Blind Alley

by Iris Johansen

  “But you didn't find him.”

  “I told you he was smart. He made himself invisible and disappeared. Every time I got close to him he vanished. It was frustrating as hell. And then I saw the photo of the victim, Peggy Knowles, in Brighton.”

  “Cira.”

  “It made sense. He and his father were both obsessed with her, and that symbolic smashing of the statue was pretty clear. He blamed Cira for both his father's death and for his miserable childhood. Maybe the shock of his father's death sent him over the edge and he began to think of her as a living presence, as his father did. Or it could be the first kill in Rome was because he accidentally stumbled over a woman who looked like Cira. Then when he realized there were others, he went on the search for her.”

  “You think he believes in . . . reincarnation?”

  “Who knows? He's nuts. I'd say there's a good chance it's all mixed up in his head. We know he's been searching the world for anyone who looks like her and made it his life's mission. He can't tolerate anyone living who even resembles Cira. Since she died two thousand years ago, his belief in reincarnation seems to be the most likely answer. Which came first, the chicken or the egg?”

  “And he thinks I'm this reincarnation?” She made a rude sound. “No way. I'm not a carbon copy of anyone. It's bad enough to look like this Cira. Inside, I'm all me.”

  “You don't believe in the possibility of reincarnation? There are millions of people who do.”

  “Then good luck to them. I'm the only one who accepts credit or blame for what I do. I'm not about to moan and whine and say it's all because of some woman who bit it two thousand years ago.”

  “You're very emphatic.”

  “Because I mean it. I'm sick to death of hearing how Aldo is going after me because of my face. I'm more than a face.”

  “You're preaching to the choir. I knew that the moment I saw you.” He paused. “And Aldo isn't only going after you because you look like Cira. He probably believes you have her soul.”

  “Then he's going to find out he's wrong. I'm not like her. Not really.” Her hand tightened on the phone. “And I don't know what's going on, but I'm the one who has to deal with it, not Cira.”

  “We have to deal with it,” he corrected. “We're in this together.”

  He was wrong. Comforting words, but she had a gut feeling that in the end it wouldn't be that way. All her life she'd been alone. Why should this be any different?

  No, that wasn't right. Why had she even had that thought? It was Cira who'd been alone all her life. She, Jane, had Eve and Joe. It was frightening that she'd had that instant of confusion. It must be all this stupid talk of Cira and reincarnation. “Don't think I won't call loud and clear. Now tell me about Aldo. All you've said is that he's nasty, sadistic, and was studying acting when his father sent for him to come to Herculaneum. That's a weird career choice for a beast like him.”

  “Not so weird for someone who's not got all his marbles. Split personality, paranoia . . . He could be anyone he liked the minute he got on the stage.”

  “You said he was brilliant. In what way?”

  “Computers. He did all of his father's research. That's one of the reasons Guido wanted him at the site. He had him exploring every map on the Internet to see if any tunnel excavated in Herculaneum was possibly connected to Julius's.”

  “Were there any?”

  He shook his head. “Guido was disgusted. He'd hoped that he might be able to make the excavation easier. No luck. And he made his disappointment in him very obvious to Aldo. He treated him like an idiot, made him check and recheck to make sure he wasn't making a mistake. It was pretty clear that was how he'd treated him all his life. If Aldo hadn't been such a bastard, I would have felt sorry him.”

  “I wouldn't.” Her mind was puzzling over something else. “I don't understand how Aldo could have been able to flit from country to country without being caught. Did he have money?”

  “Not when he left Herculaneum. But he did have one of the statues of Cira he took from the library. He sold it to a private collector in London. That's how I traced him to the U.K. I heard about it from one of my informants. The statue was priceless and even on the black market he would have enough money to buy as many false documents as he needed and have enough to support himself for a good many years.”

  “So he used Cira to kill all those women.”

  “In a manner of speaking. Do you need to know anything else?”

