The Kill

CHAPTER 11

Zack didn’t question Olivia about her outburst outside the coroner’s office, which seemed a little too impassioned to be a lecture on justice. It was personal. He wondered exactly how personal this case was to her.

By the time they got back to the station, Zack had other things on his mind. He went to track down Boyd and find out what was going on with the trucks while Olivia excused herself to the conference room.

Boyd was still comparing the list of Expedition owners with the list of Dodge owners, but he was making progress.

“When or if you get a match, take Jan O’Neal with you to do the interviews,” Zack told him.

“You want me to check them out?” Boyd asked.

Why did he look so shocked? This was why Zack didn’t think he made a good FTO. Maybe he didn’t give Boyd enough positive reinforcement. The kid had done a good job so far, and Zack saw promise in him-if he stopped second-guessing himself and lost his over-eager puppy demeanor.

“Yes,” he said. “But not alone. You know what to look for, and O’Neal is a good cop.” One of the most meticulous on the force. Boyd could learn from her.

He glanced at the clock on the wall. “Agent St. Martin and I are going to talk to the two witnesses in Benedict’s abduction, see if they remember anything else about the guy they saw, but I’m not holding my breath.”

“Because kids start making things up,” Boyd said.

“Right. But the first time we talked to them, there was a lot of emotion. Maybe time will help in this case.”

“Is everything going okay with the agent?” Boyd asked.

“Better than I had hoped. We’re going to review each case she brought with her and see if we can spot any additional patterns. Stop by the conference room-I’ll have some follow-up work to do contacting other jurisdictions that I’ll need your help with.”

Zack’s next stop was Doug Cohn’s lab. The lab director was bent over a microscope. Zack waited, impatient but not wanting to rush him. Finally, he walked over.

Without looking up, Cohn said, “I don’t have anything new, but I did get the pubic hair off to Agent St. Martin’s contact at the FBI lab. Normally I wouldn’t think they’d get it done any faster than us, but she seemed adamant they’d jump on it.”

“Thanks. Look, I know you’re swamped, but I have a favor.”

“If it’s about this case, anything you want.” Cohn looked up from the microscope.

Zack handed him the list of cities Olivia had given him earlier. “Can you contact each of these departments and see if you can get any information about the marks on the forearm?”

“Those been bugging you, too? Was Gil able to get anything off the Reynolds body?”

Zack shook his head. “There wasn’t enough soft tissue left.”

“I’ll see what I can do. Anything else you want me to find out?”

“Sure, the killer’s name and address.”

“Ha. Look, I’ll feel out the labs and see what they have.”

“Good, I’ll be in the conference room. I’m going to call Nashville and find out why they haven’t sent the information about the tattoo, then start down the list and talk to the detectives in charge and get copies of all the files.

“Maybe,” Zack said over his shoulder as he left the lab, “we’ll get a lucky break.”

He swung open the door of the conference room and he said, “Liv, I have Cohn working-”

Olivia was standing on a chair in her stocking feet, on her tiptoes, as she wrote across the top of the white board. She startled at the sound of his voice and the chair went out from under her. She landed unceremoniously on her butt.

Zack took two strides and helped her up. At first, Olivia looked indignant, then she smiled sheepishly. “I guess standing on chairs isn’t the smartest thing to do, but short people do what they must to even the scales.”

She moved away from him and Zack looked at what she’d written across the top. “Dates?” he said.

Listed under the current year in neat block letters were the three Seattle victims: Jillian, Jennifer, and Michelle. Next to each girl’s name was her age, date of abduction, likely time of death, and when her body was found. Olivia had apparently done the same thing for all the victims in nine other states, but there was missing information-specifically, time of death. She’d put her guess in a different color marker.

She had moved the map and the victim’s photographs from the corkboard and taped everything on the white board, so all information about the case could be viewed at once.

Zack shrugged out of his blazer and tossed it across a chair in the corner. Some detectives wore ties; he wasn’t one of them. Dockers and a black T-shirt was his preferred uniform. The blazer was primarily to conceal his shoulder holster.

“It appears you were right,” Zack said. “His last three victims are clustered together, while the first victim is at least a month before.”

She frowned.

“What?” he prompted.

“Well, I’ve a feeling there’s something about these first victims that’s different than the others. But I don’t see what.”

