s best friend, Jenny, no longer came over to play. Like the time Becky had the chicken pox. No one could play with her then either. And her skin had itched so bad. She’d wanted to scratch and scratch, but her mommy made her sit in a bathtub filled with hot water and oatmeal. Becky hated the chicken pox. Of course, Grammy Surmon had made her her very own pie. Banana cream, and Danny hadn’t been allowed to eat any of it unless Becky said it was okay. She’d kinda liked that.

  Now the thought of Danny made Becky’s chest hurt. She held Big Bear closer.

  The fighting started again. Daddy was yelling that Mommy didn’t care enough about Danny. Mommy was yelling that it was all Daddy’s fault. “How did Danny get the guns, Shep? Tell me how Danny got the guns.”

  Becky slipped inside the dark hallway closet. She shut the door. The light and the voices disappeared. She hunkered down on the old blanket her mommy had put in there for her and held Big Bear close.

  Sometimes, when she was alone in the dark like this, just her and Big Bear, she could almost breathe again. The funny weight would leave her chest and she would feel not so bad anymore. She was safe. She was okay. Here in the dark, nobody could hurt her.

  She could close her eyes and the bad things would go away. She could float, peaceful, thinking of kittens and clouds and all the things she liked best.

  Today she tried the trick. She screwed her eyes shut. She pressed her cheek against the top of Big Bear’s woolly head. But nothing happened. No floating. She was just a little girl sitting on a hard floor in a closet that smelled like old shoes.

  She kept seeing Sally and Alice. She saw them on the floor. Then she saw pretty Miss Avalon.

  And then she raised her eyes.…

  Becky whimpered in the closet. She turned her face into Big Bear’s neck.

  “Be brave,” she told him. “Be brave. Be brave. Don’t make a sound.”

  Big Bear was a very brave brown bear. He didn’t make any noise as she rocked with him on the floor while her parents fought in the living room. He didn’t make any noise as she whimpered and warred with evil monsters. And he didn’t make any sound as she cried and still saw too many things, like what had happened to pretty Miss Avalon.

  Becky’s mouth hurt from the Jell-O salad. Her shoulders sagged from too many nights without enough sleep. She didn’t give up, though. She was tough. Her daddy liked to say that she was just like him, a real trouper.

  Becky didn’t know what a trouper was. But she wanted to be like Daddy, big and strong and brave. She needed to be like Daddy.

  She had to be tough. She had to keep Danny safe.

  The funeral service for Sally Walker and Alice Bensen was originally scheduled for one P.M. at the tiny white Episcopal church on Fourth Street. By noon, however, when the pews, the foyer, the lawn, and the parking lot were filled to standing room only with somberly dressed neighbors, Reverend Albright moved everything graveside. Groundsmen hastily erected canvas tents, and a fierce ocean breeze whipped the blue awnings frantically above everyone’s heads.

  No one complained. Cars continued to arrive. Weathered dairymen, clad in their Sunday best, escorted their wives slowly up the hill, heads bowed against the wind. Bakersville High’s basketball team, which heralded Alice Bensen’s brother as star forward and Sally Walker’s uncle as coach, gathered in full uniform to serve as honor guard. The men of the Elks Lodge, where George Walker belonged, also wore dress colors, standing formally to one side and waiting for the service to end, when they would be in charge of transporting the mountain of flowers back to the families’ homes.

  The ladies of the Episcopal church gave out programs. Neighbors supplied a steady stream of condolence cards and homemade pies for the luncheon to follow.

  Rainie took it in from a distance. Even from two hundred feet away, the sight of two freshly dug graves, side by side on an emerald green hillside and framed by mountains of red and white flowers, haunted her. She noticed that Quincy kept to the perimeter as well. She was surprised he’d even come. Given recent events with his own daughter, she couldn’t imagine that the next hour wouldn’t grab his heart and squeeze it dry.

  Then again, the federal agent seemed to thrive on pushing himself to bear the unbearable.