  “I have one more question to ask.” Her lips twisted. “Were you more angry with Aldo because he killed all those people or because he tried to cheat you of the gold?”

  He was silent. “Interesting question.” But he wasn't answering it.

  “I have to warn you I'm telling Eve and Joe everything you've told me. And that means that there will probably be investigators all over that site at Herculaneum. Someone else will find that pot of gold in those tunnels.”

  “They won't find it. Those tunnels are very well hidden. They went undiscovered for all those years and that blast sealed the entrances to the tunnel and I did the rest. I covered any trace of excavation. When this is over I'll still have my chance . . . if I want it.”

  “Oh, I think you'll want it.”

  “My, how cynical. You think my mercenary streak dominates my life? Maybe you're right. And maybe you're wrong. Did it occur to you that I knew you'd tell Quinn and was willing to take my chances? So it could be that I'm more bloodthirsty than greedy. I'll call you tomorrow and you can tell me if Quinn has any more questions. Sleep well, Jane.”

  He hung up before she could answer.

  Sleep well? Fat chance, she thought as she hung up the phone. Her head was spinning with the overload he'd given her to digest that filled her with fear, panic, and defiance. Then don't try to absorb it. Let it sink in and don't force it. One step at a time.

  Antonio had said that, she remembered. He'd held out his hand and told Cira to trust him. But Cira hadn't taken his hand. She hadn't had time before the earth had opened and she'd seen the molten—

  Forget the dream. Remember reality. If it was reality that Trevor had told her and not lies. He wanted the gold.

  No, Antonio had wanted the gold. Once more, dream and reality had blended, becoming one for the moment. It mustn't happen again.

  Toby sighed and rubbed his head on her lap.

  “Okay, we're going inside.” Jane got to her feet. “What a nag you are.” She paused, gazing out at the forest. Was Trevor out there watching her? It was an odd coincidence that he'd called her as soon as she'd come out on the porch. He'd asked her if she was alone, but he might not want her to know how closely he was watching her. She was feeling a little claustrophobic from all the restrictions and scrutiny, and he was very perceptive.

  He was there.

  She lifted her hand in a mocking salute and went into the house.

  TEN

  Trevor smiled ruefully as he watched the door close behind Jane.

  He should have known she'd know he was watching her. They were on the same wavelength and had been since that first moment she'd walked into the cottage.

  Or maybe before. At least, as far as he was concerned. He'd studied everything about her since the moment Bartlett had brought him that photo in the newspaper. It was natural that he'd feel this sense of empathy.

  Or was it?

  His smile faded. Of course it was natural. He was no psycho like Aldo. He'd been fascinated and intrigued by Cira, but it had no connection with what he was feeling for Jane. She was little more than a child and he was no cradle robber.

  But Cira had been only seventeen when Herculaneum had been destroyed. She'd been the mistress of at least three important men of the town and carved a career that shone like a star in the darkness of that age. She'd packed decades of living into her short life.

  Jesus, Cira wasn't Jane MacGuire. It was a different culture and a different time. So stop making comparisons and close out the thought of Jane as anything but a
possible victim.

  “How did she take it?”

  He turned to see Bartlett standing behind him. “As well as could be expected. She'll be better once she has a chance to mull everything over and come to terms with it. She's already halfway there.”

  “And then what?”

  “Then we do what we've been doing since you found that photograph of her.” He gazed at the cottage, remembering how she'd looked sitting on that step with the dog beside her. Young, slim, vulnerable, but, strangely, radiating strength. “We wait.”

  Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania

  His latex gloves were bloody.

  Aldo looked down at his hands with distaste. He hated using gloves, but it was better than touching these unworthy ones. When he had the time to make a true selection he never covered his hands. He enjoyed the feel of warm blood on his skin. But, again, time was short and this woman bore only a slight resemblance to Cira.

  These kills provided no pleasure, he thought in frustration.

  He bundled the woman up in a blanket and watched the blood seep through the wool. Good. The blood would attract instant attention when he dumped her body behind the Red Lobster restaurant where he'd picked her up. Otherwise he would have used a tarp to wrap her.