Zack looked at the dates on the wall. “Let’s talk this out. The guy moves from state to state. Why? To avoid detection. How? Is he independently wealthy? In a job that moves around a lot? Sales maybe?”

Olivia shook her head. “I agree with the why, but the how? I’m thinking he doesn’t need a lot of money to live on. He’s single. Disciplined. Probably doesn’t indulge in a lot of luxuries.”

“But he’s not living on the street.”

“No. He’s clean. Probably meticulous in his appearance. Has an honest face. That’s why Jenny Benedict walked off with him. He doesn’t look like he’d harm a fly.”

“Maybe some sort of retail job? In a mall? Lots of kids hang out at the mall, shop there with parents. Perfect hunting ground.”

Olivia wrote notes on the board. Occupation: Retail? Possibly mall. “He’d be good with people, particularly women. Conversational. Probably sounds educated, can talk about a variety of subjects. Manipulative, but not obviously so.”

Zack said, “If he moves every couple of years, he’s probably not in a career where he’d need an established client base, like a lawyer or doctor. What about something with kids? Like a teacher?”

“Teacher. Maybe.” She wrote it next to Occupation on the board. “Except…” She stopped. She didn’t have any facts to back up her feelings. Maybe she was saying too much. Leading Zack down the wrong path. What if she made a mistake? What if they focused on a part of the investigation that gave them no results? What if they wasted precious time because of her feelings?

“Olivia?” Zack prompted.

“Teacher’s a good idea. Kansas was the last place we know for sure he was. We can contact all the schools in Seattle, see if anyone transferred from Kansas.”

“Not a bad idea, except you don’t think he’s a teacher.”

“But maybe he is. We can’t ignore your instincts.”

“I’ll get Boyd on it, but I want to know what you’re thinking.”

She bit the inside of her cheek. “I’m not a profiler, I don’t know for sure-”

“Dammit, Olivia, I’m not a damn profiler either.” He ran a hand through his hair and stared at the ceiling. She’d obviously said the wrong thing, but what?

“Look, stop second-guessing yourself.” Zack said. “Just spill it. If it’s a stupid thought, I’ll forget you said it, okay? I thought we had this conversation already.”

Olivia mentally slapped herself. She had to start acting like the seasoned FBI agent she’d led Zack into believing she was.

“No, I don’t think he’s a teacher,” she said with conviction.

“Why?”

“Because I don’t think he would be able to stop himself from touching the girls if he was surrounded by them every day.”

Zack nodded. “Good point.”

“But I think we should look into it.”

“I will.”

Olivia stared at the board. It was obvious now that the first victim was killed long before the remaining victims in the same city, but why?

“You might be on to something,” Zack said a moment later.

“What?”

“Why he doesn’t work with kids. You said it’s because he wouldn’t be able to keep his hands off the girls. He’d be discovered very quickly. So part of his discipline is to stay away from temptation.”

“Makes sense.”

“The first victim in each town is separated by time… what if his first kill is spontaneous? He’s afraid he’s made a mistake, and goes into hiding. Waits, makes sure the police don’t know enough to find him. Also, look here…” Zack got up and grabbed the dry-erase marker from Olivia’s hand. He did some math under each grouping of victims. By the time he reached Texas, Olivia saw what he saw.

“The bodies of the first victims took longer to find.” All the other victims were discovered within days. The first victims were discovered in weeks.

“He didn’t hide them exactly, but he must have dumped the bodies in low-traffic areas,” Zack said.

“Is there any way to get information from the other cities? Some of these cases are so old…”

“I’ll get it.” He glanced at his watch. “I didn’t realize it was so late. I need to call Nashville about the tattoo-they were supposed to fax over the report.” He picked up the phone.

“Can you get the entire file sent over?”

“I’ll ask, but it might take a couple of days. It’s been ten years.”

While Zack talked to the cops in Nashville, Olivia studied the map. Jillian Reynolds’s body was discovered within three miles of where she was last seen. According to Sheriff Rodgers, her mother and the police believed the girl had drowned and focused their attention on the beach areas, with only a secondary effort made to search the rest of the island. Olivia had read the report last night. The ferry videos had been monitored, with the thought that she might have run away, or just wanted to ride the ferry and maybe got lost, or that if there had been foul play, they would see her with a stranger.

