The Killing Hour

  Kimberly looked at Mac. He seemed sorry to have agreed to this meeting. She couldn’t blame him.

  “I appreciate you coming out and telling me this,” he said at last, his tone grave.

  “You’re not sending me home.”

  “Nora Ray—”

  “No. I can help! I don’t know how yet. But I can help. If you’re still looking, then I’m staying.”

  “Nora Ray, you’re a civilian. Now, I’m in the middle of a formal police investigation. It’s demanding and time-consuming and while I’m sure you mean well, your presence in fact will only slow me down, and—if you’ll pardon my French—fuck things up. So go home. I’ll call you when we’ve learned something.”

  “He’s going to strike again. That last summer, he struck twice. He’ll do the same now.”

  “Nora Ray, honey . . .” Mac spread his hands. He seemed to be searching for some way to get through to the girl, to make her understand the futility of her efforts. “The killer’s already struck twice in a manner of speaking. This time, instead of taking two girls, he ambushed four. Now two are dead, two are missing, and so help me God, I can’t keep sitting here and having this conversation. We are in the middle of serious business. Go home, Nora Ray. I’ll be in touch.”

  Mac rose from the table. Kimberly took that as her cue to join him. But once again, Nora Ray did not conform to type. She also got up from the table, and this time her brown eyes held a bright, feverish light.

  “That’s it, then,” the young girl breathed. “We’re going to find the missing girls. That’s why I’m seeing the first two in my dreams. I was meant to come. I was meant to help.”

  “Nora Ray—”

  The girl cut him off with a firm shake of her head. “No. I’m twenty-one, I’m an adult. I’ve made my choice. I’m going with you, whether I have to follow you in a taxi or latch on to your trunk. You’re in a hurry, so just nod yes and we can all get on with this. Three heads are better than two. You’ll see.”

  “Get on that plane or I will call your parents.”

  “No. You look me in the eye and tell me that I’m wrong. Go on: Tell me you’re one hundred percent certain I can’t help. Because this man’s been killing a long time, Special Agent McCormack. This man, he’s been killing for years, and you still haven’t stopped him. Given all that, maybe dreams aren’t such a bad place to start.”

  Mac visibly faltered. As guilt trips went, the girl was good. And there was a nugget of truth to what she said. More than a few reputable police departments had brought in psychics and seers over the years. Detectives got to a point in a case where everything logical had been done. Timelines had been analyzed and overanalyzed. Evidence traced and retraced. And cops grew frustrated and trails grew cold and next thing they knew, the mad hatter on the other end of the phone saying I’ve had a vision was the best lead they’d gotten all year.

  Kimberly found she was suddenly very into the idea of dreams and she’d only been working the case thirty-six hours. She couldn’t imagine how Mac must feel after five brutal years. And now here they were. Two girls dead. Two girls missing. Clock ticking . . .

  “You know the kind of terrain this man picks,” Mac said at last.

  Nora Ray hefted the pack by her side, then kicked out one hiking boot. “I came prepared.”

  “It’s dangerous.”

  She merely smiled. “You don’t have to tell me that.”

  “You were lucky three years ago.”

  “I know. I’ve practiced since then. Read survival books, studied nature, got in shape. You’d be amazed how much I know now. I might even be helpful to you.”

  “This isn’t your battle to fight.”

  “It’s my only battle to fight. My sister’s never coming home, Special Agent McCormack. My family has fallen apart. I’ve spent three years shut inside a dead house, waiting for the day I’d magically stop being afraid. Well, you know what? It’s never going to happen on its own. So I might as well be here.”

  “It’s not a vendetta. We find him and you try to touch a hair on his head . . .”

  “I’m a twenty-one-year-old girl, traveling with a pack that’s been cleared by airport security. What do you think I’m going to do?”

  Mac still looked very uncomfortable. He glanced at Kimberly. She shrugged. “You do attract a certain kind of woman,” she told him.

  “I’m changing my cologne,” he said seriously.

  “And until then?”

