Blind Alley

by Iris Johansen

  “No, I don't think it is.” Eve's words came hard and fast. “I was sitting here going over these files and something occurred to me. I think everything may be wrong as hell.”

  Trevor watched Quinn's car disappear around the corner before he turned and moved toward the registration desk.

  He'd done all he could. A few tantalizing tidbits and a subtle threat to someone Quinn loved. Either one might do the trick. God, he hoped it would be enough. Today hadn't been his most shining hour. He'd come here prepared to be clever and conquer on all fronts and he'd made a gigantic mistake that was impossible to cover. Maybe if Eve Duncan and Quinn had been less smart, less perceptive, he might have been able to smooth it over, but they were as formidable as Bartlett had told him. He was lucky to have gotten out of there with—

  He stopped short in the marble foyer as the realization sank home.

  Perhaps not so lucky.

  They were both smart and very, very perceptive. He had the experience to recognize those qualities and he'd seldom met anyone who'd filled him with more wariness.

  And that experience was sending out vibrations that were triggering every instinct he possessed. He reached for his phone and dialed Bartlett. “I'm in Atlanta. Are you at the flat?”

  “Yes.”

  “Get out of there. You may have company.” He glanced around the lobby and then headed for the restaurant. There was almost always a street entrance to a hotel restaurant. “I blew it.”

  “I can't believe it.” Bartlett chuckled. “All that slickness and you were knocked for six? I would have liked to have been there to see it.”

  “I'm sure you would,” he said dryly. Yes, there was a street door at the back of the restaurant. He headed straight for it. “And I'd deserve to have you give me a hard time. Jesus, I was stupid. I behaved like a stinking amateur. I never expected to have that reaction.”

  Bartlett was silent a moment. “Jane MacGuire?”

  “I'd been waiting too long. I got panicky even before she walked in the room.”

  “Panic? I've never seen you panic in any situation, you icy son of a bitch.”

  “Well, you would have seen it today. I was scared to death she'd be lost before I even got a chance at her. And then I saw her and I tried to mend my fences but it was too late.”

  “Is it her?”

  “God, yes. She took my breath away. Even Aldo would be satisfied.” He opened the street door and hailed a cab. “But you were right about Quinn and Eve Duncan. It's only a matter of time before they start asking the same questions I would.” He settled in the cab. “I'll call you back later. Don't leave anything there. Clean as a whistle.”

  “You may have behaved like an ass, but I won't, and I value my efficiency. I'll do my job.” He hung up.

  As he should have done his, Trevor thought in disgust as the cab pulled away from the curb. But who the hell would have expected him to fall apart like that? “Hartsfield Airport,” he told the driver.

  He should have expected it. It had been too long and every day had seemed a century. He'd thought he was prepared but evidently you couldn't prepare yourself for something like this.

  So pick up the pieces and start again.

  No, not again. His clumsiness had only caused him to take a step back. Because Jane MacGuire was here, only minutes away. He'd seen her, touched her. He was ahead of the game.

  He was ahead of Aldo.

  So far.

  FOUR

  I'm sorry, Detective Quinn.” The desk clerk glanced up from the computer. “Mr. Trevor hasn't checked in yet.”

  “Look again,” Joe said impatiently. “I know he's here. I dropped him off fifteen minutes ago.”

  The clerk did another search and then shook her head. “I'm sorry,” she said again. “Maybe he stopped off in the bar. Or perhaps he was hungry and went to the restaurant.”

  Or perhaps he'd flown the coop, Joe thought as he turned away and headed for the bar. He was going to find out in a hurry even if he had to question every employee in both places.

  He went through the restaurant and hopped into a taxi,” Joe told Eve twenty minutes later. “I've called the taxi company and a cab dropped off a man of his description at the airport ten minutes ago. I'm on my way.”

  “Can't you call and have him picked up by airport security?”

  “Not without risking a lawsuit against the department or an international incident. No proof, Eve. As Trevor would say, pure theory.”