None of that came to fruition, but by the next day they concluded she had likely drowned. The undertow was strong on that side of the island, and therefore she could have been dragged out to sea and her body would follow the current until she was washed ashore, miles away, or caught in a fishing net.

But the killer was methodical. He hadn’t removed her from the island. He’d known about the video surveillance on the ferries and at the docks. Taking her in a private boat would have been dangerous. Especially since he’d abducted her in the morning.

“Zack,” she said.

“Excuse me,” he mumbled into the phone. “What?”

She shook her head. “I forgot you were on the phone.”

“What?” he repeated.

“Jillian was abducted on the island and found on the island. It stands to reason she was killed on the island. It’s not a big place. We need to find out if she was stabbed to death there in the woods. If not…”

“The killer had a place to keep her.”

She nodded.

Zack finished up his conversation with Nashville and hung up the phone. “They’re still looking for all the records, but will send what they have. They’re faxing the reports and sending a copy of the entire file. Now let me call Doug Cohn and get him on the soil analysis ASAP. I’m going to owe him big-time when this case is over.”

Jenny Benedict had lived in Sahalee, an upper-middle-class neighborhood. Ten years ago, the area was little more than open space and gentlemen’s ranches; now young families seeking safety for their children and a quiet environment had built up dozens of home developments.

Olivia watched lawn after perfect lawn roll by, all identical green rectangles. Grand, two-story homes indistinguishable but for their alternating faces of brick, stone, or wood. Children rode bikes, though Olivia noted parents stood in attendance. A child had been abducted and killed from this very neighborhood that should have been safe. Parents were more vigilant. For a while, at least.

But one thing was certain: A stranger would stand out in this neighborhood. This killer didn’t. He looked like one of them. Watching for the perfect opportunity to act out his sick fantasies. Waiting for the perfect opportunity to kill.

“You okay?” he asked.

Olivia glanced at him. He didn’t look comfortable, but she didn’t know if it was because he was too large to be comfortable in the midsized sedan or because he had to face Jenny Benedict’s friends and parents.

“Olivia?” he asked again.

“I’m fine,” she said.

“Really.” He glanced pointedly at her hands, then back at the road.

She quickly unclasped her hands, which had been clenched together as she internalized the rage over what had happened to Jenny Benedict. She smoothed down her skirt and stared straight ahead, consciously remembering to keep her hands apart.

Zack parked in front of one of the larger homes in the subdivision, its brick-and-stucco exterior similar to that of the other houses.

“I asked that the two witnesses meet here to make it easier on the girls,” he said. “I already took their statements separately, but I want to see if they remember anything else. They were both emotional at the time. After this I need to check in with Michelle Davidson’s parents. They’ve been calling the station for updates.” He ran a hand over the thick dark stubble on his face. “I don’t know what to tell them. We’re following up on every lead we can find, but each one is a thin thread.”

Olivia reached out and lightly touched his arm with her fingertips. The gesture felt awkward. She’d never been good at consoling anyone. “You’re doing everything you can. They’ll see it in your eyes.”

His dark eyes held hers. An unusual, strange feeling crept into her stomach. A fluttering. She swallowed involuntarily as she realized she was attracted to Zack. She’d easily put romance and sex at the bottom of her priority list. Bottom? Were they even on the list? After her amicable divorce from Greg, she no longer cared. The divorce had been a relief.

She still recognized this rare feeling. It went deeper than physical attraction. She’d noted when she first met him that Zack Travis was sexy in that dark, arrogant cop kind of way. He filled any room with the power of his personality, his mere presence, which had little to do with his build and everything to do with his raw appeal.

But the real attraction was his deep compassion for victims and dogged belief that good police work would catch the bad guys, that he was doing everything possible to bring justice for the survivors. Watching him think and question and care touched her heart.

She turned away. Unnerved, she reached for the door handle to get out of the suddenly too-small car when he grabbed her arm. She froze. She wanted to jerk away and tell him she didn’t like people touching her, but something stopped her. He held her firmly, then eased up as if he sensed her fear.

His fingers caressed her bare arm, his touch surprisingly soft, sensitive, intimate. A complete contradiction to his gruff demeanor. She resisted the urge to lean into his touch and she shivered.

She didn’t dare look at him, her emotions too close to the surface. He’d see how conflicted she was, how needy. How he jumbled her thoughts and feelings and confused her.

“Look at me,” he said.