  He could feel the joy tear through him as he lifted her and put her in the van. The last one. The trail was far enough away from Jane MacGuire to throw off suspicion. The police were always eager to wash their hands of their failures. Joe Quinn and Eve Duncan would probably not be fooled, but they'd be alone.

  He could go back to Cira now.

  Joe turned away from the phone. “Lea Elmore. A waitress at the Red Lobster in Pittsburgh. Found this morning behind the restaurant. No face. Ashes in the blanket in which she was wrapped.”

  “A Jane look-alike?” Eve asked.

  He nodded. “According to her photo ID she's a little closer than the ones he killed in Richmond and Charlotte.”

  She shook her head in bewilderment. “How is he finding them when he's moving so fast? I could understand if there was a reasonable length of time between the kills, but they've barely been forty-eight hours apart. He can't just stumble on these women.” She glanced at Jane. “Did Trevor say—”

  “No,” Jane answered. “I told you everything he told me. But he seems to have done a lot of guesswork and putting together the pieces. Maybe he did figure it out. Do you want me to phone him? He said to let him know if Joe had questions.”

  “Joe?” Eve asked.

  “Go ahead. I'll take any help I can get.” Joe's tone was absent as he moved across the living room to stare out the window. “Though that's not high on the priority list at the moment.”

  “What are you looking at?” Eve followed him to the window.

  “Nothing.” His lips tightened. “Not a damn thing.”

  “What do—” Her gaze had followed his. “The patrol car is gone.”

  “Right.” His cell phone rang. “And I'd bet that's Mac Gunther to tell me why.” He listened for a moment. “I understand. No, I can't let you do that. It's okay, Mac.” He hung up. “The captain pulled Mac and Brian off surveillance. He apologized and said he'd be glad to come back on his own time and work a double shift if we needed him.”

  “The department is doing exactly what Trevor said Aldo would try to make them do,” Eve said numbly. “He wants us alone and unprotected.”

  “Then he screwed up,” Jane said fiercely. “We're not alone. We've got each other. Stop looking like that, Eve. He's not going to win.” She turned to Joe. “The department thinks Aldo has forgotten me?”

  Joe nodded. “This last kill cinched it for them.” He looked at Eve. “But Jane's right, we don't have to be alone. I'll call a private security agency and get men out here. It just means the department is out of it.”

  “Then do it,” Eve said. “Now.”

  “I will.” His gaze went to the window again. “It's time we called in all the help we can get.” He was silent a moment before turning away from the window and starting to dial his phone. “I'll get Matt Singer's security team. They're good. Jane, you call Trevor and tell him to get up here. He says he wants to protect you? Well, let him put his ass on the line instead of hovering out there in the woods like a damn chipmunk.”

  Chipmunk?” Trevor repeated when he walked into the cottage an hour later. “Really, Quinn. You could have at least compared me to a more interesting and lethal animal. A cougar or wolf would have been nice.”

  “Or skunk,” Jane murmured. “Skunks are interesting.”

  Trevor gave her a reproachful glance. “I'm here to lay myself open to murder and mayhem and all I get is abuse.” He turned back to Joe. “From what Jane said, I understand your fellow law-enforcement associates have jerked the rug from beneath your feet?”

  “It's no more than I expected,” Joe said. “They play the percentages and, if Aldo follows the usual serial killer profile, the odds are against him coming back once he's moved on.”

  “Should I be flattered you're paying more attention to my warning than the odds?”

  “No, I'm paying attention to keeping Jane safe and to hell with the percentages.” He looked him in the eye. “So tell me what you can do that makes it worth my while to keep you close to Jane.”

  Trevor's smile faded. “For one thing just my presence here is a minor deterrent. Aldo knows me and he'll be a little more cautious about moving on her.”

  “Only a little cautious?”

