Quinn

by Iris Johansen

  “Fifteen years. You think he’s been killing that long?”

  “Or longer. It might not be the same man, but it could be. Serial killers like what they do. They tend to make it a life’s vocation.” He took the coffee she handed him. “You’ll find enough there to keep you busy tonight. There are eight or nine that I thought close enough to run a comparison.”

  “And only two bodies found?” She shivered. “Those poor parents. In agony all these years, not knowing…”

  “After a certain amount of time passes, just the lack of knowledge is a sort of proof that the child is never coming home. That must be a kind of comfort.”

  “The hell it is. There’s nothing worse than a child who’s lost or thrown away like some piece of garbage. A child has value, she should be cared for and brought in from every storm.” Her voice shook with passion. “Dead or alive, I’d have to bring my child home.”

  “Then maybe we can help some of those parents in the reports.” He poured her a cup of coffee. “But you need to calm down and get a breath of air before you start. Walk me to the porch.”

  She took the cup and followed him out onto the porch. “I get too … upset. I didn’t used to be like this. You’re being very patient with me.” She leaned against the porch rail and lifted her gaze to the night sky. “Everything reminds me of her. We’d sit here on the steps and look up at the stars and I’d tell her stories about all the constellations and we’d try to identify the Big Dipper and Orion and…” She took a sip of coffee. “Sorry. I’ll shut up.”

  “Not for me. She’s part of you. And memories can save, not destroy, if you accept them.”

  “Can they? I only know I wouldn’t give up a single memory of her no matter how much it hurt.” She added, “My mother doesn’t feel that way. She loves Bonnie, but she’s trying to block the thought of her. I guess everyone handles grief differently.”

  “I haven’t seen your mother the last two times I’ve been here. Is she still staying in her room?”

  Eve shook her head. “She’s been going to church. She was never religious, but a local pastor came to visit and invited her to come to services. I think the congregation has taken her on as a project. They keep her busy. That’s fine, Sandra needs people. It may keep her off the drugs. She quit when Bonnie was born, but this is a dangerous time for her.”

  “What about you? She’s the only family you have. She should stay with you and give—”

  “Stop being so protective.” She smiled and finished her coffee. “The last thing I need is Sandra hovering over me. We’re both surviving in the best way we can. She has her congregation, and I have Joe Quinn.” She took Joe’s empty cup and turned toward the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Joe. It’s time I got to work.”

  “Good night. Lock your door.”

  “Why? I’m not worried about being in any kind of danger.”

  “I know. But I’m worried for you. It’s a violent world. Lock your door.”

  “Whatever.”

  He watched her as she entered the house and waited until he heard the click of the lock.

  No, she wasn’t worried. She couldn’t care less about her own physical safety. It had no meaning for her in comparison to her loss of her child. He realized that he was the one who was going to have to care for her.

  Another duty for him to assume in the emotional storm that had come to him.

  Protecting Eve.

  Watching over Eve.

  Loving Eve.

  That word was coming easier to him now. He was beginning to understand the elements that comprised it. Perhaps the fact that he had to block sexual desire made him more aware of what else he was feeling.

  But it also made him aware that the storm of feeling was growing stronger. He was no longer rejecting it. He wanted to go back inside the house and stay with her, be with her …

  Tomorrow.

  He turned and went down the porch steps and strode toward his car.

  * * *

  “COME IN,” EVE CALLED, when Joe rang the bell the next afternoon. She looked up impatiently from the papers she was working on as he opened the door. “For heaven’s sake, why are you still acting like a visitor? Just walk in.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind. Have you gone to bed yet?”

  “For a couple hours. I had to get away from them.” She grimaced. “But they followed me. I decided I’d rather deal with them than dream about them. There’s coffee on the stove.”

  “Have you had any?”

  “Too much.” She nodded at the two piles of files that were in front of her. “I’ve divided the children into two categories. Male and female. Whoever took these children obviously preferred girls. There are nine cases here, and six of them were girls. But evidently he doesn’t entirely rule out little boys.” She leaned back in the straight chair. “I had questions. I wanted you here.”

  “I wanted to be here.” He poured a glass of orange juice and brought it to her. “What questions?”

  “You know about profiling and all that stuff. You were studying records of sexual molesters.” She moistened her lips. “Are these killings all about sex? Is that why he likes little girls? Does he rape them?”

  “Probably.” He looked away as she flinched. “But it’s not about the sexual act as much as it is about power. Most serial killers are addicted to power. Sexual domination is a form of power. Perhaps little boys don’t give him the same rush as little girls.” He sat down across from her. Look at her. Ignore the fact that every word was hurting her. “Perhaps that’s why he butchered that little boy so terribly. He was angry with him for not being what he wanted him to be. But we can’t be sure because we’ve never found any of the little girls’ bodies.” He stared her in the eyes. “Any more questions?”

  “Not for the moment.” She swallowed hard. “But thank you for not trying to sugarcoat your answer. I had to know. Then it’s all about power?”

  “And ego. If a killer has murdered successfully for a long time, then he begins to think he’s impervious to capture. He usually develops a pattern according to how often he needs his fix.”

