I Can See You (60 page)

He cut the ropes binding his latest prey, then
stopped, staring at her face. But it wasn’t tonight’s dead hooker he saw. It
was… Sunday’s. Wild dogs. He’d told her she’d be torn apart by wild dogs. Her
eyes had been blue, the roots of her hair auburn.

His mind clear, the association clicked. He’d seen
that face. Tonight.
Where?

In the hospital
.
She’d looked tired and… terrified. Leaving the dead hooker where she lay, he
went to the drawer next to where he kept all the old cell phones. It held
dozens of wallets and driver’s licenses. He found the license from Sunday’s
whore. Lindsay Barkley. He found her cell phone in the next drawer and turned
it on, clicking through the photos she’d stored there. There she was. The girl
he’d seen tonight.

Why was she at the hospital? He thought hard,
remembered the tall young man who’d been with her, and drew a breath. The young
man knew Eve Wilson.

Perhaps the girl knew nothing. But he would not take
that chance. He looked at Lindsay’s license. He knew where she’d lived. He’d
swing by on his way into morning meeting. Have a little chat with the girl.
He’d take care of her easily.

He grabbed tonight’s hooker by the ankles and dragged
her to the pit. It was pretty full, but he thought it could accommodate two
more. Lindsay’s sister and Eve were both tall, it was true, but both were
slender. They wouldn’t take up too much space.

And then no more for a while, he told himself. Which
was not a problem. Once this endeavor was complete, his stress would recede to
a manageable level and in a few months when he hunted his next prey, so would
have the pit.

Thursday, February 25, 3:30 a.m.

Olivia’s cell phone rang, rousing her from what had
been a very pleasant dream on the cot in the break room at the station. Dell
Farmer was a tough nut to crack. Kane and Abbott had taken a turn questioning
him while she caught a few winks. Blinking hard, she flipped her phone open.
“Sutherland,” she said, swallowing a yawn.

“It’s Tom. Tom Hunter.”

Olivia sat up and turned on the light next to the cot.
“Is David all right?” Of course he was. He had to be. The hospital would have
called her if there’d been any issues.

“Yeah. I talked to him around ten and he was going to
sleep.” On the other end, she heard Tom sigh. “This is going to sound so
paranoid and you’re going to be mad.”

“I’ve got security on your uncle,” Olivia said as
kindly as she could. “He’ll be fine.”

“Olivia, I was out tonight. With Liza.”

Olivia’s eyes narrowed. “Define ‘out.’ As in ‘on a
date’? Or as in ‘hunting bad guys’?”

“The second one. Wait,” he inserted before she could
explode. “We found what we were looking for. That guy the prostitute mentioned
last night, Jonesy, we found him.”

“And you didn’t think to mention this to me?”

“You would have yelled because we were out looking.”

“Damn straight I would have yelled,” she yelled. “Your
mother asked me to watch out for you, Tom. You’re making trouble for me.”

“I’m twenty,” he said quietly. It wasn’t bravado or
posturing. Tom Hunter had been forced to be a man, to defend his battered
mother, before his seventh birthday.

“All right,” she said, just as quietly. “You found
Jonesy. Had he seen Liza’s sister?”

“Yeah. He said he’d been watching the cars picking up
hookers, writing down license plates. If they were rich…”

“He’d blackmail them. Wonderful. So he saw Lindsay
getting in a car?”

“Yeah, but he said he didn’t have the list anymore,
that he’d sold it, and he didn’t remember what kind of car, but he remembered
the date and time. I didn’t believe him, but I got him to tell me who he’d sold
the list to.”

Olivia sighed. She knew Jonesy. “How much did you pay
him?”

“A hundred.”

“
Tom
.”

“I
know
,” Tom spat, frustrated. “He said he
sold it to some guy named Damon. Another hundred got me Damon’s ‘business
address.’ ”

A shiver tickled down her spine. “You’re on thin ice,
kid. Damon is a major dealer.”

