I Can See You

Chapter Twenty-four

Thursday, February 25, 1:20 p.m.

So what do you have?” Brian Ramsey asked, setting his briefcase on Abbott’s table.

Abbott had been waiting for them at the table. A very pale Noah sat off to the side, watching the security video from the parking garage on a small TV. He was hunched over, his face inches from the screen, a remote clutched in one hand.

Olivia flinched at the image of Kane dropping to the concrete and Eve’s stunned face. She’d watched that clip ten times, her gut roiling each time Eve was shot, injected, then dragged away. She couldn’t imagine what Noah was going through, but on some level he appeared to be holding up.

“Not much,” Abbott said grimly. “We’re hoping you can be creative. One photo of a shoe next to Eve’s keys. It’s Pierce’s shoe.” He slid the picture across the table to Ramsey. “Someone broke into her house with her keys that night, then returned later.”

Ramsey shook his head. “It could be anybody’s shoe. What else?”

“Two,” Abbott said, “we have a photo from the parking garage security camera.”

“Can’t see his face,” Ramsey remarked blandly. “Or his shoes. Or his height. Next?”

Abbott looked frustrated. Noah hadn’t said a word, his gaze fixed to the small TV. Olivia wanted to gently pull him away, to take the remote from his hand, but she understood the value of doing something.

“Three,” Abbott said, “we have pages from Donner’s datebook. His wife found it with his things. She scanned it into her computer and sent it as an email attachment. Shows six meetings with a C.P. One was for last night, but Donner was already dead by then. Mrs. Donner said her husband was seeing a counselor as part of his cancer treatment. She said she knew he knew Pierce, but thought it was only socially.”

“Now we’re getting somewhere,” Ramsey said. “Where is this date-book now?”

“Locals got it from Mrs. Donner,” Abbott replied. “She’s grieving, but cooperative.”

“So we’re good on chain of evidence. What else?”

“The black BMW,” Abbott continued. “One’s registered to Mrs. Pierce. The plates the garage camera caught were Donner’s, but Donner’s plates are on his car, in his mother’s driveway.”

“The BMW plates are duplicates,” Ramsey said. “Okay, keep going.”

“I don’t have any more,” Abbott gritted out. “Isn’t that enough?”

“I have more,” Olivia said. “A black BMW was used to abduct Liza Barkley this morning.” She explained her phone call with Tom. “Liza’s sister, Lindsay, was last seen getting into a black SUV, registered to Irene Black.”

Ramsey lifted his brows. “So you said before. Who is Irene Black?”

Olivia looked at Abbott, who shrugged. “Tell him,” he said.

Glancing at Noah from the corner of her eye, Olivia did. “Eve found the account the killer used in the game, by following messages sent by Virginia. The name on the account is Irene Black. She couldn’t get an address or financials because she didn’t have the access and the program booted her out.”

Ramsey closed his eyes. “Eve hacked in, didn’t she?”

Noah’s shoulders stiffened, the only indication he was still listening. He’d rewound the video to the beginning and was watching it again. Torturing himself, Olivia thought.

“Yes,” Olivia said to Ramsey, flatly. “When we find her alive you can arrest her.”

“But you got an address,” Abbott said.

“A PO box in Wisconsin, from the license plate of an SUV that abducted a missing hooker,” Olivia said tautly. “That should expand the good doctor’s psych profile.”

Ramsey looked pained. “It’s not enough. Basically you have Donner’s datebook and Pierce’s wife’s black Beemer. Everything else is fruit of a poisoned search.”

“The plate from Damon isn’t,” Olivia insisted.

“But it only connects to Pierce because of what Eve found in the game,” Ramsey said, frustrated himself. “I wish I could help you, but I can’t. Even if I wrote a warrant based on that information, no judge would sign it.” He rose, sliding the photos back across the table. “Call me when you have more.”

Olivia watched him go, her heart in her throat. “Dammit.”

