I started to wonder how I could catch a guy who could plan his moves like this. He was smarter than I was.
I stayed with the man who’d been shot until the ambulance arrived a few minutes later. There was a little confusion about which paramedics were going to take him to the hospital—apparently several vehicles had responded. Finally, two of the men lifted the gunshot victim onto a gurney and wheeled him away. We searched the entire parking garage complex, the mall, the parking lot, the restaurants. Nothing.
The girl from the van was still screaming when they took her away. I wondered if she would ever be able to stop herself from screaming when she thought of this night. Some people can put events like this behind them and move on. Most of us can’t.
Before leaving, I looked through the Ford Expedition they’d been in. A white pawn was sitting on the center of the dashboard.
19
After the search for the shooter came up empty, I realized there wasn’t much more I could do there that night. Local law enforcement didn’t really want us around, and even though we could have fought them for jurisdiction, we were already stretched thin trying to investigate all the other cases. It seemed like the best strategy was to let them take the lead on this and keep us updated. That meant I could get back to Asheville and spend tomorrow morning piecing together the overall pattern of the crime series.
Since my shirt was soaked with the wounded man’s blood, I turned it in as evidence and bought a sweatshirt from one of the mall stores that was getting ready to close. After cleaning the blood off my hands in the bathroom, I went to sign the chain of evidence papers. That’s what I was doing when Ralph walked over to me, shaking his head.
“What is it?” I asked.
“You.”
“Me?”
“Yup, you. I need to brief the officers in charge here, Margaret is back in Asheville, and that puts you in charge.”
I didn’t like where this was going. “In charge of what?”
“Meeting with Governor Taylor.”
“What?”
Ralph shrugged his huge shoulders, trying unsuccessfully to look helpless. “He heard about the girl; wants someone to bring him up to speed. Word is he’s got a bunch of speeches next week on national security, and he doesn’t want to get blindsided by questions about serial killers in his own hometown.”
I glanced at my watch: 9:41 p.m. “Does he know what time it is?”
“I’m sure he does.”
“Can’t this wait, Ralph?”
He shook his head. “Governor Taylor is one person you don’t keep waiting. He’s spending this weekend at his private residence not far from here, just outside of town. It shouldn’t take you too long to brief him.”
Great. He just had to say the b-word.
“I’m not good with this kind of stuff, Ralph. You know how much I hate—”
But he’d already turned around. “Take Lien-hua along. I hear he likes the women.”
“Who likes the women?” asked Lien-hua.
And before I had a chance to protest any more to Ralph, a car piloted by one of the governor’s security detail drove up, and Lien-hua and I reluctantly climbed in.
“He just lives a few minutes away,” explained our driver. “‘Course, most of the time he’s in Raleigh, but a couple weekends a month he likes to come back home.”
I listened to him but didn’t really listen. Mostly I was thinking about Jolene and the pawn on the dashboard and the killer who was smarter than I was. He put Jolene’s contacts into Mindy’s eyes. Why? I also wondered about the man he shot and the chain of events that had brought me to his side. Time and place.
Time and place.
After a few minutes, my thoughts drifted to the other side of the backseat, where Lien-hua sat silently watching the night slide past the car. I was a little disappointed the car was so roomy. I wished the governor had chosen to send something a tad smaller. A Harley would have been nice.
We didn’t talk until we arrived at the front gate to the governor’s mansion and one of the sentries waved us through. That’s when Lien-hua turned to me. “Good work interviewing that kid back there,” she said.
“Thanks. And good thinking to realize she was looking for her car keys. And to check the prescription for the contacts too. Very nice.”
“Thank you,” she said. “I’m just glad I wasn’t too sidetracked by looking for motives.”
Yes. Definitely rephrase that in the next briefing.
Governor Taylor’s mansion lay back from the main road behind a grove of looming oak trees that sprawled along the drive just barely within reach of the headlights. As we pulled to a stop in the circular drive in front of the elaborate manse, I let out a long, slow breath. “Whew . . . Maybe I’m in the wrong line of work. I didn’t know the government of North Carolina paid its public workers so well.”
“Tobacco family,” our driver said wistfully, pronouncing it tu-backa famlee. “They’ve been in politics forever, but it’s cancer sticks paid for this place.” He opened up the door for Lien-hua. “I wonder how much of it I paid for before I quit,” he mumbled. Then we stepped past him and climbed the steps to the porch.
A young woman greeted us at the door. Mid-twenties, blonde, movie star face, dressed in a skirt that must have taken her an hour to squeeze into. She introduced herself as the governor’s personal assistant. “Ms. Anita Banner,” she said in a crisp, professional voice. “Please follow me.”
She led us down the wide hallway toward the governor’s private office. Ms. Banner turned every step into a Spanish dance. I wondered just how personal her assistance to the governor was. Especially this late on a Friday night.
She asked us to wait for a moment in the great room and then slipped through another set of doors to announce our arrival to Governor Taylor.
