“Faye just took a call from Martha Brisbane’s vet, about her cat.”
Noah hissed out a breath. “Who gives a fuck about that damn cat?”
“Listen,” Olivia snapped. “The vet called to say Martha’s cat had been dropped off outside the gate of the Green Gables Kennel in New Germany yesterday. The security camera outside picked up a woman and a black BMW, registered to Pierce’s wife.”
Noah went still. “New Germany? That’s where Irene’s PO box is being forwarded.”
“I know, Kane told me.”
“Why would Pierce’s wife drop off the cat? And how do they know it’s Martha’s?”
“Don’t know why the wife did it, but Martha had the cat chipped. Vet scanned it and Martha’s name came up. He ’d read about her murder, called it in. I’m going out there.”
“Thank you,” he said fervently, then hung up and stepped into the elevator Brock had been holding open. “I’m going to New Germany.”
“I figured that out myself,” Brock said wryly. “Gonna tell me why?”
“Depends. You gonna turn me in?”
Brock studied him as the elevator descended. “I call shotgun.”
Noah nodded hard. “Thanks.”
Thursday, February 25, 3:00 p.m.
He sat in his kitchen, looking out the window at the woods, clean again after showering off Eve’s filth. The swaying trees always calmed him, but today, they did not.
Irene Black. How had Eve known? Who had she told? How can this hurt me?
Irene Black was a common enough name and the PO box he’d set up in her name was out of state. Highly unlikely they’d find it. This was the Hat Squad after all. Not the world’s greatest intellects.
They would never have gotten this far without Eve. He tightened his fist against his kitchen table. She needed to pay. Next time he went down he’d tape her mouth and glue her eyes open. He wanted to hear her beg for her life, and she would, once he’d worn her down. Once he’d worn her down, he’d take off the tape and her pleas for mercy would be music to his ears.
For now, he couldn’t let her get in his head. She knew too much. For now, he’d make her show him the fear. He’d glue her eyes open and make her show him her fear.
He hadn’t glued her eyes, he realized. It was always the first thing he did, so that he could see their terror as soon as the ketamine wore off. When the ket wore off, they thrashed like wild animals, making it impossible to get the glue on their eyes.
Why had he not with Eve? Because I want her unfettered fear. He wanted her to look up at him with glassy-eyed terror because she could do nothing else.
She was a worthy opponent, but he held all the power. She’d tell him how she found Irene Black. Eventually. Until then, he was safe. There was nothing to link him to Irene. Nothing linking Irene to this place.
His only loose end was his wife’s disappearance, and he’d handled that, too, sending a text to Ann’s boss from her cell saying she’d had a family emergency. He’d sent the text while sitting at a rest stop off the interstate, an hour away. In a few days, he’d send a registered letter to her boss, giving her notice, that she was needed back home. He’d met her boss, a cold, efficient man. Another lab tech would be hired and Ann would soon be forgotten. Meanwhile, her body would be decomposed in his pit.
Movement on the television caught his eye. Ah. The press conference. He grabbed the remote and turned up the volume. This was what he’d been waiting for. The press was about to crucify the police. Six dead women, no suspects. Red Dress Killer on the loose. Cops have no clue. He couldn’t wait for the accusations to fly.
Abbott climbed to the podium, looking positively grim. This was entertainment.
“Thank you,” Abbott said. “As you know, a sadistic killer has been preying on the women of the Twin Cities for the last three weeks.”
Sadistic killer. It was good for a start. In tomorrow morning’s meeting he’d give Abbott a few more psychological terms to use for his next press conference.
“This morning, we discovered a sixth victim,” Abbott went on. “Her name was Virginia Fox. Last night we asked you to post warnings to women participating in a Marshall University study involving the Shadowland computer game. Today we know this killer’s victims are not constrained to the game.”
“Gotcha,” he crowed. “All bets are off and nobody feels safe.”
One of the reporters rose. “Can you comment on the arrest warrant you issued?”
He leaned forward with a frown. Donner was dead. Lyons was missing and Girard had been cleared. Who was Abbott planning to arrest?