  “I've heard enough of Trevor's theories,” Eve said. “Have you called the precinct?”

  “I've asked Christy to do the work since she's the one who connected me with Trevor. I'll call you back when I know something.”

  “Make it soon. I'll be waiting.”

  You didn't get him,” Eve said as she saw Joe's face when he walked into the cottage three hours later. “How did he get away?”

  “Well, he didn't get on a plane. I checked with all the taxi dispatchers and he didn't take a taxi from the airport.” Joe dropped down on the couch and wearily rubbed the back of his neck. “My bet is that he hopped on MARTA and took the subway back into the city. A nice slick exit, hard to track and easy to lose.”

  “Very smart.”

  “What did you expect? He is smart. And he has damn good instincts. I don't think he had any intention of going on the lam when I dropped him off. He was playing me for all I was worth.”

  “Did you get the report from Christy?”

  “Thirty minutes ago. She called Scotland Yard directly and spoke to Inspector Falsworth. No Inspector Mark Trevor. But there's someone by that name who works in the evidence lab. Trevor wouldn't want to impersonate a real inspector. It could be an instant giveaway. But a title could possibly be confused and he'd want a bona fide name in case someone called the office instead of his cell number. They never sent that e-mail regarding our serial killer. They never suspected he was here in the States. They're still looking for him in the U.K.” He glanced at her. “Why did you think Trevor might be a phony?”

  “I didn't think. It was pure guesswork. I got to wondering after you left how unusual Trevor's behavior was for a policeman. Proper procedure is drummed into all of you and he violated one of the cardinal rules.” Eve's lips tightened. “And then I started playing the what-if game. Could we be certain Trevor was who he said he was? What proof did we have? I'm sure he showed you his credentials, but they could be forged. And this e-mail could have been bogus too. It would have been difficult and nervy for him to infiltrate the Scotland Yard Web site and use it to send official e-mails, but not beyond the skills of an expert hacker. It was worth checking out.”

  “Yes, it was. I only wish I'd been able to collar him before he slipped out.” His gaze went to the hall. “Did you tell Jane?”

  “I told her we were checking on him. She didn't say much. She probably thinks I'm paranoid.” She headed for the kitchen. “I heated up a leftover steak for Jane when I knew you wouldn't be picking up Chinese. Do you want one?”

  “I'm not hungry. But I'll take a glass of milk.” He got up and sat down at the bar. “Christy asked Scotland Yard to try to run a computer check on Trevor. She needs a good description.”

  “They'll need more than that. Trevor's probably not his real name. I saved the coffee cup he used, to dust for fingerprints.” She set the glass of milk before him. “Jane might be able to help. She could give Christy a sketch of him.” She grimaced. “If she'll do it.”

  “If she knows he's lied to us, she's not going to protect him.”

  “Maybe. She was talking about how she used to do bad things for good reasons when she was a little girl. I don't like the way she was identifying with him.” She moistened her lips. “Do you think it's him? Do you think he's the one who killed Ruth?”

  Joe didn't answer for a moment. “I was thinking about that all the way home. Pretending to be an investigator would be a smart way to get close to Jane.” He glanced at the file on the coffee table. “And he paved his way
with very tempting bait.”

  “Bastard.”

  He nodded slowly. “It's safer to assume he's a danger to Jane until we know different.”

  Her gaze narrowed on his face. “But you have your doubts.”

  “I think he wanted to be part of the investigation.”

  “It's not completely uncommon to have a serial killer trying to insinuate himself into the investigation. Look at Ted Bundy.”

  “I know that.” He finished his milk. “I just think I would have spotted that kind of sick reaction. He pissed me off but not for one moment did I doubt that he wanted—” He shrugged. “Who the hell knows what he wanted? We'll find out when we find him. If he's still in the city.”

  “Oh, he's still in the city,” Eve said jerkily. “Didn't you see his face when he was talking to Jane? There's no way he'd leave her.” She rinsed out the glass. “Did you get a report on Ruth?”