“Get him back.” The growl came from Noah, whose face was an inch from the TV screen, his body vibrating like a plucked string. “Now. Get Ramsey back now.”

Ramsey waited for the elevator, looking miserable. “Brian,” Olivia called. “Come quick.”

They ran back to find Abbott squinting at the TV screen. Noah had frozen the video to a single frame. Eve was being dragged by a bent-over figure in a tan overcoat. The coat’s lapels were turned up and his fedora was pulled low, hiding his face. The frame was frozen with the man’s gloved hand on the handle of the back door of a black BMW.

“Look at the window,” Noah said urgently, enlarging the picture.

“Stop. Freeze it,” Ramsey commanded. Because there, reflected in the window glass for one frame only, was the face of Carleton Pierce.

Noah looked over his shoulders, his eyes blank. “Is this enough?”

“More than enough,” Ramsey said. “Get moving. I’ll call you when the warrant is signed.”

Abbott was already putting on his coat. “Liv, you’re with me. Noah, you stay here.”

Noah rose. “No. I’m coming. I’ll follow orders once there, but I’m not staying here.”

Abbott took a second to assess, then nodded. “All right. One false move and I’ll have you removed. Clear? Olivia, have Kane track the Wisconsin PO box for Irene Black, then you and Micki meet us at Pierce’s. Thanks, Brian.”

“I’ll follow you in a few,” Olivia said. “I’m expecting Tom Hunter any minute. I need to get Liza Barkley’s description out on the wire.”

Thursday, February 25, 1:50 p.m.

“We have a warrant,” Abbott said as he and Noah got out of the car in front of Pierce’s very expensive home. Micki was already waiting with the CSU team.

“He’s not here,” Micki said, and although Noah had expected it, his heart sank. “A neighbor saw Pierce leave this morning driving his wife’s car, a black BMW. It’s not here, either, just Pierce’s Mercedes.”

“Noah, you take the upstairs,” Abbott said, “I’ll take the main floor and Micki, you have the basement. Let’s go in.”

Pierce’s house was as quiet as a tomb. Abbott announced them loudly, while Noah ran upstairs, heart in his throat, despite the certainty that Eve wasn’t here. She was still alive. He had to believe that, or he’d lose his mind.

He searched two empty bedrooms before he found the master. The bed was tidily made and nothing seemed out of place. But he could smell bleach. He moved to the master bath and gasped a breath. The odor was so strong here, his eyes watered.

Not Eve. He would not let it be Eve. He stepped back, touching nothing, and went downstairs to find Micki. She was in the kitchen, opening cabinets.

“Basement was clear. Nothing but spider webs. These cabinets are arranged by type, each box and can alphabetized. Textbook obsessive personality our good doctor has,” she said, then held up a can of cat food. “I haven’t seen a cat. Have you?”

To hell with the cat. His heart clambered up into his throat. “No, but somebody used extra-concentrated bleach in the master bathroom.”

She grimaced. “Oh, hell. I’ll get up there in a second.” She opened the trash can and dug a minute, coming up with an opened cat food can in one hand and something shiny in another. “Look.”

Noah was losing patience. “I don’t care about the damn cat,” he ground out.

“Look,” she repeated, more forcefully. “This collar has Martha’s cat’s name on it.”

He took the collar and held it up to the light. “Ringo.”

“I saw some old vet records in the trash Olivia and Kane cleared out of the empty apartment next to Martha’s. Pierce took her cat.”

“So he’s an animal lover,” he snarled. “Damn it, Micki, it doesn’t help us find Eve.”

“You’re thinking like a man, Noah. Think like a cop or get out. It’s all important. Like the cat hair Pierce tried to dismiss this morning. Think.”

“You’re right.” He tried to think. “He dismissed Christy’s missing shoes, too.”

