Quicksand (25 page)

She dropped to her knees in front of it. It was an old, brass-bound coffer, and the wood was stained by frequent handling. Why had Kistle used this box so often?

Oh, God, she was afraid she knew the answer.

She braced herself and lifted the lid.

Hair ribbons, toys, strands of silky hair bound by rubber bands, fingernails. It was full to overflowing, and some items were labeled with names, some were not. She lifted a strand of curly black hair and stared blindly down at the neatly written tag.
Letitia
. She felt sick. She dropped the strand back into the box. She didn't want to touch the poor horrible remains of those children.

But she was going to do it. Because she had to see if one of those pitiful thatches of hair was red and curly and was labeled
Bonnie
.

"Ah, you've found it. You've been very quick. I didn't expect you to stumble on my memory box for hours. I'm very proud of it. It's unique."

She lifted her head to see Kistle standing several yards away, his rifle cradled casually in his arm. There could be no mistake. The same gray-brown hair, the same features as in the photo Montalvo had shown her. But he was taller, more powerfully built than she had thought. All that power and strength devoted to the subjugation of helpless children. Anger flared through her. "It's not unique. Memory boxes are common with serial killers. You probably saw it on TV and copied it."

"Now, that was vicious. I pride myself on my originality. But I forgive you because you're probably shaken by looking at my little trophies."

"Trophies?" Her voice was shaking. "A trophy is given for some great victory. These are children. They're helpless. What kind of man would you have to be to think of kids as being worthy of fighting at all? You're weak and stupid to believe—"

"I think I'm beginning to get annoyed with you," Kistle interrupted. "I was anticipating a much more satisfying meeting. I've allowed myself to be distracted from playing cat and mouse with Quinn to come and see you. You could be more entertaining." He smiled maliciously. "Have you found the Bonnie trophy yet?"

She went rigid. "No."

"There are some more personal mementos at the bottom of the box. They're blackened, withered, but still recognizable as body parts."

Don't scream. Don't lunge at him. "Are you telling me that one of them belongs to Bonnie?"

"I could tell you that." He tilted his head. "It would take you a long time to verify it. No, I don't believe I'll lie to you. You're not going to live long enough for me to stretch out the pain." He smiled. "But you don't care about whether you live or die, do you? You haven't even looked at the rifle on the ground beside you."

"I care. I wouldn't let you take that away from me."

"You care more about whether Quinn dies, whether Jane MacGuire dies, even whether Laura Ann dies. I think your fear of your own death ended when you lost Bonnie."

"Is there a trophy in this box from Bonnie?"

He stared at her a moment and then shook his head. "But that doesn't mean anything. Bonnie was my inspiration. Maybe I didn't want to class her with the rest."

"Where are the graves?"

"Why, you're kneeling on one right now." He smiled. "If I remember correctly, that should be Nora Jean's grave."

Eve stiffened and slowly looked down at the moss-covered earth. Then she stared around the mossy glade. When she had first caught sight of the glade it had appeared level, but from where she knelt now she could see that it had slight, gentle swellings like the waves of an ocean. Dear God, were all those swellings graves?

"Though it's hard to recall exact locations. It became very crowded here. Though I did label the little darlings' bodies just as I did my trophies. A stake through the heart." He gestured around the glade. "You can hardly take a step without desecrating a grave. I was going to have to really branch out for Laura Ann." He nodded. "And you, Eve. You deserve a place of honor here."

She ignored the threat. "Where did you bury Bonnie?"

"I can't remember. I'll have to think about it."

"Dammit, where did you—" There was something in his expression, just a flicker, but she stiffened as a thought suddenly occurred to her. "Maybe you didn't kill my daughter. Maybe this was all a big lie. Maybe you're just a copycat after all."

His smile faded. "I don't have to lie about kills. Dig up this graveyard and you'll see."

"Show me her grave."

"Do you actually think I didn't kill her?"

"Your friend Murdock said you were obsessed with all the news stories about Bonnie. He said your attitude was weird. Feverish and bitter. Why bitter? Jealousy?"

"You don't know what you're talking about!"