She shook her head ever so slightly as she swallowed, gathering every ounce of control he so easily made her lose.

“Olivia.”

Taking a deep breath, she faced him. His expression had loosened somehow, lost the usual hard edge. All she could think about was burying her face in his broad chest and letting him hold her. His presence was so strong, so all-encompassing, for a brief moment she believed he could protect her not only from her nightmares, but from all the evil in the world.

Impossible. But her lip quivered, aching to taste him, and she bit it. What in the world was she thinking?

“What makes you tick?”

Her eyes widened. Where had that question come from? What did he want to know? Why?

“Justice,” she whispered. She cleared her throat. Go back to business. She had to rid herself of these unwelcome thoughts about Zack Travis. He was a cop investigating a murder. That was all.

He moved his head ever so slightly back and forth, holding her gaze. His eyes were bottomless, deep and probing. “I don’t think so.”

She broke eye contact, unsettled by the exchange, and pulled her arm from his grasp. She opened the car door. “I don’t care what you think,” she snapped and jumped out, slamming the door behind her, desperate to put distance between them and regain control.

Zack watched Olivia stride to the mailbox and stop. She wasn’t looking at him, but she was most certainly thinking about him. And he was thinking about her. He’d been so close to kissing her. Kissing? Hell, he would have devoured her. The way she looked at him, it wasn’t simple lust. There was a complexity of feelings buried beneath the controlled posture. He wanted to unwrap her and find out why she was so uptight, why she didn’t share anything about herself, why she didn’t like being touched. He wanted to hold her, thaw her. The cold personality was a façade; he’d seen her wrestle with her emotions. He sensed she burned from within but kept her feelings locked up tight.

He wondered what would happen if he found the key.

He got out of the car and kicked the door shut. Olivia St. Martin was hiding something, and while he found her sexy as hell, his number-one concern was the investigation. What could she possibly be hiding? She’d seemed so forthcoming at the lab, working with him and the evidence, her methodical notes on the white board-not at all like the woman who’d just vacated the car.

When he’d first met Superagent yesterday in Pierson’s office, he thought he had her all figured out. Now he had to admit he didn’t know what was going on with her. He remembered her reaction outside the coroner’s office. At the time he thought it was a personal issue, but while they worked together in the conference room she was all professional.

She was hiding something-but was it personal or professional? Or both?

He caught up with her at the mailbox at the end of the path leading to the house.

“If you’re hiding something about this investigation, I will find out,” he said, his voice low. “I won’t let anyone play games with my cases, especially this one. Take all the glory; I couldn’t give a shit about the press or recognition or credit. But don’t mess with the case.”

A flash of anger reddened her cheeks. “Glory?” Her voice was a mere whisper. “You think I care about glory? You bastard.”

She brushed past him, her jaw tight.

He’d made her angry, and he wondered what secrets she would spill if he really pushed her. Secrets. Yes, she had secrets. And he was damn well going to find out what they were.

They walked to the door in tense silence. The house belonged to Will and Dina Adams. Their daughter, Laura, had been Jenny’s best friend and a witness to her abduction.

Mr. Adams opened the door before Zack could knock. “Detective Travis,” he said solemnly as he opened the door for them to enter.

Zack introduced Olivia and Adams led them down a wide, tiled floor to the family room in the back of the house.

Laura Adams was a pretty girl of ten with a short brunette bob and large blue eyes that now teared. She smiled and blinked. “Hi,” she said shyly.

“Hello, Laura,” Zack said. He smiled at the other girl, who sat with her back straight and hands clasped tightly between her knees. “Hello, Tanya. You doing okay?”

“Yes,” Laura said while Tanya shrugged.

Tanya’s mother sat across the room next to Dina Adams. “How long is this going to take? Hasn’t my daughter been through enough? Why do you have to talk to her again?”

“Ms. Burgess?” Olivia inquired.

“Who are you?” Ms. Burgess said, wringing her hands.

“I’m Olivia St. Martin with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. I know this is difficult for you and your daughter, and I promise we’ll be done soon.”

Olivia’s voice was both professional and soothing, with the cadence of a psychologist. She sat next to Tanya and smiled at Laura, who sat on her friend’s other side. “You can call me Olivia,” she said to the girls.