  “Take what you can get. Sometimes a hesitation can save a life. You should know that.” He added crisply, “And I gather you've arranged other protection for Jane. You could let me handle the day-to-day coordination of the security team. I know something about reconnaissance and sentry detail.”

  “So I've heard.”

  “It would keep me from under your feet and out of your hair. And that would free you to work more closely with your department to track Aldo.” His voice was soft but emphatic. “And I guarantee no one would sleep on their watch if I was in charge. When are they supposed to get here?”

  “In a couple hours.”

  “Then I'm just in time to break them in right, aren't I?”

  Joe studied him for a long moment and then nodded slowly. “But remember these are private citizens, not mercenaries. No rough stuff.”

  “I'll be gentle with them.” Trevor smiled. “As gentle as you'd be if you found them slacking. You SEALs are always prone to discuss and persuade rather than take violent action.”

  “You son of a bitch.” But Jane could see his lips twitching. “That was a long time ago.”

  “Not that long.” He turned and started for the door. “Oh, by the way. I'm posting someone of my own out front to guard the cottage. His name is John Bartlett and he'll try to be unobtrusive.”

  “You said Bartlett was on the case before. But why the hell should I just accept him on your say-so?” Joe asked.

  “You shouldn't. Check on him with Scotland Yard. But you'll find he has a motivation that's a recommendation in itself.”

  “What motivation?”

  “His ex-wife was Ellen Carter. She was one of the first women killed by Aldo in London. He couldn't stand living with her, but he still loved her. Having her burned to death made him very upset. So upset he was willing to put up with me to have a chance at finding Aldo.” He glanced back over his shoulder at Jane. “He's the one who found your photo in the paper. He's had a vested interest in you since he brought that clipping to me. He found out everything he could about you and Quinn and Eve. He's not exactly bodyguard material, but I wouldn't let him close to you if I didn't think he'd be the best man for the job. He won't let anything suspicious get past him. But if you don't want him, send him back to me.”

  “I will.”

  But he didn't hear. He'd already left the cottage and was going down the steps.

  “He was doing everything he could to try to control the situation, wasn't he?” Jane asked. “You'll have to watch him.”

>   Eve looked at her in surprise. “I thought you wanted us to bring him in.”

  “I did. I still think it's a good idea.” How could she explain the dichotomy of her feelings for Trevor? While part of her had been amused and admiring as she had watched Trevor insinuating himself into the fray, she'd still had the impulse to step between him and Joe and Eve. She had never lost the awareness of the volatility and danger that had struck her from the first moment she had met him. “Just watch him, Joe.”

  Ms. MacGuire?” The man who had knocked on the door smiled. “I'm John Bartlett. I was the one who did the background research on you and your family. And later I had the honor of watching you myself to make sure you were safe. I feel as if I know you already.”

  “I imagine you do.” Bartlett definitely wasn't what she had expected. He was plump, no more than five foot seven, with rosy cheeks, thinning brown hair, and huge blue eyes that were looking at her with a sort of troubled innocence that reminded her of . . . someone.

  His expression clouded at the dryness of her tone. “I know I violated your privacy. I only meant to help. And I don't mean to be intrusive now. I'll try not to bother you. But Trevor thinks I can help in guarding you—” He made a face. “Well, not really guarding you. That denotes a certain talent for violence I don't possess. That's Trevor's forte and he does it well. But there are other ways I can help.”

  “And what are they?”

  “I've got great skills of observation.” He added earnestly, “I promise nothing and no one will get past without my noticing.”

  Winnie-the-Pooh, she realized suddenly. He reminded her of Winnie-the-Pooh. That same wide-eyed, cuddly frankness. “That's very comforting.”

  He nodded. “It's one of my better qualities. It's not very exciting but being comforting isn't bad. I've got three ex-wives who'll give testimony to that.” His expression was suddenly shadowed. “Two ex-wives. Ellen isn't around to give anyone recommendations anymore.” He started to turn away. “I just wanted to let you know I'd be on the job.”

  “Wait.”

  He turned to look at her.