  “Give it some time. Her photo will be in tomorrow's paper. Maybe someone will identify her.”

  “I hope so. I wanted something good to come out of this.” She paused and then whispered, “I'm scared, Joe. What if that murderer was in this cottage, shaking Jane's hand?”

  “Jane's safe, Eve.”

  “Is she? God, I hope so.” She drew a deep breath and squared her shoulders. “Of course, she's safe. And we'll keep her that way.” She put the glass on the sink and came around the bar. “And now I'm going to see if Jane's still awake so I can talk to her about that sketch. Why don't you check and see if Christy has heard anything more?”

  Aldo smiled as he studied the photo in the newspaper. It was an amazingly close likeness. The artist who had rendered the reconstruction was obviously very talented. Almost as talented as he'd been when he'd carefully removed those features with his surgical knife. He'd thought it would take much longer to put a face to the woman they were calling Ruth.

  Her name wasn't Ruth. It was Caroline and someone would probably identify her soon. She wasn't a prostitute or vagrant this time. He'd seen her coming out of a downtown office building and he'd done his duty and removed the Cira possibility.

  Jesus, he was getting weary of that duty. There was always an explosion of pleasure when he performed the act but he was tired of the searching. There was no doubt that her likeness must be banished from the face of the earth but he had to find the true Cira. Every night before he closed his eyes he murmured a prayer that he be given that one gift.

  And he had the feeling that his prayer was to be answered soon. The excitement was too intense, the anticipation escalating with each passing day.

  He pushed the newspaper away and scooted his desk chair back to the computer. He couldn't count on finding Cira by random chance. He'd decided long ago he wouldn't deserve that final pleasure if he just cruised the streets looking for her.

  So type in the stolen password.

  The monitor screen lit up.

  He was in!

  Now avoid all the security walls they had put up to protect Cira.

  He settled down and began to flip through the pages. There were thousands but he was very patient. Even though his eyes grew blurry and his back ached from hours of leaning over the computer, he wouldn't give up.

  It was the road that led to Cira.

  Here it is.” Jane dropped the sketch on the table in front of Joe the next morning at breakfast. “It's as good a likeness as I can do.” She went to the refrigerator and got out the orange juice. “What are you going to do with it?”

  “Send it to Scotland Yard and they'll probably send it to Interpol.” He studied the sketch. “This is very good. You've caught him perfectly.”

  “He's easy. Very strong features.” She poured orange juice into her glass. “Besides, as I told Eve, he reminded me of someone. He felt . . . I don't know . . . familiar.” She sat down at the table. “Where's Eve?”

  “Outside taking coffee to Mac and Brian, who are on the stakeout.” He looked up from the sketch. “Eve thought that you might object to doing this for us.”

  “Why? I don't even know this Trevor. And my loyalty is to you and Eve.” She smiled. “Always, Joe.”

  “That's good to know.”

  “That being said, I don't think Trevor wants to hurt me. And I can't see him skinning any woman's face off.”

  “Just because he has such a pretty face himself?”

  “No, I told you I hardly noticed that he was good-looking. He's got a lot more going for him than what's on the surface.”

  “How can you judge? As you said, you don't even know him.”

  “You have to trust your instincts.” She sipped her orange juice. “You've always told me that, Joe. I'm just following your lead.”

  “Now you blame it on me?”

  “Sure, why not?”

  “Because your character was already formed by the time you came into our lives. If anything, you're the one who nudges us along.”

  “Not true. I wouldn't presume. So when do you think you'll hear about Trevor?”

  “Soon, I hope.”

  “Good. I'm curious about him.” She finished her orange juice. “He's interesting. I'd have offered to do the sketch even if Eve hadn't asked me.”

  “Now, that surprises me.”

  “Why? He pushed into our lives and he deserves to have us push back a little.”

  “Maybe a lot,” Joe said grimly.