  Sanders was also present. He had taken up a post on the east side of the hill, where a side street offered cemetery access. Standing in a dark blue suit with his hands clasped in front of him, he blended with the crowd of gathered mourners.

  By agreement, Rainie was the only officer in uniform. Sanders and the county men all roamed the crowd wearing traditional mourning clothes. That way they could monitor the services without intruding unnecessarily on the families.

  No one expected any trouble during the ceremony. Rainie and the mayor, however, were concerned about the hours afterward, when people would leave the service with emotions running high, find a bar for a few drinks with their buddies, and work themselves into a state of pure testosterone. Alcohol and guns were never a great mix, and God knew Bakersville had plenty of both.

  The county men had orders to work the crowd, listen sharp. Particularly vocal attendants would be monitored later in the evening. The mayor didn’t want to take any chances, not after the recent run on rifles at the sporting-goods store.

  At Quincy’s suggestion, the men were also looking for “someone out of place.” Maybe a middle-age white male who seemed strangely removed from the gathering of family and friends. Maybe a man who appeared to enjoy funerals too much. Any man stupid enough to look at twin coffins and smile.

  Rainie didn’t think they’d get that lucky, but Quincy insisted. If it was a stranger-against-stranger crime, there was a good chance the man would attend.

  Rainie found herself thinking of the dream she’d had last night. Jerking awake. Tall, imposing shadow on her back deck … She was unnerved these days.

  A hush suddenly descended over the crowd. Rainie jerked her attention back to the rolling green cemetery in time to realize that a train of cars had just arrived. The families, with their daughters, were here.

  George Walker got out first. A heavyset man, his broad face flushed and his eyes bloodshot, he came around to open the door for his wife. Jean Walker was as petite as her husband was large, and she swayed against his thick arm as he led her to the grass. They waited together for the Bensens, who took much longer to climb out of their vehicle. Rainie had never met Alice’s parents, Joseph and Virginia. She knew only of their son, Frederick, whom Frank and Doug avidly declared to be the best basketball player ever to pound the boards at Bakersville High. Most of the town followed his career and college aspirations.

  Now Rainie was immediately struck by the Bensens’ strong Nordic looks. They held their heads high as they approached the Walkers. They kept their gaze steady as they watched the honor guard step forward. They remained unflinching as their son bent his lanky legs to carry his eight-year-old sister to her final resting place.

  Ten minutes later both cof
fins were delivered to the front of the tent and the minister formally began the service.

  Rainie glanced over at Quincy. He wasn’t watching anymore. His gaze was far off, where distant trees framed the blue horizon. She didn’t know what he was thinking, but tears streamed down his cheeks.

  The minister concluded his introduction. A young man Rainie didn’t recognize rose and helped an older woman work her way to the microphone. The wind blew hard, flattening the woman’s black silk dress against her rounded frame, but she fought forward. At the front, she opened a book and cleared her throat. She introduced herself as Alice Bensen’s aunt. Then she read a passage in Alice and Sally’s memory. It was a selection on the meaning of friendship, from Winnie the Pooh.

  That was it for Rainie. She also turned away until VanderZanden rose to give the eulogy.

  He appeared somber as he stood in front of nearly eight hundred people. He had written out his speech, and the piece of paper trembled in his hands. Rainie discovered, however, that she couldn’t muster any sympathy for the man. She was too busy staring at his wife, who had been patting his hand supportively for the last forty-five minutes. Abigail VanderZanden was a little plump from the years and a little dowdy in a square-shaped, navy blue JCPenney dress, but she had a generous smile and sparkling blue eyes. She also appeared genuinely proud of her husband, and that made Rainie like VanderZanden even less.

  There were no winners today, Rainie thought, and that realization wore her down a little bit more. She had had hopes of big discoveries. Fantasies of standing in front of her community and telling them exactly what had happened on Tuesday afternoon and why. No more driving by the school in pained bewilderment. No more staring at your children over breakfast cereal, wondering what might happen to them that day. No more horrible questions, like why were young boys suddenly prone to murdering their classmates.