“I figured that out. I found him, told him what I
wanted. He looked at his list. And this is the paranoid part. He said he saw
her get into a black SUV. Lincoln Navigator.”

Olivia blinked, wondering how many Navigators could be
on Twin City roads.

“You know,” Tom said when she said nothing. “Like the
one that hit David.”

“Yeah, I got it. That’s weird, but not impossible.”
Besides, they’d gotten Dell Farmer.
But not his SUV
. He’d been driving a
beat-up old Corolla and had just laughed uproariously when she’d demanded to
know where he’d parked his Navigator.

“I know and I almost didn’t bother you with it. But I
figured better safe than sorry.”

“Damon didn’t happen to share the license plate, did
he?”

“No, and frankly I didn’t want to push it. He scared
the bejesus out of me.”

“That’s the first smart thing I’ve heard you say all
night. Dammit, Tom, he would have stabbed you as easy as breathing. I’m shocked
he told you anything at all.”

“He’s a basketball fan,” Tom said wryly. “I had
tickets in my pocket. If you don’t pick him up sooner, I know where he’ll be
sitting come game time on Sunday.”

Olivia massaged her temples. “Your mother is going to
kill me.”

“My mother and Dana
taught
me. All those years
in the shelter, the new identities, transporting women and kids in the dead of
night… No way Mom can yell at you.”

“Good point. Okay. Here’s the deal. I don’t tell your
mom what you’ve been doing and you don’t go out with Liza alone anymore.”

“She’s not going to give up until she finds her
sister. Or her body.”

Sisterly bonds. That Olivia understood. “Tomorrow I’ll
go with you. Where’s Liza?”

“I dropped her off at her apartment. I walked her to
the door,” he added defensively.

“You’re a good man. Maybe too much so. No more
sleuthing by yourselves. Deal?”

“Deal. Thanks, Olivia.”

“Tom, wait. Where are Liza’s parents in all this?”

“Her mom’s sick, and Liza doesn’t want to worry her
yet. No dad in the picture.”

“Okay. Let me see what I can find. Get some sleep.”
Troubled, Olivia hung up, then placed a call to an old friend in narcotics.
Hopefully they’d have enough to bring Damon in and she could find out what he
really knew.

Thursday, February 25, 4:00 a.m.

He was so tired. He parked his car next to his wife’s
BMW and was tempted to go to sleep right there in the garage, but his wife
would wonder where he was when she awoke to an empty bed. He didn’t hate his
wife. They had a mutually beneficial relationship. She received a generous
allowance for her support, showed up on his arm at all the right functions,
never expected sex, and conscientiously kept his secret.

Or what she believed to be his secret. Through twenty
years of marriage, she’d believed him to be gay. It wasn’t the optimal
solution, but it did explain to her satisfaction why he never touched her. He
closed the door into the kitchen, frowning when he switched on the light.
Something was different. It took him only a second.

She’d moved the cat’s bowl. He didn’t like it when she
changed things. She knew this. It had been the only occasion he’d needed to
strike her during their marriage. She’d learned quickly and kept things the way
he liked ever since. Until tonight.

He opened cupboards, careful not to wake her. He
didn’t care a whit if she got her beauty sleep, but she was his cover. That’s
all she’d ever been. The cat’s bowl was nowhere to be seen. Maybe she’d broken
it and hoped he wouldn’t know.

He always knew, could always instantly see any item
out of its place. He climbed the stairs, his temper seething. It was exhaustion
and he reined his temper in. He’d deal with her in the morning, after she’d
woken to see him soundly asleep beside her.

He’d brought her a cup of tea tonight, as he always
did. Laced it with enough narcotic to have her sleeping through the night, as
he always did when he was going out. As he’d done every night this week. He
closed the bedroom door behind him.

And stopped. She wasn’t in the bed. Carefully he
turned. And stopped again.

She was sitting in one of the chintz chairs by the
window and in her hand she held a gun. His heart began to beat harder. He
recognized the gun. It was one of the many he kept at his place. She’d been to
his place. “What’s this?” he asked quietly.