“Called them souvenirs,” she said. “Said shoes weren’t special enough. I’d say a cat would make one hell of a special souvenir. Sonofabitch was mocking us. We’ll treat the master bath with Luminol, see what he was trying to hide with the bleach. We’ll also see if we can link it to the bleach he used at Rachel’s.”

“Because it’s all important,” Noah murmured. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. Go find Abbott. He’ll keep you focused.”

Abbott sat in Pierce’s study, behind his desk. Noah steeled himself to say the words that were choking him. “I think he killed someone in the master bath. It reeks of bleach.”

Abbott considered. “I don’t think he brought Eve here, Web. Neighbors said he left with the Beemer, and it’s not here. I don’t think he’s been back.”

Noah let the breath he held slide out. “Thank you. I needed to hear that.”

“It’s okay. I don’t think I’d be holding up so well in your shoes. I’m not finding anything incriminating here in his desk, just a lot of old tax files.”

Noah pushed at the stack of papers. “He’s got copies of his wife’s W-2s, so we know where she works. She’s not here and he took her car this morning.”

“And the bathroom reeks of bleach,” Abbott said grimly. “I’ll call her employer. You keep looking for something we can use.”

Noah took a walk around the office, looking for anything out of place, finding it in a door wallpapered so skillfully that its outline nearly disappeared into the wall. For a moment hope soared. A secret room. Eve. But the door opened easily and the disappointment tasted bitter on his tongue.

Behind the door there was a walk-in closet. Think like a cop. He dropped his eyes to the carpet. There was a deep groove in the carpet a fraction of an inch from the edge of a filing cabinet, as if it had recently been moved.

Noah hefted it to one side, surprised when it moved easily. Behind it in the wall was a small safe. “Now we’re in business,” he murmured. He re-entered the office just as Abbott was hanging up.

“Pierce’s wife didn’t show up for work this morning,” Abbott said.

“If he did kill her,” Noah said, “why now? According to those tax returns they’ve been married for twenty years.”

“I don’t know, but this is interesting. She’s a biologist at an animal research lab. And guess what species they keep there? Timber rattlers.”

Christy Lewis. “Pierce’s wife helped him get the snake, or he got in with her key.”

“Her boss doesn’t think she’d remove an animal from the lab. He says she’s very dedicated. He’s checking key card access. The lab is checking their snake ‘inventory’ now.” Abbott shuddered involuntarily. “God.”

Noah thought of Jack and how terrified he’d been. “Pierce must have laughed at Jack for being so afraid,” he said bitterly. “I found a safe back here. Let’s get it blown.”

Thursday, February 25, 1:50 p.m.

“Where is she? Goddammit, Olivia, where is Eve?”

Olivia looked up to see three men rushing toward her desk. Two were tall, dark, one with a cane and one with his arm in a sling. The other was lanky, blond, and old beyond his twenty years. The Hunter men had arrived. David, his older brother Max, and Tom, who looked as if he’d been crying. David had let the question fly across the bullpen and two detectives had already grabbed him and were trying to hold him back.

“It’s okay,” she called to the detectives. “Let him go.” Olivia hung her head for a minute, digging deep for the energy to do her job and be the friend they’d need. She rose and met each man’s eyes in turn. “We don’t know where she is, but we know who took her. Come on, I’ll tell you what I can.”

She led them to the same small room she and Eve had used when talking to the real Kurt Buckland’s boss at the Mirror only the day before. “Sit, please. I don’t have the energy to keep looking up at the three of you.” It wasn’t a quip, wasn’t a joke. It was the weary truth, and the men sat, Max between them.

“We want to know what’s going on,” Max said with quiet authority. The older brother and Tom’s stepfather, he’d clearly taken charge. “Now.”

“Of course. How’s your arm and head?” she asked David, taking charge back.

“Fractured and pounding,” he said between his teeth. “You know my brother Max.”

She met Max’s steel-gray eyes, identical to David’s. “I met you at Mia’s wedding. All right, here’s what I know. First, we took Dell Farmer into custody last night after he tried to kill Eve and one of our detectives.”