"I think I do. You've evidently been killing for years and you've always prided yourself on your secretiveness. But it must have been terribly frustrating to find out that someone else was garnering all the attention and headlines and yet was able to get away with her murder. You knew you were being smart to hide your kills, but it must have gnawed at you. You wanted everyone to know how smart you were. Smarter than that man who had killed Bonnie, the man you told Murdock was a superstar in everyone's eyes. You desperately wanted to be that man. So you claimed her death as your own kill."

"How clever you are. And perhaps that's why I was so drawn to make contact with you?

Maybe I think by killing you, it will somehow validate the lie about killing Bonnie. It does make sense, doesn't it?"

"If your ego is as huge as I think it is."

"Of course, this is all supposition."

"Show me her grave."

"My dear Eve. She has no grave."

"But all these other children have graves?"

"Not all."

She moistened her lips. "You're lying."

He shook his head. "You haven't thought this through. I like to experiment."

"Where is Bonnie?"

"Do you really want to know?"

"Where is she?"

He said softly, "Ask the alligators."

Shock sent her reeling back on her heels. "You just want to hurt me. You're not telling the truth. You couldn't—" Yes, he could. Kistle was capable of doing anything evil under the sun.

"I could." He smiled. "You know I could. It's only a question of if the whim struck me. Most people are bound by all kinds of strictures. I've broken away from all those ties. You'd be surprised how free and powerful that makes you feel."

She dove for the rifle lying next to her.

Hot pain tore through her as a bullet pierced her left shoulder. She ignored it and rolled over as she grabbed for the rifle.

"Oh, no." Kistle's foot stomped down on the rifle. "Though I do admire your determination." He picked up her rifle. "Now lie still while I see if you have any other weapons. Make a move and I'll smash in your head with this rifle butt." His hands ran over her. "Clean. But then I wouldn't expect you to be loaded with firepower. It's not your area of expertise." He stepped back. "I could kill you now and I'd feel nothing but pleasure. No guilt, no regret. But you'll find that wound I gave you is nothing, a trifle. I barely skimmed your shoulder. Do you know why?" He didn't wait for her to answer. "Because you wouldn't care enough. I'll have to up the stakes to get the response I need from you." He moved back into the trees. "It has to be Joe Quinn, I think."

She struggled to her knees. "No!"

"You could always stagger after me and try to stop me. That would be amusing. You wouldn't have a chance, of course. You're wounded and you have no weapons. You must know by now how good I am. No, you'd better wait here. I'll bring him to you."

"Kistle." She got to her feet. "You can't—"

Kistle was gone.

And he was going after Joe.

You wouldn't have a chance, of course. You're wounded and you have no weapons
. But as he'd said, the wound was minor, and she could go back to the boat and get Joe's Magnum he'd left with the rifle.

There's always a chance, you bastard.

She reached under her windbreaker to compress the wound. She flinched as pain shot through her. It hurt, but the good news was that it didn't appear to be gushing blood. Maybe Kistle was right and it was only a flesh wound.

She started back toward where the boat was moored.

SOMEONE WAS IN THE BUSHES
ahead.

Joe froze and drew his .38. He couldn't see anything even wearing his infrared goggles, but he had heard a whisper of sound.

Kistle?

But it could also be Eve. He didn't trust her to stay away from the island. He'd only hoped he could get Kistle before she made a move.

Get off the ground and get a better view.

He shinnied up a blackgum tree towering next to him. Come on, Kistle. Move. Nothing.

But there was someone there.

A bullet plowed into the branch next to him!

From where?

From the left of that patch of bushes. He snapped a quick shot.

"Close," Kistle called. "You have good judgment, Quinn. Another two inches and you would have had me." The last sentence had been several yards to the right. He was on the move. Joe swung over to the next tree.

"I just encountered Eve Duncan. It was very interesting. I shot her as she knelt by her daughter's grave."

Joe went rigid. He had to be lying. Kistle just wanted an answer, a response, so that he could gauge his shot. Joe wouldn't give it to him.