“I didn’t drink the tea tonight,” she said. “Or last
night. Or the night before.” She paused meaningfully, tilting her head. “Or the
night before that.”

Sunday
. “Why
didn’t you drink your tea?” he asked, injecting a note of hurt into his voice.
She was small, manageable. Taking the gun would be no issue.

“Because of your cat. I was sneezing all the time, so
I took an allergy pill.”

“What does this have to do with the tea?” He took a
step forward and she brought the gun up, smoothly. Interesting. They’d been
married twenty years and he never knew she could handle a weapon. Looking back,
he probably should have asked.

“Don’t come any closer,” she said and he could hear
the underlying fright. Panic. Disgust. “And keep your hands where I can see
them. The allergy pill interacted with whatever it is you put in that tea. It
made me sick. I threw up the tea. And I was awake when you came in on Sunday
night. Monday morning, actually. You were out all night.”

“I was with a patient,” he lied.

“You had sex. I can always tell. I thought you’d gone
discreetly about your business with your newest boy of the month. Which was
fine, but then you were gone Monday night, too. You slipped into bed, thinking
I was asleep. I smelled perfume.
Ladies’ perfume
. I could accept your
alternate lifestyle. I was willing to be your cover. But you were cheating.
With
women
.”

He tilted his head, feigning puzzlement. He needed to
get to the gun in his pocket. “Let me get this straight. You’re angry because
I’m not gay?”

“Don’t,” she said, disgusted. “Don’t even try to charm
me. I followed you.”

He narrowed his eyes. “And?”

“I
know
what you did. I
saw
you last
night. I followed you to your other house, saw you change cars, then I watched
you wait for that woman outside that bar and follow her home.” She sat back and
leveled him an even stare. “I thought, ‘He has another home. Another life.
Maybe even another wife. That’s why he doesn’t want me.’ I couldn’t stand
wondering, so I went back to that house today.”

His fists clenched. “You had no right.”

She laughed, hollowly, dully. “My God. You can stand
there and speak to me of
rights
? I saw your basement. Your… shoes. My
God. You’re a monster. How long? How long have you been killing?”

“Thirty years,” he said, oddly pleased that he could
finally tell someone.

She shook her head, helplessly. “I… opened the pit. I
can’t stop thinking about it. I see that hand, sticking up, every time I close
my eyes. Why did you do it?”

“Because I wanted to,” he said simply and she shook
her head in disbelief.

“You’re a monster. And no one will believe that you’re
capable. You have everyone fooled. Everyone but me. I know what you are and you
aren’t going to get away with this.” She started to pull the trigger, but he
was faster. He leapt forward and wrested the gun from her hand, her cry of pain
barely registering. He tossed the gun to the bed and dragged her up against
him, his arm over her throat. Her gun had no silencer and the shot would wake
the whole neighborhood.

Pulling his own silenced gun from his pocket, he
pulled her to the bathroom and shoved her into the tub, holding her as she
fought. “Just one question. Where is my cat?”

She twisted to stare up at him, defiant in her fear.
“Dead,” she spat.

He clenched his jaw. “You bitch.” Then he shot her in
the head, stepping back as she slumped. “I should have stayed single,” he
murmured, panting. “Dammit.”

Now he’d have to explain to their friends where she’d
gone.

Thursday, February 25, 7:00 a.m.

Coffee. Noah drew a deep breath, the aroma teasing him
awake. Sex and coffee. He wasn’t sure a man needed a whole lot more than that.
He rolled out of bed, a little creaky after tackling Dell, but his mind was
alert. He hadn’t gotten any calls during the night, so Natalie Clooney and
Kathy Kirk, Eve’s last two red-zone cases, were all right.

He still didn’t believe Donner had killed five women,
but he had the very bad feeling that Farmer’s mocking “pow” and
“night-night-Noah and his pretty Eve, too” were more than petty taunts. Donner
was involved, or he wouldn’t have run.