“Yes,” Abbott said. The screen split, showing Abbott on one side and on the other…
Me.
“At 2:30 today we issued a warrant for the arrest of Dr. Carleton Pierce.”
He could only blink in stunned disbelief as flashes went off in Abbott’s face. Then he lurched to his feet, pushing his chair back. “No. No.”
“We do not do this lightly,” Abbott was saying. “Dr. Pierce was considered a colleague and a friend. We don’t know why he has done this, but we have definitive proof linking him to these crimes. We have three missing women and would like your help.” Abbott’s face disappeared completely, three pictures taking his place. “Dr. Ann Pierce, the wife of the alleged killer, Miss Eve Wilson of Marshall University, and Miss Liza Barkley.” Abbott continued to talk as the photos remained on screen.
“Take it down,” he ground out. “Take my picture goddamn down.”
But it stayed, for everyone to see. It wasn’t possible. It wasn’t happening. But it was.
“The suspect was last seen in a black BMW, last year’s model. He’s also been seen in a black Lincoln Navigator. We’ve listed the license plates he’s used on our website and in the press release you’ve been given.” The pictures cleared and Abbott was looking sternly into the camera. “This man is armed and dangerous. If you see him call 911 immediately. If you have information as to his whereabouts, here is our hotline.
“We know you join us in condolences for the families of his victims and prayers for the women still missing. I’ll take your questions now.”
He sat back in his chair and pulled trembling hands over his face. They knew. How did they know? They’re coming. They’re coming for me.
“Stop it,” he snapped, slamming his fists into the table. “Think.”
They didn’t know about his place, this place. His sanctuary. The deed to this house was not in Irene’s or anyone else’s name. They can’t find me here. There’s still time to get away. But his hands still shook as he pulled his laptop close.
“Consolidate your finances,” he muttered. “Put your money where you can get to it.” Then he’d get in that old brown Civic he’d bought to frame Axel Girard. They weren’t looking for that car anymore. He’d take Eve and the girl as hostages and he’d drive.
Where? Where can I go? Everyone knows my name. My face. Damn you, Abbott.
But he knew it wasn’t Abbott he should damn, or even Webster. It was that woman downstairs. His eyes narrowed. Eve.
Stop it. Stay calm, focused. Get your money. He logged into his bank account and his heart stopped. Frozen. Funds unavailable.
“No. Goddammit, no.” His fingers few over the keys as he checked his offshore accounts. Frozen. Funds unavailable.
They’d frozen his accounts. They’d been in his house. In my things. The account information had been in his safe… along with all of his information on John.
Even Webster was smart enough to connect John and Irene Black.
He put his head in his hands. He needed to get away. Now. He grabbed his knife and headed down the stairs.
Eve heard his voice upstairs. He’d sounded angry. There’d been cursing. That was a good sign. Noah was close. She needed to buy just a little more time.
Opening her eyes a slit, she could see Pierce marching down the stairs, fully clothed, his hair still wet, his knife clenched in his hand. Under his arm he had folded
blankets. She closed her eyes, hoping he’d think she was still unconscious. She hadn’t been long, but Liza hadn’t responded to her whispers and she feared what had happened while she’d been out. Don’t be dead.
Pierce walked behind her, then reappeared with a very still Liza wrapped in one of the blankets and heaved her over his shoulder. He took Liza up the stairs, ignoring Eve. If he was in a hurry to leave, it meant Noah and the cops were on their way. She had to do whatever it took to keep him down here, where Noah could trap him.
Pierce would have to untie her to get her out. She could only pray he didn’t sedate her again. Sedated, she couldn’t fight him. And fighting him was exactly what she’d do. If he didn’t sedate her, she’d have a split second to act when he cut her loose.
Upstairs, she heard a door slam and he came down the stairs, moving more slowly this time. He was tired, she realized. He’d probably never had to carry a body up those stairs. Eve kept her eyes closed, body lax. Don’t use the needle. Don’t use the needle.