  “We'll see.” She scooted back her chair. “Now I'm going to find Eve and ask her to take me to school to get my assignments.” She smiled. “Of course, I could borrow your car and go by myself. I'm legal now.”

  “I think we'd prefer you to have company for the next few days.”

  “I thought you would.” She headed for the door. “So much for my brand-new license.”

  Ruth's name is Caroline Halliburton,” Christy said when Joe walked into the precinct three hours later. “She worked at a brokerage office downtown and her parents live up north in Blairsville. She has an apartment in Buckhead and she didn't show up for work last Monday. On Wednesday she was reported missing by a friend who worked with her.”

  “Is that who identified the photo?” Joe asked.

  “No, actually one of our clerks in the department remembered seeing the photo when they were processing the missing person report.”

  Joe swore in exasperation. “We did the usual missing person check before I released the photo to the newspaper. We came up with nothing.”

  “So what's new? Since the latest budget cuts we're a month behind in paperwork and at least four months behind at the DNA lab.” Christy glanced at the sketch Joe had tossed down on her desk and then gave a low whistle. “This is damn good, Joe. Is it accurate?”

  “Absolutely.”

  She grinned. “He's a real pretty boy. I'd let a con artist like him talk me into almost anything. It's no wonder Jane was impressed enough to remember him.”

  “She didn't notice he was particularly good-looking. She just drew what she saw.”

  “Yeah, sure. For God's sake, she's seventeen, Joe. Appearance is everything to teenagers. He's as sexy as a damn movie star.” She held up her hand as Joe opened his mouth. “Okay, she's above all that. She's not like my daughter Emily, or ninety-nine percent of her age group.” She made a rude sound of derision and stood up. “I'll get this scanned right away and sent to Scotland Yard.”

  “Thanks, Christy.”

  She grinned. “My pleasure. I'm not like Jane. I like looking at handsome devils like him.”

  “He may well be a devil,” Joe said. “You call him a con man, but we don't know that he didn't do the killings himself.”

  “No, we don't.” Christy's smile faded as she looked down at the sketch. “Pity.”

  Joe watched her as she moved away through the row of desks before he flipped open the Caroline Halliburton file in front of him. He'd been prepared for the photo but it still gave him a shock. The photo made from Eve's construction had been true to life, but this was the picture of the woman herself. She
'd been twenty-four at the time of her death, but this photo had been taken a few years before and the resemblance to Jane was very strong.

  It scared the hell out of him.

  “Joe.”

  He looked up to see Christy standing before him. “That was fast. I wouldn't think you'd have time to—”

  “We've got another one.” She turned off the cell phone on which she'd been talking. “Lake Lanier. Some scuba divers found a body, marked the location, and notified the authorities.”

  Joe flipped the file shut and jumped to his feet. “You're sure?”

  “As sure as I can be.” She grabbed her purse and headed for the door. “She had no damn face.”

  It was her!

  Aldo couldn't believe it. It was a miracle.

  His heart was beating hard as he gazed at the photo.

  She was staring out at the world with a boldness that dared all comers. Fresh, young, and impregnable.

  No, not impregnable, Cira. Not from me.

  He wrote down the name.

  Jane MacGuire.

  Not Jane.

  Cira. Cira. Cira.

  He quickly copied the address on the record.

  He was shaking, he realized. Trembling with delight that the moment had come. The others had been close but she was exact, perfection. There could be no doubt that this was the face he'd seen all his life and in his nightmares. He was quivering with fear that something or someone would snatch her away from him.

  No, that mustn't be allowed to happen. He'd traveled too long, devoted too much time to the search, purged too many Cira pretenders.

  But Jane MacGuire wasn't a pretender. She was Cira.

  And she deserved to die.

  Darkness.

  No air.

  No time.

  She wasn't going to make it.

  The hell she wasn't. She wasn't going to die in this tunnel. Let those other cowards give up. She'd fight until she broke free.

  She'd smashed all the chains that held her captive before and she wouldn't let death make her a final captive.

  Was the ground shaking?