  Instead Rainie stood on an emerald hillside in Bakersville’s only cemetery, feeling the blustery wind against her face and listening to the haunting echo of “Amazing Grace” sung by fourteen adults while Frederick Bensen broke down sobbing against his mother, who cradled him in her arms.

  Long after the final note died away, people remained standing. Reverend Albright came back up. He cleared his throat and said that concluded the services. People still didn’t move.

  Danny should be here, Rainie realized. Danny and Shep and Sandy and Becky, and, hell, Charlie Kenyon and the mysterious second shooter, and any boy who’d ever picked up a gun and thought about pulling the trigger. This was death. This was loss. This was the moment when everything became real. And why weren’t there more children at this funeral? Most of the kids in Bakersville had the power to take a life. Why didn’t their gun-owning parents think to show them what that meant?

  The stillness finally broke. The first few people reluctantly trickled out of the tent. Then, like a dam breaking, the others followed suit.

  Rainie looked around, trying to pick out the state men. She still saw nothing suspicious and nothing out of place. She sidled up to Quincy, whose cheeks were dry and face carefully composed.

  “Ready?” he said.

  She figured they both knew she wasn’t. “Mann first. Then VanderZanden.”

  “Deal.”

  Rainie hesitated one last moment. Her gaze was still scanning the crowd. It finally occurred to her that she was checking out the profiles of the various men. She was studying their silhouettes. Middle of the night. The figure in black on her back deck …

  She shook her head and forced the image away. As she and Quincy moved down the hillside, however, her gaze continued to work the crowd.

  They found Richard Mann off to one side of the tent, huddled together with four other faculty members, all female. Without being asked, he stepped discreetly away from his companions, joining Quincy and Rainie behind a cluster of pine trees.

  “Nice to see you again, Mr. Mann,” Rainie said politely. Her bad-cop role was probably a little much for a funeral.

  “Did you talk to Charlie Kenyon?” Mann asked curiously. “Was Charlie involved?”

  “We talked to him.” Rainie regarded him coolly. The more she tried to study the counselor, the less she knew what to think. “I’m afraid that’s a dead end, though, Mr. Mann. Charlie doesn’t appear to be involved.”

  “Really? I was so sure.…” Mann’s face fell. He sighed heavily, then rubbed his face. That quickly, he looked haggard, and Rainie was shocked to realize that he was much more upset than she’d realized. “I’m having real issues with this,” he said abruptly.

  “What kind of issues, Mr. Mann?” Quincy inquired.

  “I’ve been turning things over and over in my mind, and I just can’t see Danny instigating a murder. And not just because I’m his counselor and I feel guilty. It’s more.… Yes, Danny had rage issues.” The counselor made a groping motion with his hands, as if searching for better words. “But physical action just isn’t his style. Danny’s a computer geek, not a schoolyard bully. If he was angry with the school or even authority figures in general, I could see him doing something sophisticated. Maybe hacking into the school’s databases and giving everyone straight As. Or working his way into the DMV computers and revoking Principal VanderZanden’s license. Something clever. I just … I just can’t see him resorting to murder.”

  “Danny was raised with guns,” Rainie said. “He’s as comfortable with them as he is with computers.”

  “I guess.” Mann, however, didn’t look convinced. “What about Mr. Avalon?”

  “He claimed the body,” Rainie said. “It appears he’s planning services for his daughter.”

  “Oh.” Mann appeared surprised again. “I guess I heard wrong. Isn’t Melissa an only child? How horrible for her parents.”

  Rainie nodded, but her attention was already beginning to drift. Richard Mann knew as little as she’d suspected in the beginning. No doubt he’d thought to make up for his guilt—or, hell, make up for his youth—by appearing to be some kind of expert. But in the end he was simply one more overwhelmed public servant caught with his pants down. Basically, he was like her.