“Farmer ran David off the road,” Max said, but Olivia shook her head.

“No, he did lots of other really bad stuff, but that wasn’t Farmer.”

David had gone white beneath his winter tan. “If Farmer’s in jail, then it’s this… Shadowland guy.”

Olivia nodded. “Yes. We had Eve en route to a safe house when she was taken.”

David surged to his feet. “How did this happen? Webster promised he’d watch her.”

“Sit down, David,” Olivia commanded, and vibrating with fear and rage, he obeyed. “Noah was at the scene of another homicide.”

David looked ill. “Six. That was number six.”

Olivia hesitated. “Yes.”

“He’s killed more,” Max said thinly.

Olivia nodded. “Yes.”

“He’s got Liza, too?” Tom asked, more calmly than his elders.

Olivia nodded. “Yes. And I don’t know why or how it connects, so don’t ask, but it does. Your black SUV tip may be really important, Tom.”

David and Max turned to look at Tom. “What black SUV?” David asked.

“Who is Liza?” Max asked at the same time. “What is this?”

She met Tom’s gaze. “You play the white knight, you gotta come clean. Tell them the details, but later. I have to go and so do all of you. I have a house to search.”

Max had returned his sharp gaze to her face. “You said you knew who had Eve.”

“Yeah, and I’m not going to say who, so don’t ask.” There was a commotion outside and one of the detectives who’d stopped David stuck his head in the door.

“You’ve got someone here demanding to see you, Detective Sutherland.”

Sal burst through the door. “I heard. Down at the bar, I heard.” His eyes were red-rimmed. “Dammit, Olivia, what happened?”

“Sal.” She gave him the two-minute version, then rose. “You guys can’t stay here.” She held up her hand to quell the four dissenting voices. “Sal, take them back to your place. I’ll call you when I have any news. I promise. Now go. I have work to do.”

Thursday, February 25, 2:20 p.m.

“Luminol was positive,” Micki said, joining Noah and Abbott in Pierce’s study. “Blood in the tub. I’ve got a tech checking the drains.” She stuck her head into the walk-in closet. “How’s that safe coming, Sugar?”

“It’d come faster if you all would be quiet,” Sugar Taub said testily from the closet.

Noah was pacing a groove into the carpet, but abruptly stopped at a section of books when a title caught his eye. “It’s in German,” he said, and Abbott came to look.

“I found books in French over there. Carleton is, unfortunately, a very smart man.”

But Noah wasn’t listening, instead staring at the book spines. “This one’s by Freud. Das Ich und Das Es.” He heard a piece of the puzzle fall into place. “Das Ich. Dasich. He was the avatar that played poker with Natalie Clooney and Virginia Fox.”

“What does Das Ich mean?”

Noah googled it on his cell. “The book is The Ego and The Id. This says that the ego’s job is to find balance between the primitive drives of the id and reality.”

“The drive to kill is pretty damn primitive,” Abbott said. “Smug sonofabitch.”

“That’s what Eve called Dasich,” Noah said. She’s been gone three hours.

“Don’t think about her right now,” Abbott said. “We’re getting closer.”

His words were punctuated by a satisfied “Ah,” from the closet and Sugar and Micki emerged with a stack of thick file folders.

“Give me the folders,” Noah said and crowding around Pierce’s desk, they searched the contents. “Bank statements. This one looks like his family account.”

“His wife has her own,” Micki said, looking at another stack of statements. “Regular transfers from the main account, barely enough for groceries and gas. He had her on an allowance. Based on the order of the kitchen, he likes control.”

“Order,” Noah murmured. “He said the killer liked order. He was right.”

“Control often masks fear,” Micki said. “Remember that Olivia said he was afraid of his female victims? She was right.”

Beside him, Abbott let out a low whistle. “Look at these. He’s got three-quarter mil stashed away. Let’s freeze all his accounts. Make it hard for him to run.”