Zack would have questioned the girls, but a glance from Olivia told him she wanted to take a stab at this. He gave her the opportunity, curious. The anger she’d displayed toward him was gone or buried; her entire disposition and demeanor seemed softer, but confident.

Her quick turnaround intrigued him.

“Detective Travis told me that you saw the man who took Jenny,” Olivia said, her voice calm. “That must be hard for you to think about.”

“I’ll never forget,” Laura said, her large eyes watering. “I-I keep thinking he’ll come back.”

Olivia knew that feeling all too well. For years, she’d feared the exact same thing. That the mean man with the tattoo would crawl up the rose trellis outside her bedroom window and carry her away, just like he’d done with Missy.

She’d broken the trellis on Halloween, three years after Missy was killed. Her father thought it was the teenagers up the street who were known to engage in petty vandalism. She’d never told him the truth.

“I won’t let anyone hurt you,” Laura’s father said, his voice rough with emotion. Olivia realized everyone was looking at her. How long had she been thinking about the past?

She cleared her throat. “It’s normal to be scared,” she told the girls. “No one blames you for being scared about what happened to Jenny. But you have parents who love you and will do everything they can to protect you.”

Mr. Adams sat on the arm of the couch next to his daughter and squeezed her hand, his mouth firm and his eyes moist.

“Laura, Tanya, I know you both already told Detective Travis and the other policemen what you saw. But sometimes, you might remember a little detail that didn’t seem important at the time, or you forgot because of all the scary stuff that was going on. If you think you can, I would like you to tell me what happened. In your own words. And anything you remember, no matter how little or unimportant or dumb you think it is, please share.”

Laura nodded, almost eager to tell her story, but kept glancing at her father for reassurance. She’d picked up on his discomfort at having her recite the tragedy. Will Adams probably thought how easily it could have been her-and how relieved he was that it hadn’t been. Then came guilt at that relief.

Olivia understood those feelings as well.

“We were playing at Brown Park, the one around the corner. We usually ride our bikes, but mine had a flat tire and I didn’t want to get out the bike pump and get all dirty, so we walked. We always go there.”

“The neighborhood was so safe,” Mrs. Adams said. “I always thought it was safe.”

Having her mother break down wouldn’t do Laura any good, so Olivia said, “This is a beautiful neighborhood. Of course you felt it was safe.” She turned back to Laura before a conversation could develop. “So you walked. How long did it take?”

She shrugged. “I dunno. A few minutes. I don’t have a watch, and we weren’t rushing to get there. We only go there because it’s something to do, you know?”

“What did you see when you got there? Were there other kids there?”

“There were some older kids sitting by the pond smoking. We didn’t go over there, though we’d brought bread for the ducks. But my mom always says stay away from the older kids.”

Laura glanced at her mother, and Olivia instantly knew she was lying. Her heart sped up.

“Did you know these older kids?” she asked cautiously.

Laura shrugged again. “No.”

“Never saw them at the park?”

“Well, sure, we saw them around. They live in the neighborhood.”

“Ever talk to them?”

“No. I mean, maybe a ‘hi’ or something, but not talk.”

Olivia raised her eyebrow and looked at Laura directly in the eye.

It was Tanya who burst into tears.

“It’s my fault!” she cried.

Olivia reached out and squeezed the girl’s hand. “Nothing is your fault,” she said firmly. “Tell me what happened.”

“J-J-Jenny said not to go t-t-to them, but Laura and I, we, we, we wanted to just t-t-try. You know, one cigarette. And, and they’d offered before and we said no, but we’d talked about it and Jenny didn’t want to, but Laura and I did so we told her to wait by the fountain. We’d be right back. But, but-”

Tanya’s little body heaved with sobs. Olivia wanted to pull her into her arms and tell her everything would be okay, but she had to know the rest of the story. She squeezed the girl’s hand harder to get her attention, and Tanya finally looked at her, tears streaming down her face.

“No one is angry with you, Tanya. No one. Please tell me what happened next.”

Tanya’s bottom lip quivered. “We, um, went over to them and asked for a cigarette. I took a puff and started coughing. It tasted bad. Nothing like I thought. Laura didn’t want to try after that, and the kids started laughing at us so we ran away, back to the fountain.” She bit her lip.

Olivia turned to Laura, who looked stricken. “Laura?”