  “Fix,” she repeated. “It’s truly an addiction?”

  He nodded. “And he’ll be as reckless as a heroin addict to get what he needs. More, because he believes no one can touch him.”

  “A pattern.” She looked down at the sheet of paper in front of her. “The dates of the disappearances of the first three girls are approximately five months apart. Janey Bristol, six years, disappeared from Dunwoody three years ago on August 10. Linda Cantrell, eight years, was reported missing on January 30 from her home in Marietta. Natalie Kirk got off the bus but never made it home on June 5.” She glanced up. “But the other disappearances were less predictable. The next disappearance didn’t happen for another eighteen months. And the next two followed almost immediately. Within a few weeks of each other.” She tapped the third pile of files. “And none of these out-of-town disappearances took place during those eighteen months. They were all before the local Atlanta killings started. And there was over a year between those kidnappings. If he’s what you say he is, I don’t think he was taking a vacation. Where was he? What was he doing?” She added unsteadily, “Who was he killing?”

  “That’s what we’re going to find out. He could have been away from the area. Or he might have been in jail.” His gaze narrowed thoughtfully. “First a year, then five months. He’s getting hungrier.”

  “Bonnie would have been three months. So maybe she wasn’t one of— I’m trying not to think of Bonnie.” She took another sip of orange juice. “That was one of the nightmares I was having last night.”

  “And my nightmare is your having a nervous breakdown and leaving me without someone to help me find this bastard.” He took a pile of files from her. “So we’ll both go over these files and make notes and talk about them for another two hours. Then I’ll keep on, and you’ll take a nap on the couch.”

  “I won’t be able to sleep.”


  “Then I’ll call a doctor and get him to give you a shot. Take your choice.”

  “We’ll talk about it later.” She went back to the file in front of her. “What are we looking for?”

  “Circumstances surrounding the disappearance. Similarities, indications of any common traits in the victims or family members.”

  “Family members?”

  “It’s possible revenge was taken against the child for a perceived slight by the parents.”

  “Why wouldn’t he just kill the parents?”

  “It could still be on his agenda. He might want them to suffer first.”

  “Yes, that would do it.” She opened the first file. “That’s a lot of things to look for, Joe.”

  “And better done with a clear head.”

  She ignored the jab. “How can you continue to work on cases like this? Doesn’t it make you sick?”

  “Sometimes. But it makes me sicker to know that some arrogant son of a bitch is out there killing whoever he pleases and thinking no one is going to catch him.” He was scanning the files in front of him. “Seasons don’t seem to make any difference to him. In some instances, killers only murder in certain seasons or time of the month. Here we have victims in summer, fall, winter…”

  “Maybe they’re not all dead,” Eve said. “We keep talking about killings. Maybe some of them were runaways or taken by relatives. Maybe they’re not— But I have to think of them as victims, don’t I? I have to look at these damn reports and think that a monster grabbed them and how and why he did it.”

  “You don’t have to do it. Let me bundle up all these reports and take them away. No one is forcing you but yourself.”

  “I know that.” She focused her gaze on the report in front of her. “Linda Cantrell.” The picture of the girl showed a child with dark hair and eyes and a wide white smile. “She was Hispanic, but that didn’t seem to have anything to do with her being chosen. The other children were black, white … no Asian…”

  * * *

  “I DON’T WANT TO DO THIS.” Eve glared up at him even as she lay down on the couch three hours later. “I can keep on going. I don’t want to sleep. You have no right to threaten me with your damn doctor.”

  “No, I don’t. But might is always right, and I have the advantage.” The sun had gone down an hour ago, and he turned off the lights in the living room. “So go to sleep.” He sat down in a chair across the room. “Four hours at least. Then I’ll let you work a little longer before I leave and go back to my place.”

  “Go now. I don’t want you sitting there in the dark like a guard at an asylum.”

  “Asylum. Strange choice of words. Why not a guard at a jail?”

  She didn’t answer.

  “Unless you’re worried because you might have a nervous breakdown. Do you think about it?”

  “No, I don’t think about myself at all. I don’t matter. That just came out. Now stop trying to dig into my psyche.”

  “Naturally, you’re distraught, and all kinds of crazy ideas are going through your mind. You’re walking a fine line, but we’ll get through it.”

  “We? I’m the one who is walking that line. You’re strong and sane, and everything is in control in your world.”

  “I’ll walk the line with you. If you think you’re going to fall, reach out, and I’ll be there.”

  She was silent. “Why are you being so kind to me? You’re tough and cynical and … I don’t think that you’re one of those do-gooders who want to save the world.”

  “The world is too big a project. You’re damn right I’m not a do-gooder. I usually run the other way. But every now and then, I run across someone who it bothers me to see struggling. I want to see you come out on top of this. It will make me feel good. It’s purely selfish.”

  “Well, that relieves me,” she said dryly. “I’d hate being someone’s project.”

  He chuckled. “No chance. You’d toss me out on my ear.”

  “Maybe not,” she said. “I told you that I didn’t feel as alone when I was with you.”

  “Then I may be safe for a while. Until the situation turns around, and you don’t need me any longer. Now why don’t you stop talking and try to nap.”