I glanced around the room. Paintings depicting Civil War battles hung on the walls: Antietam, Fredericksburg, Bull Run, Chancel-lorsville. Apart from some kind of huge fish mounted above the fireplace, the entire room seemed to be decorated to celebrate the war—and the South. A plaque below one of the paintings read: “First at Bethel. Last at Appomattox.” So, a tribute to the soldiers of North Carolina.
Lien-hua picked up a picture that was sitting on the grand piano. “I wonder where the governor’s wife and kids are tonight?”
“She took the boys to Barbados for the week,” I answered.
Lien-hua stared at me, amazed. “How do you know that?”
“I’m tempted to wow you with my Sherlockian deductive powers,” I said. “But actually I heard it on the news last night while channel surfing. His wife loves the spotlight. She’s twenty years younger than him and used to be a model. She just might be the first governor’s wife in history with her own paparazzi.”
“Oh,” said Lien-hua. She didn’t seem impressed.
Brilliant move, Einstein. Next time try and wow her.
Just then Ms. Banner reappeared and led us into the governor’s private office.
He stepped out from behind a vast mahogany desk to greet us. I extended my hand and introduced myself. The governor looked to be in his mid-fifties, but his grip was firm, almost startlingly so. He had cool, calculating eyes that were offset by his wide, practiced smile. He’d loosened his tie but still chose to wear his impeccably tailored suit that moved with him seamlessly as he strode through the room. A small pin with a Confederate flag hung proudly from his lapel.
I was about to introduce Lien-hua, but she beat me to it, stepping forward and taking his hand. “Special Agent Lien-hua Jiang. Pleased to meet you, Governor Taylor.” The governor’s eyes brightened when he took her hand, and they did not linger long on her hand.
“Agent Jiang,” he said with a honey-sweet Southern accent, “the pleasure is all mine.”
Yeah, that’s an understatement.
“Governor Taylor,” I said, nodding toward the room with the fireplace, “you have quite a collection of paintings.”
He smiled th
inly. “All who are warriors must be students of war.” He reached for a bottle on his desk. “Drink?”
I shook my head. Lien-hua said, “No thank you.”
“Well, then.” He considered a decanter of cognac for a moment and then refilled his glass.
“That quote,” I said. “Chekhov?”
He lifted his glass to me with a slight nod. “Taylor,” he said, winking at Lien-hua.
OK.
“I especially liked the portrayal of Sharpsburg,” I said. The South often used different names to remember the battles than the North did. In this case, I used the Southern name to refer to the battle of Antietam.
He looked mildly impressed. “One of my favorites as well.”
But then I blew it. “An interesting way to remember the Civil War.” As soon as I’d said it, I realized it. Oh well.
“You’re not from the South, are you, Dr. Bowers?” His tone had turned fatherly, patronizing. I was not in the mood.
“Actually, no. Milwaukee, originally.” Go on, say it. I know you’re going to.
He grinned, pleased with himself. “Here in the South, we prefer to call it the War Between the States. Or the War of Northern Aggression . . .”
I knew he was going to say that.
I didn’t respond, just waited for him to go on.
He continued, “There’s nothing civil about war, Dr. Bowers. The phrase is an oxymoron—like giant shrimp, rubber cement, or tight slacks.” As he added that last one, his eyes flickered toward Lien-hua.
“Or act natural,” I said.
He shifted his attention back to me, with one eyebrow raised. “Hmm?”
“Act natural. It’s another oxymoron. Either you’re acting or you’re not. But only one is natural.” I met his gaze, didn’t look away.
“Ah, unless you are a natural actor,” he said with a slight raise of his glass.
Or unless you’re a true counterfeit, I thought but managed to keep my mouth shut.
“Sir,” Lien-hua said, “you wanted to know about the case.”
“Yes, yes. Of course.” He set his drink on the desk and took his place behind it, in the position of authority. He motioned for us to have a seat in the two tiny chairs facing him. It was a power play, of course.
“Bad back,” I said. “Think I’ll stand.”
Lien-hua sat.
“So,” he said, “this girl tonight. What do you know so far?”
Lien-hua leaned forward. “Governor, if I might ask, what’s your specific interest in this case?”
“Public relations.” He shook his head slightly. “A serial killer? Oh, it’s been a nightmare.” He let his words hang in the air as if he expected us to agree with him that his public relations concerns were somehow more important than the fact that at least six young women had been brutally murdered. I wasn’t sure how much more of this guy I could take.
“I guess no one has informed you about the phone calls?” He asked it as a question even though it seemed like a statement.
“What phone calls?” I asked.
“Let’s see, what was her name . . . Bethanie something . . .”
I wondered where he was going with this. “Not Dixon? Bethanie Dixon?”
“Yes. Yes. That’s it. From what I’ve heard, she called our switchboard a dozen times in less than eight hours. That night she disappeared. Two days later she was found dead.”
I remembered seeing a series of calls in her phone records when I was reviewing her case earlier today, but I hadn’t had time to investigate who she’d been calling.
“Are there transcripts of the calls?” I asked.
“Of course. We tape all incoming calls. I’ll have my people fax them to you in the morning. Not much there, though. She demanded to talk to me, said it was urgent. She was afraid her life was in danger. Mine too, it seems.”
“What?” asked Lien-hua. “A death threat?”
