Blind Alley ed-5

by Iris Johansen

  “I take it we're being chased?” Bartlett stomped on the accelerator as he moved onto the freeway. “Aldo?”

  “Quinn and the ATLPD.” Trevor glanced at the side mirror. “No one yet,” he murmured. “Maybe she did toss him a red herring.”

  “The girl?”

  Trevor nodded. “I wasn't sure. She's not predictable. She could just as well have told me to go this way and then had a covey of police cars waiting for me.”

  “Maybe she's grateful to you for saving the pooch.”

  He grinned. “And maybe she's mad as hell and not going to take Aldo's crap anymore. That's more likely.”

  “Is that what she told you?”

  “More or less.”

  No, that was exactly what she had told him. Every glance, every angry word had been layered with determination. “She was a little pissed about her dog.”

  “I can't blame her,” Bartlett said. “Dreadful fellow, Aldo.”

  “You're a master of understatement.”

  “And apparently considerably more competent than you. You were so sure you'd get him this time.” He gave him a sly glance. “But don't be upset. Every man meets his Waterloo.”

  “Shut up.” He closed his eyes. “Just get me out of here. I need to sleep and then do some thinking. One step forward, two steps back. It's been a hell of a night.”

  “All may not be lost. Quinn may have caught Aldo.”

  “Then we'll know about it when we see the news tomorrow. Until then we'll assume the bastard got away.”

  “We're going to the lodge?”

  “It's as safe as anywhere. Safer than staying here in town. Quinn is bound to have put out an APB on me.”

  “No doubt. It would be much smarter to move on.”

  “I can't move on. Aldo isn't going to budge from the area as long as Jane MacGuire is here.” His lips tightened grimly. “And that means I have to dig in, too.”

  No sign of either of them,” Christy said. “We've scoured every acre of your property and the APB is coming up zero so far.”

  “Dammit.”

  “It's only been two days. How's Jane doing?”

  “Cool as a cucumber.”

  “Toby?”

  “He had to have stitches, but he'll be fine. He's fine now. He's lying on his dog bed in Jane's room getting belly rubs and eating turkey.”

  “Has Jane finished the sketch of Aldo yet?”

  “I'll go in and ask her. She's been working on it long enough.”

  “If she only saw him in poor light, it must be difficult to remember every feature.”

  “Everything about this is difficult. Jane has a memory that would make an elephant look bad.”

  “You think she's stalling?”

  “I can't figure out why she'd stall. But what do I know? She's done some things lately that have boggled my mind. And don't tell me about teenagers again. 'Bye, Christy.” He pressed the disconnect.

  “I'm not stalling,” Jane said from behind him.

  He turned to see her standing in the doorway with the sketchbook in her hand. “It took you a hell of a long time,” he said curtly.

  She crossed the porch and sat down beside him on the top step. “I had to be careful. It was funny. . . . When I was drawing him, it was too clear. I saw every feature as if he were standing before me. But I'd only seen him for a few seconds and I didn't see how I could be that sure.” She shrugged. “Anyway, I was afraid that I could get it wrong. So I let myself have plenty of time for second guesses.”

  “And you're sure now?”

  She flipped open the sketchbook. “Aldo.”

  A square face, high forehead and a roman nose. His hair was long but slightly receding. His eyes were deep-set and dark and were glaring out of the sketch with an expression of boundless animosity.

  “I know you prefer for the portrayals to be expressionless because no one goes around looking like Jack the Ripper. I tried. I really tried. I redid the sketch three times, but it kept coming out the same. I think it's because I know that whenever we're together, he's going to look like this.”

  He kept his eyes on the sketch. “And does it frighten you?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “Then why the hell did you go traipsing off after him when you should have come to me?” He lifted his head and his gaze was as hard as his tone. “And why did you lie to me about Trevor?”

  “It seemed the right thing to do at the time.” She smiled ruefully. “And it didn't do any good. You saw right through me.”

