The Kill

CHAPTER 23

As soon as Zack pulled out of the airport parking lot, his cell phone rang.

“Travis.”

“It’s Pierson. He has another one. Nina Markow, ten.”

“When?”

“Forty-five minutes ago, in the county. As soon as the first officers arrived and realized that the victim fit our profile, they contacted me.”

“Where? I’m already in the car.”

“Come back to the station. We have two witnesses and I have them working with different sketch artists. And we have a partial license plate on the truck that we’re running and should have a list within the hour.”

“I’ll be there in twenty minutes.” He hung up.

“Another?”

“Forty-five minutes ago.”

Olivia closed her eyes. “I’d hoped we had more time.”

“Me, too. But now we have a name and there are two witnesses. A partial on the truck. Everyone’s working on this.”

“But can we find him before he kills her? Before he disappears?”

“I’m not going to let her die, Olivia. We’ll find her.”

We have to.

When Olivia and Zack walked into the police station, she felt like the world had stopped spinning on its axis, that time stood still, just for a moment.

FBI Special Agent Quinn Peterson sat at Zack’s desk talking to an elderly man while a sketch artist worked next to them.

Quinn looked up and caught her eye. He didn’t seem surprised to see her, but he didn’t seem happy, either. He said something to the man, then stood and walked over to them. As always, he was dressed impeccably.

“You must be Detective Travis,” Quinn said and extended his hand. “I’m Special Agent Quincy Peterson, Seattle FBI.”

They shook hands. “Zack Travis. My chief fill you in on the case?”

Quinn nodded. “I talked to him last night and again when I arrived this morning. He’s on the phone taking care of the politicians. So far the media hasn’t caught wind, so we don’t have that zoo yet. I have a bureau sketch artist working with Henry Jorge, Nina’s neighbor, who saw the abduction and got the partial off the truck. Your own sketch artist is waiting in a conference room for Nina’s friend to arrive with her parents. They should be here any minute.”

“What happened?”

“Nina Markow was riding her bike home from gymnastics. She practices every day after school. She turned onto her street and, according to Mr. Jorge, a man stepped out of the bushes right into the path of her bike. She swerved and fell. The man helped her up, then dragged her over to a white truck half a block away. He put his hand over her mouth and she couldn’t scream. Mr. Jorge ran after them, but he’s eighty-three. He couldn’t catch up before the truck drove off, though his eyesight was good enough to get a partial number off the rear plate and we’re running it now.”

“Pierson tell you we identified the killer? Christopher Driscoll.”

Quinn nodded. “Our people are pulling every string to get his military records, but it’s not easy. I did get his original military ID photo and the artist can take that with the descriptions from Mr. Jorge and Abby Vail, Nina’s friend who also witnessed the abduction, and come up with a good composite of what he looks like. We’ve brought in a couple of agents to help your team cover the car dealerships, rental agencies, airports, anyplace this guy could get a truck without suspicion.”

“Where’re the victim’s parents?”

“Her mother is single, a widow. She works out in the county, and a-” Quinn glanced at his notepad “-Detective Jan O’Neal went out to inform her and bring her down here. But with commuter traffic I don’t expect them for another thirty or so minutes.”

Quinn glanced at Olivia, then said, “Detective, do you mind if I have a word with Agent St. Martin? It won’t take long.”

“Use the conference room. I need to check in with my chief and I’ll get you when the witness comes in. Call me Zack.”

Quinn nodded. “Thanks. I’m Quinn.”

He put his hand in the small of Olivia’s back as he steered her toward the conference room, shutting the door behind them.

“What the hell have you been doing?” Quinn said, obviously trying to temper long-simmering anger. “Have you lost your mind?”

“I can explain.”

“You’d better start talking. When I came here this morning and found out that Agent St. Martin had been a vital part of this investigation, I couldn’t imagine it was you. ‘Olivia St. Martin?’ I asked. Chief Pierson sang your praises and told me you were in Redwood City interviewing Brian Hall!”

“I didn’t-I told Zack about Missy. I told him I couldn’t be in the room with Hall, he probably wouldn’t take my presence very well, and I didn’t want to jeopardize the case.”

“Jeopardize the case! Hell, Olivia, you’re not an agent! You’ve already jeopardized the case.”

“Like hell I have!” Olivia swallowed, surprised at her outburst. “Quinn,” she said, trying to remain calm, but her frustration and anger were closer to the surface than she thought. “I went through the proper channels. I went to Rick Stockton and showed him what I’d put together on these cases. Yes, I knew it was circumstantial, but there was so much of it! I couldn’t just not do anything! And when he said his hands were tied, there was nothing he could do, he couldn’t send a team out to help, I didn’t have a choice.”

“You’ve always had a choice. You could have called me. You know I would bend over backward to help you. Anytime, anyplace.”

She took a deep breath, her heart tight. “I know. I know you would have. But don’t you understand? My testimony put an innocent man behind bars.”

“You don’t know Hall wasn’t involved.”

“No, I don’t know, but I believe he wasn’t. Zack and I talked it through and neither of us thinks Driscoll has a partner. The attacks are too personal, too intimate.” She paused. “And Hall is too stupid.”

“Olivia-”

“Hear me out. I had to do something. I had to get the information about Driscoll’s killing spree in the right hands. I had to talk to someone on the case, walk them through the evidence. They wouldn’t have listened to me; I’m a lab scientist!”