“I get those constantly,” he said, dismissing her concern with a wave of his hand. “This was different.”
“She wasn’t threatening you,” I said. “She was warning you.”
“So it seems.”
“But about who?” asked Lien-hua.
He gazed at the bookshelf for a moment and then shook his head. “No idea.”
Lien-hua shifted in her chair. “Sir, why didn’t you tell our team about this earlier?”
“I only made the connection when I heard her name mentioned on the news tonight in relation to this other girl’s abduction.”
Something wasn’t clicking. Something wasn’t right.
Lien-hua’s phone rang; she looked at the number, excused herself, and stepped into the next room.
“Governor,” I said, “does the phrase ‘white knight’ mean anything to you?”
He stared at me. For an instant his eyes seemed to turn cold and reptilian, then he blinked them back to warm and inviting once again. An amazing transformation. “Does that have something to do with the murder?” he asked. He was searching me, evaluating me even as I was evaluating him.
“She scrawled the words beside her, in her own blood, while she was dying.”
I watched him carefully.
“White knight,” he said thoughtfully. “Hmm. I don’t know. I suppose you use them to play chess. That’s the only thing that comes to mind.”
Why didn’t he react when you said she scrawled the words in her own blood? Why didn’t he cringe? He knows something. He’s hiding something.
The governor sipped at his drink and then shook his head. “That’s all, I’m afraid.” He glanced at his watch. “I’ll have those transcripts faxed over first thing in the morning. And I would appreciate it if you would keep me apprised of the case. I truly hope you find this girl, Julie—”
“Jolene,” I said.
“Yes. Of course.”
He rose.
Lien-hua stepped back into the room, and the governor watched her walk toward us, his tongue glancing out to wet his lower lip. I stepped between them and handed him my card. “And if you think of anything, you’ll be sure to call us?”
“Of course. Oh—” He raised an index finger and then reached into one of the desk’s mighty drawers. “Two tickets,” he said gallantly. “One for each of you. I’d be honored to have you as my personal guests Monday for the Cable News Forum’s annual awards luncheon. It’s at the Stratford Hotel.”
Everything he said was another way of patting himself on the back.
“I’ll be giving the keynote address to kick off a brief speaking tour on what the states can do to battle global terrorism. I’ll be at the Pentagon later in the week.”
This guy was unbelievable.
“Well. Congratulations,” I said coolly. “And thanks for the offer, but I’m sorry that we’ll have to decl—”
Lien-hua interrupted me. “We’d be honored,” she said.
He beamed. He wasn’t staring at me. “Well”—he gave Lien-hua a slight nod—“then I’ll look forward to seeing you Monday morning.”
And with that, Ms. Banner appeared at the door and led us back, past the paintings of the war that was not civil, to the car.
From his office window, Governor Sebastian Taylor watched the car containing the two federal agents drive away. It had been nearly thirty years since he’d heard the words white night. He’d thought that chapter of his life was over for good. Apparently not. He pressed the button on his intercom.
“Ms. Banner?”
“Yes, sir?” It was amazing how much innuendo she could pack into those two little words.
“I’ll need some time to make a few personal calls.”
“Would you like me to—”
“They’re personal calls, Ms. Banner.”
“Yes, sir.” A note of disappointment soured her reply.
He hesitated for a moment and then added, “Give me twenty minutes. Then, perhaps you can help me, um, work on the wording for my Cable News Forum speech.”
“Yes, sir.” This time her words
sounded just the way he’d hoped they would. He released the intercom button and picked up the phone. Dialed a number. Waited.
A moment later a voice answered, “Reference number please.” Governor Taylor smiled. Only three phone numbers actually get you through to a live person at the Pentagon twenty-four hours a day. He knew all three.
“16dash1711alpha delta4,” he said.
“Just a moment.” A slight pause accompanied by the tapping of fingers on a keyboard on the other side of the line and then, “How may I help you, sir?”
“I’d like to talk to General Biscayne.”
“I’m sorry, he’s already left for the weekend. He’ll be in on Monday—”
“This is Sebastian Taylor, code name Cipher.”
“Of course, sir. I’ll connect you.”
“Thank you.”
Governor Taylor waited as the line was transferred, and then a familiar voice came on. “Yeah?”
“Cole, it’s Sebastian. I think we might have a problem.”
20
Alice McMichaelson rubbed her eyes and glanced at the clock hanging from the wall of her living room.
10:21 p.m.
She tried to focus on the words hovering on the page in front of her eyes, but the more she concentrated the fuzzier they became.
The third yawn in as many minutes escaped her lips.
If only she didn’t have to work so much and could spend more time just being a mom.
But to provide for her kids she had to work, and to keep her new job she needed to finish her degree. And to do that she had to study, and when else was she supposed to read these textbooks? She couldn’t very well study at work, and then in the evenings and on the weekends the kids had all their activities. The only time she could fit it in was after her kids went to bed.
She yawned again, heard shuffling behind her, and turned. Brenda stood in the hallway holding Wally to her chest.
“What’s wrong, sweetheart?”
“Wally can’t sleep. He’s scared.”