After he finishes what he set out to do. Noah pushed Carleton’s own words away as ruthlessly as the images of his victims and opened another folder. “PI reports. PI’s name is Hugh Robard. Subject of surveillance is John Black of Fargo, North Dakota.”

“We need to find John and Irene Black,” Abbott said, darkly.

“And the PI,” Noah said.

“I don’t know, Web,” Micki said doubtfully. “The last report’s dated ten years ago. But it’s worth a try,” she added, more upbeat, and he knew his devastation was showing.

“Let’s go back to the office and make our calls there,” Abbott said. “I’ve got a press conference at three. I’ll tell them we’ve issued an arrest warrant for Carleton Pierce.”

Thursday, February 25, 2:20 p.m.

The pain… the pain was unbearable. She lifted her hands to her face and touched bone. Her hands were covered in blood. He cut me. My face. My face is gone.

No. She threw her head back and gasped in a breath. And bucked. She couldn’t breathe. Something covered her mouth. She twisted, trying to get away.

“Stop. Don’t scream.”

It was a snarled whisper and Eve dropped back, shuddering. What covered her mouth was skin. An arm. Eve breathed through her nose, nodding hard. The arm moved and a body collapsed across her legs, sending fire through the hole in her thigh.

“If you scream, he’ll come back.”

Eve struggled to lift her head, then sucked in a stunned breath. “Liza.”

Liza was tied, hands and feet behind her back. Her lips were pursed and she took short, staccato breaths through her nose. “Who is he?”

“Police psychologist. Why did he take you?”

“I’ve been looking for my sister.” Liza lifted her head and her eyes were haunted, horrified. “She’s dead. Her shoes are up there. He showed them to me.”

It took a moment to trickle through the fog in her mind, but when it did, she was sick. For Eve, the shoes were vile, horrific reminders of past victims of Carleton Pierce. For Liza… it was the sister she loved. Dear God. “We have to get out of here.”

Liza gave her a hard look. “How? He took the knife.”

“I don’t know yet.”

“He put me in his trunk.” Her eyes were haunted again. “There was a body in there. He said it was his wife. He put her in the pit.”

Eve’s blood chilled as this newest horror registered. “What pit?”

“It’s a door in the floor. He pulled a handle and it slid back. He dumped her in. He said that’s where my sister was. He said there was room for two more.”

Don’t panic, don’t panic. “We’re not going to die. How did you get over here?”

“I rolled. I didn’t want you to scream.”

“That was smart.” Eve craned her head up, but from where she lay she couldn’t see much. “Can you see anything we can use for a weapon? Anything sharp?”

“There are some drawers behind you, but they’re above my head unless I can stand up. Which I can’t.” There was a sound above their heads and they both looked up.

“He’s coming. Go back to where you were,” Eve hissed. “Play dead if you have to.”

“I’ve been playing dead. He thinks I’m catatonic, he said. What will you do?”

“I don’t know yet, but whatever happens, don’t let him know you’re awake. Do not let him see your fear. He feeds on our worst fears. Now go.” Liza obeyed, rolling back to her corner awkwardly while Eve tried to think of what to do. How to escape.

Understand him. She’d scored a direct hit on the MSP link to his manhood, but she couldn’t count on that working again. She lifted her head to look at the shoes. Most were women’s shoes, but three pairs from hers were a pair of men’s Nikes. Sticking up out of the Nikes, she could see a pair of wire-framed glasses.

Like Jeremy Lyons had worn. Kane was right, she thought. Jeremy’s dead.

She closed her eyes, fighting despair. Noah, where are you? He was looking, she knew. Look harder. She lifted her head again, made herself truly see what was before her eyes. With the exception of Jeremy’s Nikes and a pair of men’s work boots on the bottom shelf, most of the shoes were… fuck-me heels, for lack of a better term.