She heard him approach, felt him stop next to her. “Wake up,” he said and smacked her face. He leaned over, placed the blade against her throat. “You’re either good or you’re out cold. Let’s see how good you are.”
Chapter Twenty-five
Thursday, February 25, 3:15 p.m.
Do you have any idea where you’re going?” Brock asked.
They were speeding toward New Germany and all Noah had been able to think was that Eve could be there. Hurt or… Don’t go there. You can’t go there.
He looked over at Brock. “The kennel was called Green Gables.”
“I know it. They train hunting dogs. It’s a damn big kennel, Noah. Acres of land.”
“Olivia said a woman dropped off the cat driving Ann Pierce’s BMW. Assuming it was Ann Pierce, how would she pick that kennel, just out of the air? She must have passed it at some point.”
“Or she’s a hunter,” Brock said. “But let’s go with your line of thought. This road continues for miles. The houses are usually at the end of long driveways. Did you find any property out here owned by this Pierce guy?”
“No. The only house in his name is the one he lives in.”
“There’s the kennel up on the right,” Brock said.
Noah checked the driveway, then passed the kennel without slowing down when he saw Olivia’s car parked in front.
Brock turned to look behind them. “Looks like your friend beat you here.”
“I know. I don’t want to get Olivia in trouble.”
“You can’t do this on your own, Noah. This area is too remote. You need an aerial view to know where all the houses are. You’ll need search crews and dogs.”
“I know,” Noah said, then focused on the vehicle stopping ahead. “Or… a postman.”
The postman had pulled his truck to the side and was stuffing letters into a mailbox. He looked up in surprise when Noah got out, showing his badge. “I’m trying to locate one of your residents. We think he may be able to help us with an investigation.”
“I’ve seen your face before. I delivered a lot of MSPs out here.”
“I’m Detective Webster,” Noah said. “I’m looking for a man named Pierce.”
The old postman shook his head. “I don’t know that name. Sorry, can’t help you.” He started to move, but Noah put out his hand, desperation rising to close his throat.
“Wait, please. If you know who I am, you know what’s been happening this week.”
The postman nodded. “I read the paper, but I don’t know that Pierce name.”
“Okay.” Noah’s mind was racing. If Pierce had mail in Irene Black’s name sent out here, it meant he came out here. His wife knew about the kennel, so she’d been out here, too. It was a long shot, but he had to try. “What about deliveries? You say you delivered MSP magazine out here. What about other magazines?”
The postman frowned severely. “I can’t tell you that.”
Noah closed his eyes briefly, fighting for control. “This man has killed six women, maybe more. He’s abducted two more women that might still be alive. If you can help me, I won’t tell a soul how I got the information. I promise. Please. Please, help me.”
The postman looked away for a long moment, then back. “What kind of magazines?”
“Psychology, computer magazines, game magazines.” Noah concentrated. The wife was a biologist. “Animal magazines. Dogs, cats. Snakes.”
The postman shook his head. “I haven’t seen anything like that. A lot of our folks have their magazines sent to post office boxes, too.”
Which Pierce would have done. Dammit. Noah started to turn away, then stopped. He’d come too far. There had to be something… “What kinds of deliveries would have to be delivered to an actual address, not a post office box?”
“Packages. Those PO boxes don’t hold that much.”
Packages. Noah blew out a breath, watched it hang in the air… just as it had as he’d stood looking up at Martha Brisbane Sunday night. He pictured her as she’d hung there in her low-cut red dress, her stiletto-heeled shoes on the floor beneath her feet.
Her dress, her shoes… they’d been identical to all the others. Same style, just different sizes. Ordered from a online shopping club, Micki had said days ago.
“What about packages from The Fashion Club? It would have been a few weeks ago. It had dresses and shoes.”
The postman went still. “High-heeled shoes? Red?”
Noah nodded, trying to keep calm. “Yes.”
“I left the box on the front porch. A few days later I delivered another box. The first one was still there, its bottom frozen to the porch. The box was wet from the snow and it fell apart. It was filled with shoe boxes. The same red, pencil-heeled shoes. I assumed it was for some play or dance troupe, you know, where they all had to dress alike.”