  “I've known you and Eve long enough to read you. But it was damn hard to believe you'd gang up on me like that.”

  “And it hurt you.”

  “Damn straight.”

  She laid her hand tentatively on his arm. “We didn't gang up on you. It wasn't Eve's fault.”

  “You don't have to defend her. Silence is a statement of its own.”

  “She didn't want you to have to make a choice.”

  “I'm used to making choices. It's a hell of a lot better than not being given one.” He looked back at the sketch. “I know you and Eve are so close you're practically joined at the hip, but I thought we had a relationship too.”

  “We do.” Her voice was uneven. “When I came to you, it was hard for me to get used to having— I never knew my father. I had no brother. I'd never trusted anyone in my life. Not really. Eve was easy. She was like me. You were different. It took time, but I came to . . . like you. I knew you'd never let me down.”

  “Then why didn't you come to me when you knew what that bastard was doing to Toby?”

  “He was my responsibility. I had to make the decision.”

  “You're seventeen years old.”

  She nodded. “But don't you think some people are born old?”

  “You mean old souls?”

  She shrugged. “I don't know about that. That sounds a little wacky. I just never remember feeling like a kid.”

  And he couldn't remember a time when she'd acted like a kid. The closest she'd come was when she was tearing across the hills with Toby. “That's pretty sad.”

  “No, it's not. It's just the way things are. I bet Eve feels the same way.”

  He smiled slightly. “Ah, your role model.”

  “I couldn't have a better one.”

  His smile faded. “No, you couldn't.” He covered her hand that still lay on his arm. “But both of you could be a little more trusting.”

  “I'll work on it.” She squeezed his hand. “But you're on your own with Eve. It should help that you know she's in your corner.”

  “With a hell of a lot of reservations.”

  She shook her head. “Did you ever wonder why you stayed with Eve all these years?”

  “No, I love her.”

  “But it must have been very difficult to love someone like Eve. She'll tell you herself how scarred she is.”

  His gaze narrowed on her face. “What are you getting at?”

  “I just think you hate anything easy. It bores you silly.”

  “You're crazy.”

  “You love Eve. You like me. I rest my case.” She stood up. “I'm sorry I lied to you. I'll try not to do it again. Good night, Joe.”

  “Good night.”

  She stopped at the door. “Have you heard anything about Trevor?”

  “I don't know if I should discuss him with you. I'm still pissed.” He scowled. “No word about his apprehension. Christy told me this morning that there may be a report coming in soon from Johannesburg. Something popped up on their computer database.”

  “Will you let me see it?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Ignorance is dangerous, Joe. Isn't that what you've always told me?”

  “You should have thought about that when you kept us in the dark.”

  “Joe.”

  He was silent a moment. “Okay.” He got up and moved down the stairs. “I'm going for a walk. I need to release some nervous energy. Tell Eve I won't be long.”

  Her g
aze went to the woods. “Be careful.”

  “I'm not the one who has to be careful. That's the pot calling the kettle black.” He paused. “The woods are crawling with officers, Jane. No one is going to try to get to you right now.”

  “You're probably right.” She pulled her gaze from the line of trees. But as she turned and opened the screen door she repeated, “Be careful.”

  SEVEN

  Jackpot,” Christy said when Joe answered the phone the next morning. “We've got a fix on Trevor.”

  “Talk to me.”

  “He was born in Johannesburg thirty years ago and his name is Trevor Montel, not Mark Trevor. His parents were planters who were killed by guerrillas when he was ten. He was placed in an orphanage and was in and out of trouble until he ran away at sixteen. The reports of the teachers were definitely mixed. Some wanted to toss him into jail and throw away the key. Others wanted to give him a scholarship and send him to Oxford.”

  “Why?”

  “He's brilliant. He was something of a phenomenon. One of the finest minds his teachers had ever run across. Mathematics, chemistry, literature. You name it, he aced it. His test scores went off the charts. Genius territory.”

  “Hence the card counting.”