  He sighed. Stared down the terminal. “Fine,” he said suddenly, shortly. “What the hell. I’m illegal on this case. Kimberly’s illegal on this case. What’s one more member of unsanctioned personnel? Goddamn strangest investigation I’ve ever led. Know anything about rice?” he asked Nora Ray sharply.

  “No.”

  “What about pollen?”

  “It makes you go ah-choo.”

  He shook his head. “Grab your bag. We’ve got a lot more ground to cover and it’s already getting late.”

  Nora Ray fell in step beside Kimberly as both of them scrambled to keep up with Mac’s long, angry strides.

  “Feel better?” Kimberly asked Nora Ray at last.

  “No,” the young girl answered. “Mostly, I feel afraid.”

  CHAPTER 35

  Quantico, Virginia

  10:41 A.M.

  Temperature: 92 degrees

  QUINCY AND RAINIE DROVE TO QUANTICO IN SILENCE. They did that a lot these days. Ate in silence, traveled in silence, shared a room in silence. Funny how Rainie hadn’t noticed it much in the beginning. Maybe it had seemed like personable silence back then. Two people so comfortable with each other they no longer needed words. Now, it seemed more ominous. If silence was a noise, then this silence was the sharp crack of an iceberg, suddenly tearing apart in the middle of an ancient glacier field.

  Rainie pressed her forehead against the warm glass of the passenger side window. She rubbed her temples unconsciously and wished she could get these thoughts out of her head.

  Outside, the sun beat down relentlessly. Even with the AC cranked in the tiny rental car, she could feel the heat gathering just beyond the vents. Her bare legs were hot from sunbeams. She could already feel sweat trickle uncomfortably down her back.

  “Thinking of Oregon?” Quincy asked abruptly. He was wearing his customary blue suit; jacket draped neatly in the backseat for now, but tie still knotted around his throat. She didn’t know how he did it every morning.

  “Not exactly.” She straightened in her seat, stretching out her bare legs. She wore a fresh pair of khaki shorts and a white collared shirt that desperately needed ironing. No suits for her. Not even if they were returning to Quantico. The place wasn’t her hallowed ground and they both knew it.

  “You’re thinking of Oregon a lot these days, aren’t you?” Quincy asked again. She looked at him more carefully, surprised by his tenacity. His face was impossible to read. Dark eyes peering straight ahead. His lips set in a tight line. He was going for the neutral, psychologist-on-duty approach, she decided.

  “Yeah,” she said.

  “It’s been a long time. Nearly two years. Maybe after this, we should go there. To Oregon. Have a vacation.”

  “All right.” Her voice came out thicker than she intended. Dammit, she had tears in her eyes.

  He heard it, turned toward her and for the first time, she saw the full panic on his face. “Rainie . . .”

  “I know.”

  “Have I done something wrong?”

  “It’s not you.”

  “I know I can be distant. I know I get a little lost in my work . . .”

  “It’s my work, too.”

  “But you’re not happy, Rainie. It’s not just today either. You haven’t been happy in a long, long time.”

  “No.” It shocked her to finally say it out loud, and in the next instant, she felt a curious sensation in the middle of her chest. Relief. She had gotten the word out. She had said it, had acknowledged the elephant that had been lurking in the ro
om for a good six months now. Someone had to.

  Quincy’s gaze returned to the road. His hands flexed and unflexed on the wheel. “Is there something I can do?” he asked at last, already sounding more composed. That was his way, she knew. You could hit the man in the gut, and he’d merely square his shoulders. If you hurt his daughter, on the other hand, or threatened Rainie . . . That’s when the gloves came off. That’s when his dark eyes gleamed feral, and his runner’s body fell into the stance of a long, lean weapon, and he emerged not as Quincy, top criminology researcher, but as Pierce, an extremely dangerous man.

  That was only when you harmed someone he loved, however. He had never done much of anything to protect himself.

  “I don’t know,” Rainie said bluntly.

