Dead Even

by Mariah Stewart

  “So you think that maybe Miranda might be the woman he’s referring to here? And could therefore be Channing’s number three?”

  “I’m asking you what you think. You’re the one who has made a career of understanding these personalities. And you met Channing. You’re the only person I know who spent time with him, talked to him.”

  She tapped the folded letter on her crossed knee.

  “What you want to know is, do I think Channing gave Miranda’s name to Lowell?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, let’s look at what we learned about him from the Mary Douglas case. You’ve read the reports yourself, Will. Channing was a very organized killer. Took all his gear with him. Had his victims staked out ahead of time, knew where they lived, when they left in the morning, when they arrived home at night. He left very little to chance.”

  “Except he failed to properly identify his first victim.”

  “Yes, a failure that resulted in his killing three women more than he’d planned. Not that I think he regretted that.” She shook her head. “Actually, I think it may have amused him, in an ‘oh, silly me’ sort of way.”

  “Do you think he would have remembered Miranda?”

  Annie smiled. “Will, you’re a man. You tell me. How often does a man meet a woman like Miranda? How likely is he to forget?”

  “That’s pretty much what I was thinking.”

  “So the answer would have to be yes, I think he remembered her.”

  “We know he held a grudge against Unger for thirty years, but that was pretty personal. I mean, Unger was a part of his daily life; they lived together. They shared a defining moment in Channing’s life.” Will rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “But would his feeling toward Miranda have been that strong? Would he have held on to those feelings for six years? Would he have wanted to destroy her as he did Unger, as he might want to do to Landry?”

  “Depends on how cozy he felt where he was, when she brought an end to it. Have you reviewed all of the identified cases?”

  “Most of them, not all.”

  “I’m familiar with the ones Miranda had been investigating in Rockledge. All young women in their late teens, early twenties. All from roughly the same area in southern Ohio. All raped, strangled in their homes. All were left with one of their own scarves over their faces.”

  “Same as the ones we’re looking at now, the murders he committed after he left Rockledge.”

  “But they didn’t start up for two, three months after he left Rockledge,” Will pointed out.

  “Two or three months when he would have been stewing, wanting to kill but afraid of being caught.” Annie thought it over, then nodded. “As Landry said, Miranda stopped his forward motion for a time. A time he probably spent quite frustrated. Angry, no doubt, because of it.”

  “Then you think there’s a chance Miranda might be the third victim?”

  “I think you should keep an open mind, keep scanning those files. See if you can identify a more likely candidate. But until you do, I’d say proceed as if Miranda’s name is the third on that list.”

  “I guess I need to talk to John.”

  “The sooner, the better,” Annie agreed. “Right now your focus is on Landry. Can we take the chance that Lowell’s focus isn’t on Miranda?”

  CHAPTER

  TWELVE

  Burt lowered himself slowly into the lone chair in his motel room and rubbed his temples, trying to ease away the pain caused by forty minutes in the company of Archer Lowell, whom Burt had found to be one big fat pain in the ass. If Vince Giordano had simply asked him to do all this as a favor, Burt wouldn’t have given it a second thought. But Giordano had thrown a whole shitload of money his way—more money than he’d ever seen in one place before—so what else could he do but take this all the way to the end?

  He only wished he didn’t have to take Lowell along in order to see it through.

  Archer Lowell was a dangerous man, in Burt’s opinion. Dangerous because he was so stupid. Burt had been really careful not to let Lowell see anything with his full name on it. He wore a hat and dark glasses that covered much of his face when he was in Lowell’s company, and he made sure he wore gloves when he was in Lowell’s room. He wanted to leave nothing behind that could tie him to Lowell once the shit hit the fan. He’d even muddied up some of his license plate so that Lowell couldn’t give it up, should it ever occur to the twerp to turn on him.

  He rubbed the back of his neck with his big, beefy right hand. That was something that had to be considered. What were the chances Lowell would just do what he had to do, then go quietly about his business? Would there come a time when, overcome with remorse, Lowell might go to the cops and spill the whole thing? The fact that, up to this point, he had gone along with the deal was no real guarantee that he might not someday regret what he’d done.

  Burt was going to have to think long and hard about this. How to keep Lowell on track so that he could see this through and collect the rest of the money, and keep his head out of a noose at the same time.

  It had been no surprise that he’d arrived at the motel to find Lowell had absolutely no plan for going after his next victim. The guy was totally clueless.

  “I don’t know,” Lowell had whined when Burt had asked him what his next move was going to be.

  “You got your vic picked out?” Burt had asked, trying to keep a rein on his temper, lest he belt Lowell in the head.

  “Yes.”

  “So you know where you’re going? How you’re getting there? How you’re gonna get the job done?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “What exactly do you know, Lowell?” Burt’s eyes had darkened. Lowell had visibly cringed at the menacing.

  “I just know who. I don’t know where he is. New Jersey, I think. A farm or something. But that’s all Channing told me.”

  “So you go on the Internet and you find him. You know how to do that?”

  “Sorta.”