Kistle chuckled. "You didn't rise to the bait. I didn't kill her. I'm waiting to do that when I can be sure of optimum satisfaction. I was thinking about killing you. But I think I'll go and retrieve Laura Ann instead. That will hurt Eve and you'll have to follow and come out of hiding to save the poor child." His voice was fading away. "Two for the price of one." Joe muttered a curse and began to climb down from the tree. Laura Ann had been on the other island, so Kistle must be heading for the bank where he could get across. Kistle knew every inch of these islands. He'd be traveling with speed and surety.

Joe would have to avoid any traps and move very, very fast.

FIFTEEN

HE SAW HER!

Miguel could barely make out Laura Ann on the water, clinging to the bole of a cypress tree. She was very little and the huge tree was dwarfing her small body.

"I'm coming, Laura Ann," he called softly. "I see you. I'll be there in a minute." She didn't answer. Perhaps she thought he was Kistle.

"My name is Miguel Vicente. I'm a friend of Eve's. You talked to her on the phone, didn't you?"

She still didn't answer, but he thought he heard her sob.

"I'm going to get you out of the water. The roots of that tree are too big for me to get close to you in this boat, so I'm coming in after you."

"Don't jump in the water. He'll hear you."

"Kistle?"

"No." She pointed to the bank. "I heard him come into the water. I've tried not to make any noise. It's too dark to see, but I think he's watching me."

Holy shit.

Laura Ann couldn't see in the darkness, but with his goggles on Miguel could. An alligator at least twelve feet in length was hovering near the bank. God knows why he hadn't attacked.

"Laura Ann, can you try to climb that tree you're holding on to?"

"I already tried to do it. It's too slippery. There's slimy stuff around the trunk." And Miguel wouldn't have time to swim to her and then pull her back with him to the boat before that prehistoric monster was on top of them.

"I'm going to have to get in the water."

"No."

"Don't be scared. Our ugly friend won't even know I'm swimming toward you." He hoped. He took his knife from his sheath. "Here's what we'll do. When I get next to you, I want you to let go of the tree. I'm going to give you a boost past that slick part of the trunk and throw you up as high as I can. Then you scramble up to that first branch."

"Will I be able to do it?" she asked doubtfully.

"A girl who could get away from a bad man like Kistle? Of course you can do it." He just hoped he'd be able to do his part with these damn hands. "You only have to be ready when I get there."

"Okay."

He carefully lowered himself over the side of the boat. No splash. No vibration in the water. Take it slow. Keep an eye on that triangular snout that could bite a man's arm off in one snap. Pray. Yes, definitely pray.

One yard.

Two yards.

He could hear the little girl's hoarse breathing, but she wasn't sobbing or screaming. That's a good girl, keep it together and we might get through this.

One more yard to go.

And then his leg hit the roots of the cypress and started a shock wave in the water.

"Shit."

The alligator was moving away from the bank!

He reached Laura Ann in seconds. "Up!" He took her by the waist and threw her up the tree.

"Grab it, dammit."

She grabbed, but her feet were slipping again.

"Hold on." He started to climb the tree.

Too late. The alligator was right beside him, mouth opening.

He stabbed his knife into the alligator's mouth and left the knife sticking in its jaw. Hell, it probably didn't hurt the reptile more than a mosquito bite.

Then Miguel was scrambling up the tree toward the first branch, where Laura Ann was clinging.

He heard the snapping of jaws below him, but he didn't look down. Laura Ann was sliding down toward him. He grabbed her and held on as he wrapped his legs around the branch. "It's fine," he said. "We're safe." Big lie. The alligator didn't look like it was going anywhere and Miguel could see the snout of another alligator in the water a short distance away swimming toward them. Evidently their first attacker had invited a guest to dinner. Laura Ann was clinging to him with all her strength. "What . . . if the branch breaks?" He wished she hadn't asked him that. "I'll think of something. I can always fight them off. I'm very strong."

She looked down at the alligators and then back at Miguel. "I think they're stronger." Her gaze went to his bandaged hands holding her. "And your hands are all bloody already." Damn, she was right. He'd broken the stitches and the blood was staining the bandages. The colonel was going to murder him.