  “We have reason to believe someone else was involved in the shootings,” Quincy said abruptly.

  “Really?” Mann’s brows shot up, just as Rainie gave Quincy the evil eye. She didn’t see the need for him to be giving up this kind of information.

  “So I was right! Danny wouldn’t do such a thing. But who, then? Another student? I don’t remember Danny talking about anyone in particular. He didn’t have many friends in school. You know, though, there’s still this Volcano person from on-line. Internet relationships can be very powerful.”

  “We think the contact might have been more than over the Internet, Mr. Mann. We think Danny might have also met No Lava in person. Would you know anything about that?”

  Rainie nearly stepped on Quincy’s foot to shut him up. What the hell was he doing? But Quincy’s gaze was still boring into Richard Mann’s. He looked like a hound dog on a scent.

  “Oh no,” the school counselor said quickly, his gaze dropping. “I never heard mention of that.”

  “Really? That’s odd,” Quincy mused out loud, “Here you are seeing this child twice a week. You know he’s getting e-mails from someone, but he never mentions seeing him in person? And you never pried?”

  Richard Mann began to squirm.

  “Do you own a gun?” Rainie piped up, finally catching on. “How tall are you, Richard? Five-ten, five-eleven? Yep, that would fit.”

  “That would fit? What?”

  Rainie turned casually to Quincy. “Didn’t he say he’s from L.A.? Chances are, he knows more about guns than you and I put together.”

  “I don’t know anything about guns! Frankly, all L.A. taught me was to be wary of loud noises. Why are you two looking at me like that? What is this about?”

  “Someone else shot Miss Avalon,” Rainie said flatly. “We have hard evidence she was killed by someone who’s at least five-foot-six. Where
were you again Tuesday afternoon? And what was the exact nature of your relationship with Melissa?”

  “You think I—”

  “I thought you’d be happy. You said it broke your heart to think of one of your students committing murder. Well, now you can rest easy.” Rainie’s voice went hard. “Tuesday afternoon. Where were you, Richard?”

  “In my office, like I said. This is nuts! Every time I try to help—”

  “Did Danny ever mention meeting someone in person?” Quincy continued relentlessly. “A new friend. Someone from out of town.”

  “I don’t remember—”

  “No Lava, Mr. Mann. You knew Danny was getting e-mails. And you suspected more, didn’t you? Danny said something that made you wonder, but you never told anyone. You never told anyone and now you’re afraid. You messed up. You were his counselor and you failed him.”

  Richard Mann had started panting. Beads of sweat covered his upper lip. “I … I …”

  Quincy leaned forward. He was firmly in control, and now he said with a trace of steel, “You’re standing one hundred feet from the graves of two murdered children, Mr. Mann. You helped bury them today. You said prayers for them today. Help us solve their murders. Finally tell us the truth.”

  The school counselor shuddered. His gaze darted all around them, looking for escape, but there was none. There was just him and two law-enforcement officers and the secret truth Quincy had finally ferreted out from the dark corners of Mann’s conscience. Richard Mann looked up. He was clearly ashamed.

  “He didn’t say enough for me to do anything with it,” he murmured. “I swear, if I’d known what was going to happen—”

  “Spit it out,” Rainie ordered.

  “I asked Danny once what he really knew about No Lava. I told him my concerns about him befriending someone who was only an e-mail address. What if he was really a six-year-old boy or a dirty old man—though I didn’t put it quite that bluntly.”

  “What did he say, Richard?”

  “He said she wasn’t anything like that. And when I tried to explain to him that was exactly my point, she might not even be a she but a he, Danny got this funny look on his face. He blew me off. At the time I thought it was attitude. But after Tuesday I started to wonder. What if it wasn’t attitude? What if he was simply positive that he knew the truth—for example, if he’d met No Lava in person, so he’d seen for himself that she was female?”