  “There’s no sorta, asshole. You either know how to locate someone or you don’t.”

  “I don’t.”

  “How can a kid as young as you not know about computers?”

  “I don’t know.” Lowell shrugged. “I just never learned computer stuff.”

  “This town must have a library. I’ll go in the morning and look him up on the computer for you.” His eyes lit. “I’ll bet I can even get driving directions. . . .”

  And he had gotten directions, practically to Landry’s front door. Next he had to lay it out for Lowell.

  “What you gotta do is study the place. See what’s what. So’s you know when to go in, when you can nail him.”

  “How do I do that? How do I get there? How do I . . .” Lowell had started to pace in the small motel room, and Burt had thought he’d explode. Or break a chair over Lowell’s head.

  “All right. I’ll tell you what. I’m going to drive you there. You can figure out what to do from there, can’t you?”

  “I don’t know,” Lowell began to whine again.

  Burt grabbed him by the throat and lifted him clear off his feet.

  “Now you listen, and you listen good,” Burt growled into the younger man’s face. “You are going to do this for Vince if it kills you. Frankly, I don’t care if it does. You ain’t nothing to me, you hear? I could just as easily plug you myself right here and now because you are pissing me off big-time.”

  Tightening his fingers on Lowell’s neck, he repeated, “You ain’t nothing to me, you understand that, punk?”

  Gasping, his eyes bulging nearly out of his head, Lowell nodded.

  Burt dropped him to the floor.

  “I got that address for you, and I’ll take you there. Then you’re on your own. And you better not fuck up.”

  Burt had left the room, slamming the door behind him, and retreated to his own room down the hall. He turned on the television, surfed until he found ESPN, then leaned back to watch some college football.

  Another couple o
f days, and this would all be over. Vince would tell him where the rest of the money had been hidden, and once Burt had the full amount in his pocket, he’d be on his way to Florida. He’d find himself some nice little town and buy himself a condo. Set himself up in some kind of legitimate business. He’d done a little Internet research himself and found that he could buy a water ice franchise for a couple of hundred thou—which, thanks to Vince, he’d have—and in a few more years, he’d be living the life.

  He wondered what Sharon, his ex-wife, would say when he showed up at her door, a respected businessman, and demanded to see his kids. That’d be something, wouldn’t it?

  He had to remind himself that his kids were almost out of high school by now. Well, if they wanted to go to college, he’d step in and take care of that. Sure. They were his kids, weren’t they? Not their fault that their mother had taken them away while he was in prison. Yeah. He’d offer to pay their tuition, that’s what. Show them what kind of a guy he really was. And fuck Sharon if she didn’t like it.

  Of course, when she saw that new pickup, saw him dressed so fine in his new threads, her eyes were just about going to bug out of her head. Maybe she’d even try to put some moves on him, try to get herself back into his life.

  Like that was going to happen.

  He was going to find himself a new woman, that’s what. Prettier than Sharon, younger, too. Someone who could appreciate him, who’d be proud of him and the business he was going to start. Maybe even have another family. One he’d be there for, not like last time.

  Well, that was his old life. Water under the bridge. He didn’t have to be pulling any petty-ass jobs anymore. He had his own stash, and he was going to have a hell of a lot more.

  Thinking about the cash he had hidden in the well of his spare tire made him think about Giordano. Thinking about Giordano made him think about Lowell all over again.

  He groaned and rubbed his temples.

  Tomorrow was going to be a very long day. He got up and grabbed his keys from the top of the dresser where he’d tossed them, then went out into the night. There had to be a liquor store around here someplace. He hadn’t had a drink since this whole mess had started, but tonight, faced with the prospect of spending the next day or so with Archer Lowell, he figured he needed a little something to help him get through it without killing the assassin.

  He thought about how it had felt to have his hands around Lowell’s throat. It would have taken precious little additional pressure to have strangled him. The kid was so annoying, Burt almost wished he had. In that second, there was no doubt in his mind that he could very easily have taken Lowell’s life and not thought twice about it.

  Good to know.

  CHAPTER

  THIRTEEN

  Miranda’s doorbell began to chime just as she hung up the phone. She peeked through one of the living room windows to see who was there and, for some reason, was not surprised to see Will leaning against one of the faux colonial pillars that graced what passed for a front porch in Miranda’s townhouse development.

  “Well, well,” she said as she opened the door. “Let me guess. You were just in the neighborhood and thought you’d stop by.” She glanced at her watch. “Could the fact that it’s almost dinnertime and you have another hour to drive before you get home have anything to do with this impromptu visit?”

  “No, but now that you mention it, did I catch you in the middle of whipping up some gourmet goodies?”

  She held the door open and gestured for him to enter.

  “Please.” She rolled her eyes. “Remember where you are.”

  “Sorry. I lost my head.”

  She walked into the living room, knowing he’d follow, and sat on the edge of a large square plush ottoman the color of cocoa.

  “How’s your sister? Have you heard from her?” He took a seat on the sofa.