  “If you want to go to Oregon, I’ll go to Oregon. If you need a break, we can take a break. If you need space, I’ll give you space. If you need comfort, then just tell me and I’ll pull over this car right now and take you into my arms. But you have to tell me something, Rainie, because I’ve been floating in the dark for months now, and I think I’m losing my mind.”

  “Quincy . . .”

  “I would do anything to make you happy, Rainie.”

  And she said in a small voice, “I’m so sorry, Quincy, but I think I want a baby.”

  Kaplan was already waiting for them when they pulled into the parking lot outside the Jefferson Dormitory. He looked hot, tired, and already pissed as hell with the day.

  “A little birdie told me I’m not supposed to be talking to you two,” he said the moment they climbed out of their car. “Said I should deal only with some new guy, who’s now heading the investigation.”

  Quincy shrugged mildly. “I haven’t been notified of any change in staffing. Have you, Rainie?”

  “Nope,” she said. “Never heard a thing.”

  “That little birdie must be pulling your leg,” Quincy told Kaplan.

  Kaplan raised a brow. In a surprisingly quick move for a big guy, he swiped the cell phone clipped to Quincy’s waist, eyed its lack of power, and grunted. “Smart. Well, as long as they’re fucking their own people, welcome to my happy little club. I got a body, I still have jurisdiction, and I’m not giving it up.”

  “Amen,” Quincy said. Rainie merely yawned.

  Kaplan remained scowling. “So why do you want to reinterview my sentries? Think I couldn’t possibly have gotten it right the first time?”

  “No, but now we have new information on the suspect.”

  That seemed to appease the special agent. He shook out his shoulders, indicated for them to climb into his car, then headed back out onto the base. “Guys were out training this morning,” Kaplan filled them in. “I had their CO pull them aside. Both should be waiting for us at the school. They’re young, but good. If they know anything that can be of help, they’ll tell you.”

  “Any more activity around here?”

  “Dead bodies? Thankfully, no. Ads in the Quantico Sentry? None that has crossed anyone’s desk. I met with Betsy Radison’s parents late last night. That’s been about it.”

  “Tough business,” Quincy said quietly.

  “Yeah, it is.”

  Kaplan turned into the cluster of buildings that marked Marine TBS—The Basic School. Sure enough, two young recruits sat to the side, dressed in jungle camo with hats pulled low to shield their faces and thick black utility belts strapped around their waists. Kaplan, Quincy, and Rainie climbed out of the car, and immediately the two snapped to attention.

  Kaplan made the introductions, while the recruits held their rigid stance.

  “This is civilian Pierce Quincy. He is going to ask you some questions regarding the night, fifteen of July. This is his partner, Lorraine Conner. She may also ask you questions regarding the same evening. You will answer all of their questions to the best of your ability. You will accord them the full respect and cooperation you would give any Marine officer requesting your assistance. Is that clear?”

  “Sir, yes sir!”

  Kaplan nodded at Quincy. “You may proceed.”

  Quincy raised a brow. The pomp and circumstance was a little extreme. Then again, Kaplan had taken a lot of hits recently. The FBI had forced him out of their world. Now he was showing off the power he still wielded in his.

  Quincy approached the two Marines. “You were both on duty for the night shift, July fifteenth?”

  “Sir, yes sir.”

  “Both of you stopped each vehicle and checked each driver for proper ID?”

  “We stopped all incoming vehicles, sir!”

  “Did you check passengers for proper identification?”

  “All visitors to the base must show proper identification, sir!”

  Quincy shot Rainie another dry look. She didn’t dare meet his eye or she would start giggling or burst into tears or both. The morning had already taken on a surreal quality, and now it felt as if they were interviewing two trained seals.

  “What kind of vehicles did you stop that night?” Quincy asked.

  For the first time, no immediate answer was shouted forth. Both recruits were still staring straight ahead as procedure dictated, but it was clear they were confused.

  Quincy tried again. “Special Agent Kaplan said you both reported heavy traffic that night.”

  “Sir, yes sir!” both Marines cried out promptly.

  “The majority of this traffic seemed to be National Academy students returning to the dorms.”

  “Sir, yes sir!”