Dregs of society, he’d called them. Prostitutes. He’d killed prostitutes. She ran her gaze over every pair, until she came to the very first pair on the far left of the first shelf.

They were old, worn. Matronly, even. The shoes of his first victim?

Irene Black. The name rushed into her mind and she wondered if the woman had been more than a fake name for a Shadowland account.

The door opened and Pierce sauntered down the stairs, naked again. She put her head back on the pillow and closed her eyes. She had to be mentally ready.

“Too late, Dr. Pierce,” she taunted. “I’m awake and you missed the show.”

“No.” He took the rest of the stairs in a giant step, throwing his trousers on the post and grabbing her hair. “You didn’t scream. They always scream.”

Thank you, Liza. “Maybe I’ve developed a tolerance. Maybe you mixed it wrong.”

“Maybe I should just carve you up anyway,” he sneered. “That scares you. I can tell. Your eyes flicker when you’re afraid.”

He had recharged. He was once again aroused. He straddled her again, hands on her throat. She bucked to try to throw him and he only laughed.

“More, Eve. The more you fight, the more I enjoy it.”

“Do you enjoy it?” she flung back. “You never had sex with any of your victims. Can you even do it?” MSP. He’d fizzled before her eyes. Make him do it again. “Or does that tiny dick of yours disappear before the main event?”

“Are you begging me to rape you, Miss Wilson?” he asked, but she’d seen the flicker in his eyes. She’d rattled him.

“I’m saying you couldn’t if you wanted to.”

His face darkened. “Soon, all you’ll be saying is ‘stop.’ ” He tightened his hands around her neck, cutting off her air. She fought to get him off, but he pressed his knees into her ribs, like a rider controlling a horse. His hands got tighter and his face got closer and his hips began to thrust. She could feel him, hard against her breastbone.

She fought harder, twisting, and heard the faraway sound of his laugh. She could smell him, the musk, the smell of sex. This is what he does. He’s almost there. In a surge of strength she forced a single hoarse syllable from her mouth. “Who?” But all that emerged was a mangled Huh.

He paused, his breath hard and hot and fast against her face. Revulsion roiled through her. The blackness was claiming the edges of her vision once again.

His lips curved in a triumphant smile, even as his muscles quivered, straining toward release. “Help?” he asked, smug now. “Was that a plea I heard?”

He loosened his grip a fraction and began thrusting again, harder, faster. “Beg, Eve, yell for help and I’ll let you breathe.”

She pulled in as much air as she could. “Who… is Irene Black?”

He stopped like a rock, shock flattening his face. “What?” he asked ominously, but against her his erection had abruptly shriveled and his hands had gone slack.

Yes. “Irene Black.” She took a deep breath. “I said Irene Black. Who is she?”

His face retreated a few inches. She watched him battle for a blank face. “Nobody.”

Eve’s laugh was hoarse and brief. “You’re a lousy liar. Who is she?”

“How did you find that name?”

“Don’t you want to know?”

He struck her, hard. “Tell me.”

“Untie me and I’ll tell you.”

He hit her again, harder. “Tell me or I’ll kill you.”

Eve’s head was spinning. “You’re going to kill me anyway, so go to hell.”

He grabbed her throat and shook her. “Tell me. Who else knows? Did Webster tell you that name?”

The white lights were back, dancing before her eyes. He let go, clutching her hair in one hand and hitting her with the other. She dragged the air in, the room now spinning. There was a greasy roiling in her stomach and she threw up.

All over him.

“Dammit,” he hissed. He leapt off her and delivered one more blow to her head. And the spinning room went dark.

Thursday, February 25, 2:45 p.m.

“Captain, two things,” Faye said when Noah and Abbott were back in his office. “We got a hit on Mrs. Ann Pierce’s plane reservation. She was supposed to leave for Los Angeles this morning and never showed up for her flight.”

“Find out how and when she paid for the ticket,” Abbott said.