She nodded. “But Jenny wasn’t there. Tanya was drinking water because her tongue felt yucky and I looked around, and that’s when I saw Jenny talking to the guy. He had really short hair. A white T-shirt. I couldn’t see Jenny’s face, but she went with him. I yelled for her and waved my arms so she could see me, but I don’t know if she saw me. She got into his truck.”

“What did his truck look like?”

Laura glanced at Travis, then back at her. Another lie coming up? “It was big and black, but I don’t know what kind it was.”

That’s what she’d said before, and according to the reports she’d described what they determined was a Dodge Ram because of the trademark symbol on the side.

“Anything else?”

She shook her head.

Olivia turned to Tanya. “You said you saw a tattoo on the man’s arm.”

“I thought it was.”

“What kind?”

“I don’t know. Just a blue blob. It was too far away.” She wiped tears from her face and snuggled into her mother, who’d crossed over to her.

Olivia sighed. “What about the kids you were talking to? What are their names?”

“I don’t know.”

“I know one of them,” Laura said. “Sean Miller. He’s Betsy’s older brother. She’s a third-grader.” She made it sound like Betsy was a little kid instead of the grade behind Laura and her friends.

“Where does he live?”

“Across the street from the park. I don’t know the address, but they have daisies painted on their mailbox. You can’t miss it.”

“Good work,” Zack said as he pulled up in front of the gray mailbox painted with bright yellow daisies.

He’d been as surprised as the parents when Tanya made her confession about smoking with the teenagers. Their original story-that Jenny had gone to get water at the fountain and that’s where they saw her disappear with the stranger-seemed plausible. He hadn’t thought to press them.

“It doesn’t change anything, but maybe this Miller kid will remember seeing something. Or one of his friends.”

Though her words were straightforward, she sounded defeated, while he was just kicking up a gear. Any new information was a bonus; they had a potential witness to interview, and as any detective knew, the more witnesses, the greater the chance of learning information valuable to the investigation.

“Let’s see what the Miller kid has to say.”

They walked up to the front door of the grand house facing the park where Jenny Benedict had been abducted. From the front of the house, the entire park could be seen. Zack wondered how long Jenny’s killer had waited in the park. Had he driven around the neighborhood? Waited for the perfect opportunity? Or was it a chance meeting, a spontaneous abduction?

They’d canvassed the neighborhood after Jenny’s disappearance, had even come to this house, but no one had reported seeing anything.

But they hadn’t spoken to the kid Sean Miller. They hadn’t told him they knew he was in the park that day.

A girl of about eight answered the door. Zack showed her his badge and handed her a business card. “Would you please get your mom or dad for me?”

She looked at the card and frowned. “They’re not here. My brother is, though.” She closed the door before Zack could say anything.

Zack weighed the pros and cons of talking to the kid without his parents. They could have a problem since Sean Miller was a minor, but since he wasn’t a suspect, Zack would worry about potential problems if they arose. Hopefully, no one would make an issue of his interviewing the kid.

He glanced at his watch and ran a hand through his hair. What was taking the kid so long? He raised his hand to knock again and Olivia said, “Impatient?”

He dropped his hand and frowned. He was about to make a wisecrack when the door swung open.

Sean Miller looked barely old enough to shave, but his brown eyes held the defiant wariness of many teenage boys who have something to hide from the cops, from something as minor as smoking a joint once in their backyard to as major as joyriding in their neighbor’s new Jag and totaling it.

“You can’t come in,” he said, his chin out. “My mom’s not here and no one is allowed in the house.”

“We don’t need to come in. Sean?” Zack took a step toward him, towering over the scrawny teen.

“Yeah?”

“We need to talk.”

“I haven’t done anything.”

“Did I say you did anything?” Damn, where’d the attitude come from? Zack couldn’t help but recognize some of his own bad attitude from when he was a young punk.

“Then why are you here?”

“Why didn’t you tell the police who were here last week that you were in Brown Park when Jenny Benedict was abducted?”

He shrugged.

“That’s not an answer.”

“I have nothing to say.”

“Maybe you’ll have something to say at the police station.”

“You can’t make me come. I haven’t done anything.” But the kid crossed his arms and took a step back, fear darkening his eyes.

“Withholding information from the police is a crime.”

“I didn’t do anything,” he said, glancing from Zack to Olivia.