  “She’s fine. I just got off the phone with her. She’s still in some undisclosed location in the Middle East; that’s all I know.” Miranda frowned. “I hate that she’s over there. It’s just too dicey to be undercover in an unfriendly region.”

  “Did she say she’s in any particular danger?”

  “No, of course not. This is Portia the Fearless we’re talking about here. Even if she was scared to death, she’d never admit it.”

  “Even to you?”

  “Especially to me.”

  “I thought identical twins were supposed to be like two peas in a pod.”

  “Yeah, well, we’re mirror-image twins, so I guess that accounts for it.”

  “You’re right-handed, she’s left- . . .”

  Miranda made a face. “That’s the short version. I also think there’s some left-brain, right-brain thing at work there, too. She would walk into the gates of hell unarmed with a smile on her face, like she’s walking into a theme park and with about as much caution.”

  “You make her sound careless, and we both know that’s not true.”

  “No, she’s not careless. But she is fearless. Compared to her, I’m the family wimp.”

  “Don’t be so hard on yourself. I can’t remember the last time I saw you back down from a job.”

  “It’s easy to look brave when you don’t put yourself in dire situations.” Miranda shook her head. “I’ve never done half of the stuff she’s done. And I don’t want to.”

  “And you think that makes you a wimp?”

  “Compared to her, yes.”

  “Why do you have to compare yourself to her?”

  “Because she’s there.” Miranda shrugged. “Besides, everyone’s always compared us to each other.”

  “That hardly seems fair.”

  “It happens to twins all the time.” She made a face again. “If it wasn’t ‘Miranda walked earlier, but Portia talked first,’ it was ‘Portia could read by the time she was three, but Miranda didn’t read until nursery school.’ That sort of thing. You grow to expect it after a while.”

  “I guess that can be tough, growing up.”

  “I suppose it could be, if one is way ahead of the other developmentally. Portia and I sort of seesawed back and forth, one did one thing first, then the other did something else. So, enough about me. What’s going on?”

  “What makes you think something’s going on?”

  “You never just stop in, Fletcher.” She paused, then added, “At least, it’s been a while since you just showed up at my door. Makes me think there’s a reason.”

  “There is a reason.” He nodded. “I had lunch with Annie today.”

  “So?” She knew that. She crossed one leg over the other and swung it slightly, trying to look as nonchalant as possible.

  “We talked about this whole situation with Lowell and who his victims are likely to be. She thinks Landry is definitely on the list. She also agrees with him, that you’re likely to be on there, too.”

  “Swell.”

  “She further agrees that we need to see if we can find someone else from Channing’s past who might fit the bill, but as it looks now . . .” He held both hands out in front of him, palms up. “Well, she thinks you just look too good. I’d be real happy if we were able to identify a more likely victim. But until we find someone else, we need to decide how best to watch your back, Cahill.”

  “I can watch my back.” She frowned.

  “Oh, and now you have eyes in the back of your head, do you?”

  “You think Archer Lowell can get the best of me?” Her face hardened. “That is insulting.”

  “He’s going to have an advantage over you.” She started to protest, and he held up one hand. “He will know where, and he will know when. Two very crucial bits of information. You will have to be totally vigilant every minute of every day until we get him.”

  “It isn’t as if I walk around in a fog all the time, Will.” She was growing visibly angry.

  “It’s different when someone is after you. You can never let your guard down. And regardless of what you think, you cannot watch your own back, Cahill
. No one can.”

  She glared at him. “So what are you suggesting?”

  “That we have someone watching your house. Someone with you all the time.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “Tell me that you have not volunteered for that duty.”

  “I haven’t, but I will.” He watched her face but could not read her expression. “I haven’t had this discussion with John yet, but I intend to, first thing in the morning.”

  “I already mentioned it to John. Sort of.”

  “That was before we had the opinion of our behavior specialist.”

  “Annie really thinks Channing remembered me?”

  “She thinks there’s a good chance, yes.” He continued to watch her face. “Let’s take this seriously, okay, Cahill? Let’s pretend that there’s no maybe. Let’s pretend that it’s a definite, and act accordingly.”

  “If we’re wrong, I’ll feel like the world’s biggest ass.”

  “But you’ll be alive.”

  She got up and moved around the room, for no apparent reason other than to work off a little of her restlessness.

  “Portia will be home in a few weeks. She’ll be here with me.”

  “And what do we do in the meantime, hope that Lowell can’t figure out how to look up your name in the phone book?”

  “How would he even know what book to look in?”

  “You gave him your business card when we were at his trailer that first day. It had your office and cell phone numbers on it, along with the address of the office. Even he is probably smart enough to figure out that you most likely live somewhere relatively close to where you work.”

  “Is that why you moved out into the boonies? So that no one would be able to figure out where you live?”

  “I moved to the boonies because I like it, and don’t change the subject.”

  She sat back down on the ottoman and rubbed her temples, closing her eyes as if in pain.

  “Christ, my sister is off fighting terrorists in the Middle East, and here I am, in Virginia, talking about having an armed guard outside my safe little townhouse. What is wrong with this picture?” She shook her head. “Portia’s going to think I’ve really lost it.”