“Cash and yesterday evening,” Faye replied. “She bought it at the airport counter. I already asked. Second, Lieutenant Tyndale from Fargo PD is on line one.”

Abbott contacted the Fargo PD to locate John Black as soon as they’d left Pierce’s house. Kane had traced Irene Black’s Wisconsin PO box to a mailbox store in New Germany, a rural town nearly an hour from the Cities. Because Pierce had forwarded Girard’s mail a third time and he was obsessive about order, Kane was trying to determine where the mail was being forwarded from there.

Noah had discovered that PI Hugh Robard disappeared without a trace ten years ago, about the same time the reports ended. And somewhere, Pierce still has Eve.

Every muscle clenched, Noah sat on the edge of Abbott’s desk. Abbott’s eyes were sharp. “You will not engage this witness,” Abbott said. “You aren’t here, understood?”

Abbott had sent him home, but Noah had thrown any pride he had left to the wind and begged to stay. There would be nothing at home to do but pace, and worry. And drink. “I understand,” Noah said. “Please, just hurry.”

Abbott hit the speaker button. “This is Captain Abbott. Who is this?”

“Lieutenant John Tyndale, Fargo PD. I have John Black here with me. I need to tell you up front, John’s a good man. I’ve known him for more than twenty years.”

“We appreciate his help. What can you tell us about the man in the photo we sent?”

“His name is not Carleton Pierce.” It was John Black who spoke. “It’s Edward Black. He’s my younger brother. We haven’t spoken in twenty-seven years, since our mother died.”

“Your mother was Irene Black?” Abbott asked.

“Yes. Ed made it look like she killed herself, but I always knew he did it. He hated her.” Black sighed. “He had good cause. We both did.”

“What was his good cause? And why did you think it was no accident?”

“My mother was a drunk,” Black said baldly, “and a gambler. The only time she was ever sober was when she had cards in her hand. Sometimes she’d take him to games with her. He was small and cute and nobody knew she was using him to cheat.”

“Was there abuse?”

“She never sold us, if that’s what you’re asking, but we were dirt poor. Lived in a filthy, rusted-out trailer. Rats ate at our toes in the night. She traded food stamps for booze, so yeah, I guess you could say she abused us.”

“Did your brother hate all women, or just your mom?”

“I’d say all women. Eddie had a hard time getting dates. He always blamed it on being short, but most of the girls in town were afraid of him. Eddie took a knife to school, threatened a kid with it. Kid was a bully, but Eddie ended up in juvie for a year.”

“You said he made it look like your mother committed suicide? How?”

“I found her hanging from a tree outside, but she never could have managed it.”

“Let me guess,” Abbott said quietly, “whatever she stood on was too short to reach.”

“How did you know?” Black asked suspiciously.

“He’s done the same thing here. Six times. So was there no investigation?”

Black said nothing for a long moment. “I cut her down. Nobody knew it was fishy.”

Abbott waited as Noah’s impatience grew. None of this was helping.

“Why?” Abbott finally asked.

“Because she deserved it,” he said harshly. “She never sold us, but she brought home any man who’d buy her next bottle. Sometimes they’d sneak from her bed in the night. I was big and could fight them, but Eddie was little. As I got older, I’d stay with friends to get away, but Eddie didn’t have many friends. He was stuck. I know some of those guys hurt him. One boyfriend in particular.

“I’d come home sometimes and see Eddie, cowering in the corner like an animal. Once I saw his eyes, and I knew. I should have told. I should have told,” he said again. “But that boyfriend was big and mean and I was barely fourteen myself. So I cleared out, moved in with a friend whose mom didn’t drink. There was food on the table and clean sheets on the bed. In other words, I saved my own hide. When I found her hanging, I cut her down and told the cops what they wanted to hear to make it all go away. I thought I was doing the right thing. I had no idea what he’d become.”

“Why that day?” Abbott asked. “Why do you think he picked that day to hang her?”