Olivia glanced at Zack and nodded her head toward Sean. She turned to the kid and said, “Sean, I’m Olivia St. Martin with the Federal Bureau of Investigation.” Her voice was calm and soothing. Zack could listen to her for hours. He wondered what she sounded like when she interviewed suspects. He’d bet she could make them confess without raising her voice.

“I’m sure you haven’t done anything wrong,” she said. “In fact, I think you’re just as scared as your little sister Betsy.”

“I’m not scared,” he said in a tone that said anything but.

“Maybe not,” she said, “but Betsy is, isn’t she?”

Sean didn’t say anything, and Olivia pressed.

“Jenny Benedict was taken from the park on Tuesday afternoon. About this time. Your mom works. Where was your sister while you were at the park?”

“I didn’t say I was at the park.”

“You didn’t say you weren’t.”

“I-” he stopped, glanced at Zack. Zack glared at him. Olivia was definitely playing the good cop; Zack didn’t mind being the big bad cop in this scenario.

“I was there,” he admitted.

“What did you see?”

“Nothing,” he said quickly, too quickly. Zack was about to jump down his throat when Olivia said, “You weren’t supposed to go to the park without Betsy, were you?”

“She wanted to watch this stupid show, the same dumb kids’ show every afternoon. And she’d rat me out about smoking if I brought the gang to the house. The park is only across the street; I can see my front door from the pond. And I was only gone thirty minutes; she didn’t even notice.” The kid was talking faster. “And when I heard one of the girls screaming about something, we hightailed it out of there. I didn’t see anyone taking Jenny. I swear.”

“You heard a kid scream and you left?” Olivia’s good-cop impression was done. She sounded like she wanted to slap the kid. Zack didn’t blame her, but he also didn’t want to lose this kid’s cooperation.

“I-I-” he glanced down, feet shuffling.

Zack asked, “What did you see before Jenny was abducted?”

Sean paused. “I don’t know. It’s not important.”

“Try us.”

He hesitated again, and Olivia said, “Sean, the man who killed Jenny will kill another little girl if we don’t stop him. If it was your sister, wouldn’t you want to help?”

Fear and worry crossed his face. “I-aw, fuck.” He breathed heavily, then said in a rush, “I saw a guy that morning. He didn’t look familiar, and my friends and I are always at the park, you know, there’s nothing to do and none of us have our driver’s licenses. He hadn’t been around before, and he was an old guy, you know. Not that he looked that old, really, but you could see it in his face, you know? I thought he was like my dad’s age, like forty, but maybe he was even older, like fifty.”

“You got a good look at him?” Zack asked.

Sean shook his head. “No, it was just an impression. Really.”

“Could you work with a police sketch artist?” Olivia asked.

“No, I really didn’t get a good look at him.”

“Where was he when you saw him?” Zack asked, changing the direction of the conversation.

“My pal Kyle and I were sitting at the pond feeding the ducks and just shooting the shit, you know? It was early; my mom hadn’t even gone to work yet and I just wanted a couple minutes’ peace before having to baby-sit all day. There was this guy just walking through the park.”

“Why did you even notice him?”

Sean thought a long minute. “I don’t know, exactly. I think it was the tattoo.”

Zack felt Olivia tense and lean forward, but she didn’t say anything.

“Tattoo?” Zack asked.

“Yeah. People around here don’t have them, at least not those big blue designs like Popeye.”

“His tattoo was of Popeye?”

Sean shook his head. “No, it’s just what I thought when I saw it. Popeye the sailor man. Popeye has an anchor, I think. This tattoo was an eagle.”

“You must have been pretty close to him to notice it was an eagle.”

“He walked right by the pond, but he didn’t stop or anything. Kyle and I looked up, then went back to feeding the fish.”

“Hair?”

“Short. Like a really short buzz cut. Maybe that’s why I thought about Popeye.”

“Eyes?”

“He wore sunglasses.”

“Shirt?”

“White.”

“Pants?”

“Jeans.”

“Shoes?”

He paused. “That’s why I think we really noticed him. There’s a lot of walkers in the neighborhood. But he had on these big hiking boots.”

“If you had to guess how tall he was, what would you say?”

“Taller than my dad, but that’s not saying anything. My dad’s shorter than me.”

“We’ll need Kyle’s last name and address,” Zack said when he realized he couldn’t get any more details out of the kid. “And I am sending over a police artist. I think you’ll remember a lot more than you think.”