  “That's his most well-known profession. You know about his years as a mercenary and there were several years after that when we have no info on him. Then he started to do the casino circuit and he's also been known to do a little smuggling and deal in ancient artifacts. He was picked up in Singapore once for trying to remove a valuable Tang Dynasty vase from the country. He talked his way out of it but not before they booked him on suspicion. We seem to have a lot of suspicion and no convictions connected with Trevor. He's either been treading very cautiously or he's as smart as they say.”

  “Smart. There was nothing cautious about the way he conned his way into my home. We have to look for a connection between Trevor and Aldo. Did Aldo's sketch bring any response?”

  “Not yet. Too bad you couldn't get fingerprints.”

  “No chance. He even wiped them off the dog collar. What about the volcanic ashes?”

  “They've narrowed them down to Krakatoa in Indonesia, Vesuvius, or Montserrat.”

  “Sweet. That's not what I call narrowing. Talk about opposite ends of the earth.”

  “They're working on trying to refine the tests. According to the lab it shouldn't be this difficult. Every volcano has its own signature tephra.”

  “Tephra?”

  “Unconsolidated fine-grained pyroclastic material.”

  “Ash.”

  “Yeah, I'm beginning to sound like the lab guys, aren't I? God help me. Anyway, the glass-shard particles have their own signature. The volcano from which they're taken can usually be pinpointed. In fact, it's possible for scientists to tell from which hole in the volcano the tephra was taken.”

  “Then what's the problem?”

  “Mixed signals. They're puzzled.”

  “Great.”

  “I'm pushing them. They'll get there.” She paused. “I know this must seem to be taking forever, Joe. I'd hate every minute of delay if I were in your shoes. I just want you to know that everyone in the department is with you and working at top speed.”

  “I know that. Thanks, Christy.”

  After he hung up he went to the window and looked out at Jane sitting by the lake. Toby was lying at her feet. The sun was shining, the sky was blue, the lake was clear and placid. The scene should have been peaceful.

  It wasn't.

  “She's waiting.” Eve had come to stand beside him at the window. Her gaze was on Jane. “She's been spending hours down there by the lake for the last two days. She says she's just enjoying the sunshine. But she's waiting for him.”

  He nodded. He'd also noticed the slight tension of Jane's body, the almost visible air of expectancy. “Aldo?”

  “Or Trevor.” Eve shrugged. “Or both. Since she won't admit she's waiting for anyone, we're not about to find out. I don't know how she thinks they're going to get near her.” She added grimly, “If they do, I'll personally strangle every one of those men on stakeout.”

  “You'd have to stand in line,” Joe said. He looked away from Jane. “Christy called with some info on Trevor. I'll fill you in.”

  “Good.” But Eve's gaze remained on Jane. “I know how she feels,” she whispered. “I'm waiting for them too.”

  Charlotte, North Carolina

  She wasn't perfect, but she'd have to do.

  Aldo cruised slowly behind her as she walked down the street watching the sway of hips in her short skirt and fur-trimmed jacket. He knew her hotel room was five blocks away because he'd watched her take two of her tricks there this evening. He'd waited until she was far enough from it to make it reasonable for them to drive rather than walk. Once in the car it was always much easier for him.

  He accelerated, pulled over to the curb beside her, and rolled down the window. “Cold night, isn't it.” He smiled. “But you look like you could warm any man. What's your name?”

  She moved toward him and leaned her elbows on the window. “Janis.”

  This close he could see that she was even less perfect than he had thought. She bore only a slight resemblance to the true thing. Her skin was acne marked, her eyes were too close together, and her cheekbones were not nearly as defined as Jane MacGuire's.

  But he could make do with the woman even though he might ordinarily have questioned if she was worth the kill. Now that the search was over he didn't have to be so selective. He pulled out the hundred-dollar bill he'd stuck in the visor. “Do you have a place we can go?”

  Her eyes widened. “On Fifth Street.” She opened the car door. “I can show you a good time, but I don't do kinky stuff. No whips or ropes.”