Noah’s heart was pounding in his ears. “Where did you deliver the boxes?”
“About two miles up the road. I’ll draw you a map.”
Two minutes later Noah was in his car, slamming the door as he punched the gas.
“You found it then?” Brock asked.
“I hope so.” He hit redial on his cell phone, getting Olivia on the first ring.
“You…” she fumed. “You lied to me. You said you’d stay back at the station.”
“I found him,” Noah said, ignoring her very justified tirade. He gave her the address as the road the postman had indicated came into view. “I’m going in. Back me up.”
“Noa—”
Noah closed his phone and handed it to Brock. “If she calls back, you answer it.”
Brock was giving him a wary look. “You’re gonna get your ass fired for this.”
“Not if I win.” He thought of Eve and Liza and every woman Pierce had left hanging from her bedroom ceiling. Of Virginia’s hollow eye sockets. “If I lose, I won’t care.”
Thursday, February 25, 3:15 p.m.
Don’t be afraid. Don’t flinch. Even if it hurts. She smelled the metal of the blade, heard it scrape her skin. Down the scar on her cheek, she realized. The cheek that had had no feeling for almost six years. She smelled her own blood. Knew he’d cut her.
Panic welled up and she fought it back. How deep had he cut? It doesn’t matter. Noah had noticed her before the scar was gone. And if it did matter to him… If I’m still alive to worry about it, that’ll be good.
Pierce grunted, evidently convinced. “All right. You’re unconscious.”
She focused on even breathing as he cut the twine that had tied her bound wrists to the bed. But her wrists were still bound. He didn’t cut my hands free. Dammit.
He took her wrists and brought them over her head, resting them on her stomach. He paused. He’s looking at me. Waiting. She kept breathing and kept her eyes closed.
Noah rolled his car to a silent stop, diagonally behind the open garage. Inside was a Lincoln Navigator, a black BMW, and a brown Honda Civic with the trunk lid up.
Heart pound
ing, he got out of his car moving noiselessly, weapon drawn. Brock followed, watching his back. Inside the truck was a huddled figure wrapped in a blanket. Be Eve. Be alive. He pulled the blanket aside and blew out a breath. It was the girl he’d seen with Tom Hunter the night before. She was nude, bound, her mouth taped, her eyes staring up at him desperately. Her skin was already blue.
He peeled the tape back from her mouth. “Hurry,” she whispered, teeth chattering. “He’s got Eve in the basement. He’s got a knife.”
Noah pulled the blanket back up over her, shrugging out of his own coat to wrap her in it. She’d be dead from exposure in minutes. “How many doors to the basement?”
“One. From the kitchen.”
“Stay with her,” he said to Brock and took off at a run, ignoring Brock’s hissed command to wait for backup. The house was eerily empty, the television set to the news. Abbott had just finished his press conference.
It was safe to assume Pierce knew he was a wanted man. It was safe to assume he’d do anything, as he had nothing to lose. Noah was at the door to the basement when he heard a crash that sounded like a wall coming down. He started to run.
Eve sat up, breathing hard, blinking to clear her vision. Her leg burned, but what she saw was far better than she hoped and ironic as hell. The shelves of shoes had come down. She’d waited until he’d bent to cut the twine at her feet, then she’d shoved her body down the cot, knees bent, and kicked him backward. Caught unawares, he’d gone sprawling against the wall, knocking all the shelves down.
One wood shelf had smacked his head and he lay unmoving. Shelves and shoes covered him in a heap, so that only his feet showed. Eve was bizarrely reminded of the red-and-white-striped stockings of the Wicked Witch and half expected his toes to curl.
“Eve!”
Slowly Eve looked to the stairs, sending the room into a spin. Noah was leaping, taking four stairs at a time. He rushed to her side, pale, holstering his gun. White knight, she thought as he grabbed Pierce’s knife from the floor and cut the twine that bound her feet. Then she saw movement behind him and screamed, hoarsely. “Noah.”