  “Is it fair to say that these people mostly drove rental cars or their own personal vehicles? I would guess you saw a lot of small, nondescript automobiles.”

  “Sir, yes sir.” Not quite as vehement, but still an affirmative.

  “What about vans?” Quincy asked gently. “Particularly a cargo van arriving in the early morning hours?”

  Quiet again. Both sentries wore a frown.

  “We did see a few vans, sir,” one finally reported.

  “Did you happen to note these vehicles in your logs, or glance at the license plates?”

  “No, sir.”

  Quincy’s turn to frown. “Why not? I would think you’d see mostly cars coming and going off the base. A cargo van should be unusual.”

  “No, sir. Construction, sir.”

  Quincy looked blankly at Kaplan, who seemed to get it. “We have a number of projects active here on the base,” the special agent explained. “New firing ranges, new labs, new admin buildings. It’s been a busy summer, and most of those crews are driving vans or trucks. Hell, we’ve cleared guys on forklifts.”

  Quincy closed his eyes. Rainie could already see the anger building behind his deceptively quiet façade. The little details no one thought to mention in the beginning. The one little detail, of course, that could make all the difference in a case.

  “You have a ton of construction personnel active on this base,” Quincy said in a steely voice. His eyes opened. He looked straight at Kaplan. “And you never mentioned this before?”

  Kaplan shifted uneasily. “Didn’t come up.”

  “You have a murder on the base, and you don’t think to mention that you have an abnormally high number of eighteen-to-thirty-five-year-old males engaged in transient, menial labor, in other words, men who fit the murderer’s profile, passing through these gates?”

  Now even the two Marine sentries were regarding Kaplan with interest. “Each and every person who receives authorization to enter this base must first pass security clearance,” Kaplan replied evenly. “Yeah, I got a list of the names, and yeah, my people have been reviewing them. But we don’t allow people with records on this base period—not as personnel, not as contractors, not as guests, and not as students. So it’s a clean list.”

  “That’s wonderful,” Quincy said crisply. “Except for one thing, Special Agent Kaplan. Our UNSUB doesn’t have a record—he hasn’t been caught yet!”

  Kaplan’s face blazed red. He was definitely aware of the two sentries watching him,
and he was definitely aware of Quincy’s growing fury. But still he didn’t back down. “We pulled the list. We analyzed the names. No one has a history of violence or a record of assault. In other words, there is nothing to indicate any one of those contractors should be pursued as a suspect. Unless, excuse me, you want me to start attacking any guy who drives a cargo van.”

  “It would be a start.”

  “It would be half the list!”

  “Yes, but then how many of those people once lived in Georgia!”

  Kaplan drew up short, blinked, and Quincy finally nodded in grim satisfaction. “A simple credit report, Special Agent. That’s all you have to do. It’ll give you previous addresses and we can identify anyone who also has ties to Georgia. And then we’d have a suspect list. Don’t you think?”

  “It . . . but . . . well . . . Yeah, okay.”

  “There are two more girls out there,” Quincy said quietly. “And this UNSUB has gotten away with this for far too long.”

  “You don’t know that he’s really a member of the construction crews,” Kaplan said stubbornly.

  “No, but we should at least be asking these questions. You can’t let the UNSUB control the game. Take it from me,” Quincy’s gaze had taken on a faraway look. “You have to take control, or you will lose. With these kinds of predators, it’s all about gamesmanship. Winner takes all.”

  “I’ll put my people on the list,” Kaplan said. “Give us a few hours. Where will you be?”

  “At the BSU, talking to Dr. Ennunzio.”

  “Has he learned anything from the ad?”

  “I don’t know. But let’s hope he’s been lucky. Because the rest of us certainly haven’t.”

  CHAPTER 36

  Virginia

  11:34 A.M.

  Temperature: 97 degrees

  TINA HAD GONE NATIVE. Mud streaked her arms, her legs, her pretty green sundress. She had stinking ooze coating her face and neck, primordial slime squishing between her toes. Now she picked up another sticky handful and smeared it across her chest.