  “No whips or ropes. I promise.” He locked the door as she settled on the passenger seat. “Janis is a pretty name but do you mind if I call you Cira?”

  Joe hung up the phone and turned to Eve. “A woman was found in a ditch on the side of the road outside Charlotte, North Carolina. No face. Same MO as Aldo's other victims.”

  “Charlotte? That's hundreds of miles from here. Has he moved on? Should I be relieved?”

  “No, it may be a copycat.” He grabbed his jacket. “Anyway, I'm on my way to make sure. I'll call you from Charlotte. Don't let Jane leave the cottage. I'll tell the guys on stakeout I'm leaving and to keep sharp.”

  “But it could mean he's decided Jane isn't worth the risk?”

  “Maybe. Don't count on it.”

  She watched him run down the steps and stride toward the squad car. No, she couldn't count on anything but she couldn't help but have a faint stirring of hope. Charlotte was miles away and in another state. Perhaps the bastard was showing sense and knew they wouldn't let him touch Jane. Christ, that would be wonderful. It was terrible to be this relieved at someone else's misfortune.

  The phone rang.

  “Hello.”

  No answer.

  The person on the other end hung up.

  Just a wrong number, she told herself as she replaced the receiver. People got them all the time. It was rude to just hang up without saying anything, but not unusual. It could have been one of those computer-generated sales calls that had gone awry.

  It didn't have to be Aldo.

  He was in Charlotte or somewhere near there. He'd lost interest in Jane and moved on.

  Not here. Pray God, not here.

  It's possible,” Joe said when he called that evening from Charlotte. “It has all the same signatures as the other cases. Ashes found near the body. Young woman. No face. She hasn't been dead for more than forty-eight hours. Very provocative attire. Signs of sexual intercourse. She could be a prostitute. CLTPD has set the Vice Squad on questioning some of the hookers in the area.”

  “Are you coming back tonight?”

  “Probably not. I'm going to hit the computer and check the local Vice mug book to see what I can come up with. It might be quicker
than questioning pimps and hookers.”

  Eve shivered. “To see if any of them look like Jane.”

  “It would narrow the field. No copycat would know the women had similar facial characteristics. How's Jane?”

  “Fine. The same.”

  “And you?”

  “Impatient as hell.”

  “Me, too. Let me get to work so that I can get back there.” He paused. “I miss you. This is the first time I've been away from you for more than a few hours in years. I'd forgotten how empty I feel when I'm away from you.” He didn't wait for her to answer. “I'll let you know when I find out something.” He hung up.

  She slowly pressed the disconnect. She missed him, too. He'd only been gone nine or ten hours and she was experiencing that same emptiness. Jesus, he was gone that long on cases here in town. She was being stupid.

  “Was that Joe?” Jane stood in the doorway. “Is it a copycat?”

  “He's not sure. It could be the real thing. They believe the victim could have been a hooker. Joe's staying over to check the mug books.” She moved toward the kitchen. “I'm opening a can of tomato soup for supper. Do you want to make some grilled cheese sandwiches?”

  “Sure.” Jane wrinkled her nose. “He's looking for my face. Right? It's really depressing how many people must look like me. I guess everyone wants to think they're an original.” She opened the refrigerator and got out the cheese. “Maybe I should think about plastic surgery.”

  “Don't you dare. Your face is unique. Everyone is unique. Who should know better than me? Do you know how many faces I've reconstructed?”

  “I don't want to guess.” She began making the grilled cheese sandwiches. “You know I never actually saw the Caroline Halliburton reconstruction, just the photo. You must have thought she looked a lot like me.”

  “Yes. But there were differences. Your lower lip is fuller. Your brows are more arched.” She studied her. “And no one has a smile like yours.”

  Jane laughed. “But you never have your reconstructions smile.”

  “Exactly.” She poured the soup into a pot. “So you're unique.”

  “And so are you.” Jane's smile lingered as she shook her head. “I was kidding about the plastic surgery.”