There was another silence. “Eddie was almost eighteen, he’d just gotten out of juvie. That day he’d taken a girl from town on a date, played up the bad-boy image. I guess she wanted a thrill. But I guess Eddie couldn’t… perform. I heard she was laughing at him, that she was telling everyone she’d laughed at him while he tried and couldn’t.

“When I heard that, I knew he’d killed our mother. He blamed her. I would have, too. If I’d told the truth, he would have gone to jail as an adult and I knew what would happen to him there. I figured he’d already done his time and maybe I felt guilty for never helping him. I wish I’d told the truth. I wish I’d known.”

Me, too, Noah thought woodenly. I wish you’d told the truth, too.

“What happened to your brother after that?” Abbott asked.

“I picked up, landed here in Fargo, made a life. I never heard from Eddie again.”

“He made a life here, as a psychologist,” Abbott said.

Again, Black went quiet. “So he pulled it off after all. He was supposed to be in juvie till he was eighteen, but he got out early. The school and the local cops fought hard to keep him in, but there was a shrink working with him, said he’d rehabilitated. I guess Eddie had him pretty fooled. I remember going to family court for the hearing. The shrink wore fancy clothes, used big words, and dazzled the judge. He made the cops look like rubes. Eddie told me that’s where the power was. That if you took a cop’s gun, that he was just a bully. I think Eddie’d had his share of bullies in juvie. He said he’d go to college, be one of those smart guys. I told him it would never happen.”

“Why?”

“Because colleges didn’t let in people like him. Poor, with a record. I guess he listened to me more than I thought. I guess he became somebody else.”

None of this was finding Eve. “Hurry up,” Noah mouthed and Abbott glared at him.

“We need to find him,” Abbott said. “He’s abducted at least two more women.”

“I know. Lieutenant Tyndale told me. I want to help you, but I can’t. I don’t know where he’d hide. Like I said, I haven’t spoken to him in nearly thirty years.”

“Well, thanks for talking to me,” Abbott said wearily. “And you should watch your back, Mr. Black. He’s got reports on you and your wife and kids. I guess he worried you were the one person who could identify him.”

Noah stared blindly at Abbott’s phone after he’d hung up. “That was useless.”

“Faye’s doing a property search on Irene and we’ve got roadblocks set up on every artery in and out of the Cities.” Abbott’s eyes were kind. “Go get us some coffee, Noah.”

What he really needed was a drink. Just one. Just to even my nerves. He knew it was a lie. Knew one would never be enough. And if they didn’t find her in time…

Noah gave Abbott a shaky nod and walked to the coffee pot in the bullpen, stood there for long minutes as he stared, fighting the urge to smash the glass pot. Smash everything in the damn place, then go hunt for something stronger to wet his lips. To give him courage. Or maybe just to forget how damn scared he was.

In his mind he saw the victims hanging… Pierce had been hanging his mother, each time. And now he has Eve. My Eve. He couldn’t think like a cop anymore. I can’t.

“Noah.” Noah looked up. Brock was coming down the hall, still in uniform. “I came as soon as I heard. Any news?”

“No,” Noah said. “Nothing.”

Brock put his arm around Noah’s shoulders. “I’ll buy you a coffee in the cafeteria.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t call you.”

“Noah.” Brock’s voice was gently chiding. “Eve’s smart and brave. She’ll hold on.”

He looked straight ahead, seeing nothing. “If I don’t find her? How will I hold on?”

Brock sighed. “Sometimes you have to take one minute at a time.”

As the elevator doors slid open, Noah’s cell phone buzzed in his pocket. His pulse shot up when he saw the caller ID. “Olivia, what is it?”

“I just got off the phone with Abbott.” She hesitated. “He ordered me not to tell you. I hope I’m doing the right thing.”

Noah pursed his lips in desperation. “Goddammit, Olivia, tell me.”

“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.”