  “I don’t want to sleep. You can force me to lie here, but you can’t make me sleep.”

  “Are you paraphrasing that proverb about leading a horse to water?”

  “I guess so.” She was silent again, and the next words came haltingly in the darkness. “Three months. The pattern is wrong for Bonnie. She has a chance that it wasn’t that monster, doesn’t she?”

  “She has a chance.”

  “You’re so damn encouraging. Give me a break.”

  “I’d like to give you anything that you want from me. But I won’t give you lies … or false hope.”

  “Damn you.” She said a moment later, “No, bless you.”

  “Go to sleep, Eve.”

  “If I do, the nightmares will come.”

  “No, they won’t. I’m here for you. After you go to sleep, I’ll turn on that little stained-glass lamp by the door. If you show any signs of distress, I’ll wake you.”

  “You’ll keep them away?”

  “I’ll guard you through the night.”

  “I shouldn’t be this weak. I hate it. I should be able to handle … I hate it.”

  “I know you do. But it’s my turn now. When I’m walking my fine line someday, I’ll expect you to guard me from the night monsters.”

  “I’ll do it. I promise…”

  She was still, but Joe didn’t hear her breathing even and steady for another five minutes. Then he got to his feet and turned on the stained-glass lamp. He tucked a worn red cotton throw over Eve before he went back to his chair across the room.

  He leaned back and watched the play of the soft, colored light on her face. Her cheekbones were more prominent than he had noticed before. She had lost weight in the short time since he had first met her. She couldn’t afford to lose it. He had to get her to eat more, dammit.

  Eat and sleep so that she could survive.

  So that he could survive.

  * * *

  HE DIDN’T HAVE TO WAKE Eve until almost three hours later.

  She jerked upright when he put his hand on her shoulder. “No!”

  “It’s okay,” Joe said. “You were starting to breathe hard. I figured that you were being ambushed.”

  “I was.” She pushed the hair back from her forehead. “But you showed up with the cavalry just in time.” She swung her feet to the floor. “I need to get a glass of water and wash my face.” She glanced at the clock. “I assume I’m being permitted to get back to work?”

  “For a little while.” He headed for the kitchen. “I’ll put on a fresh pot of coffee while you—”

  Eve’s phone rang, and she picked up the receiver on the chest by the door and answered it. “Just a minute.” She frowned as she handed the receiver to Joe. “Detective Slindak. He said you told him you’d be here.”

  He nodded. “I had to give him a contact number. I was planning on calling him anyway.” He spoke into the phone, “Quinn.”

  “I tried to get you at your hotel first,” Slindak said sourly. “You must be burning the midnight oil.”

  “You might say that. Problems, Slindak?”

  “Big-time. Some hunters found a child’s remains in a cave in Gwinnett County.”

  “Girl or boy?”

  He could see Eve tense.

  “Girl. There wasn’t much left of the kid, but the scraps of clothing that remained coincided with the description of what Janey Bristol was wearing when she disappeared. I’m heading out to the crime scene. I thought you’d want to go, too.”

  “I’ll meet you there.” He pulled out his notebook and pen. “Give me the directions.” He scrawled rapidly. “Is forensics already there?”

  “Yes. And the officers who were called secured the area as best they could. There were three hunters who made the discovery, and they duc
ked into the cave to shelter from the rain. It’s still raining cats and dogs up there. They pretty well messed up the crime scene.”

  “Great,” Joe said sarcastically. “Not that it would probably have done much good anyway. The kid has to have been subjected to animal and environmental exposure for all these months. But there might have been something. I’m on my way.” He hung up.

  “Who?” Eve asked.

  “Not Bonnie. We can’t be sure. The body is in poor condition, but the clothing would point toward Janey Bristol.”

  Eve crossed her arms across her chest as if to keep them from shaking. “Six years old…”

  He turned toward the door. “I’ll call you when I know more.”

  “I’m going with you.”

  He had been half-expecting it. “This is going way beyond just looking at records, Eve.”

  “Yes, it’s looking at the remains of that poor kid. It makes me sick to think of it. But I have to be there.” Her hands clenched into fists at her sides. “I know nonprofessionals aren’t welcome at crime scenes. But you’ve stuck your neck out for me before. Do it now. I won’t get in your way. Look, I won’t even go to the crime scene itself. I’ll stay in the car.”

  “And you’ll still see things you don’t want to see.”

  “So I’m supposed to bury my head in the sand? No, I don’t want to see it. But that little girl didn’t want to be killed, either. It could have been Bonnie.” Her lips tightened in a mirthless smile. “Why not let me go? Slindak should be expecting it. You said he thought we might be sleeping together. He’ll just think that I’m getting what I paid for.”

  “And what if I don’t want him to think that?” Joe asked grimly.

  She ignored the question. “Take me, Joe,” she said urgently. “You knew I wouldn’t be satisfied with studying those reports. You knew where this would lead.”

  Yes, he had known. Why was he even arguing? When he had copied the reports, he had made the ultimate commitment.

  One more attempt.

  “What would you do if I said no?”

  “Follow you.”

  He turned back toward the door. “Grab a raincoat. It’s raining up in Gwinnett County.”

  * * *