“This is serious, Olivia. You could get fired.”

“Don’t you think I know it’s serious? Do you think I care about getting fired?” Olivia clasped her hands together to stop them from shaking. “I put an innocent man in prison, leaving a killer free to prey on little girls. He’s killed at least thirty children. Because of me. Me! There was no way I could sit back and not do something-I know him. I know the way he works. I spent weeks studying every similar crime in the country. There are two men sitting in prison right now who I think are innocent because they were framed for Driscoll’s crimes. This guy is smart. Wily. Methodical. Disciplined.” She took a deep breath.

“He has control most of the time,” she continued. “He preys on the innocent. Waits until they’re alone before going in for the kill. And when things get too hot, when the police start to close in, he sets someone else up or just walks away. Leaves the jurisdiction. Controls his sick urges just long enough to establish a home base somewhere else. Then he starts all over again.”

“Liv, it’s not your fault. You were five years old when Missy died,” Quinn said.

“It’s not just about Missy. It’s about all the other children. It’s about Chris Driscoll and the families he has destroyed. I don’t care if I get fired as long as we catch him. You think my job is that important to me?” She shook her head.

“Dammit, Olivia.” Quinn ran a hand through his hair and paced the conference room. He stared at the white board, recognizing Olivia’s small, perfect printing. He read the timeline, looked at the photos, saw the time and effort and dedication she had put into the case. “Who knows the truth?”

“No one. No one here. Greg knows.”

“Greg,” he repeated, shaking his head.

“Quinn, please. Please let me stay. I have to see this through.”

The door opened and Zack Travis filled the opening. “Abby Vail is here with her parents. Ready?”

Olivia looked at Quinn. “I am,” she said.

“Let’s go,” Quinn said, turning away from Olivia’s stare.

She breathed an inaudible sigh of relief.

For now, she was okay.

Thank you, Quinn.

Olivia, Quinn, and Zack went into another conference room to speak with Abby Vail, the ten-year-old neighbor and friend of Nina. The victim.

What was going to happen to Abby if Nina died? Would she feel guilty for the rest of her life? That she didn’t, couldn’t, do anything to stop the bad man from taking her friend? Would the memory of Nina being abducted haunt her forever?

Abby Vail was small for a ten-year-old, skinny with short blonde hair, big brown eyes, and dimples that deepened when she talked.

“Did you find Nina?” she asked as soon as they walked through the door.

“Everyone is looking for her,” Zack said. He nodded to the parents. “Thank you for bringing Abby down. I’m Detective Travis, this is Special Agent Quinn Peterson and Olivia St. Martin with the FBI.”

The mother, a larger version of Abby, nodded, her eyes red and swollen. “Anything we can do. It-it could have been-” she didn’t finish her thought, but glanced at her husband over Abby’s head, her chin quivering. Her husband reached around Abby’s back and squeezed his wife’s shoulder, while his free hand grasped Abby’s.

Zack began. “Abby, I know you talked to the police officer who came to your house, but if it’s okay with you, I’d like you to start at the beginning and tell me everything you saw or heard.”

Abby nodded and took a deep breath. “Nina lives down the street from me and I was waiting for her to get home.” She paused.

“Were you going to get together and play?” Zack prompted.

Abby looked sheepish. “Not exactly. We had an argument yesterday and we were both still mad. Well, I wasn’t really mad anymore, but I didn’t want to say sorry first. I thought that maybe if I went outside when she was coming home, we could just sort of, I don’t know, forget about the fight.”

Olivia didn’t know she was nodding until Abby looked at her and shrugged. “It sounds stupid, but it always works,” Abby said. “So I was looking for her and saw her come around the corner on her bike. I went outside.”

Quinn spoke. “Abby, where were you exactly when you first saw Nina?”

“Looking out the kitchen window.”

“Did you see the white truck?”

Abby scrunched up her nose. “I didn’t notice it. I didn’t notice it until that man put Nina in it.”

“I did!” Mrs. Vail started sobbing. “It’s my fault. I saw the truck, but didn’t think anything of it.”

“Mrs. Vail,” Zack said, his voice calm and gentle, a complete contradiction to his hard exterior. “Don’t blame yourself. When did you first notice the truck?”

“When I left for the grocery store, about four thirty, a little later. The truck was there, but no one was inside. I would have noticed if someone was just sitting there.” She paused. “At least, I think I would have noticed.”

“The truck probably looked like it was supposed to be in the neighborhood,” Quinn suggested. “Clean? Newer?”

Mrs. Vail nodded. “It looked fine. I just didn’t think about it.”

Abby’s lip quivered. “The fight was so stupid. Mr. Benjamin picked Nina to be on the advanced team. I was so jealous. I really wanted to be on the advanced team, and I’m as good as Nina, but she’s so good at the parallel bars, really good, and-” Suddenly, tears streamed down her face. “I’m next in line, but I don’t want it. I don’t want it like this.” She turned and buried her face in her father’s chest.

Olivia’s chest heaved and Zack caught her eye. He stared at her, sharing his strength again, while Abby’s father murmured reassurances into his daughter’s hair.

She nodded, unable to smile but wanting him to know that his presence both comforted and emboldened her. She didn’t care what happened to her after they caught Chris Driscoll. She’d probably lose her job, might cost Greg his career, and her friends might very well never speak to her again. But for the first time, she believed she had the stamina to see this investigation through.

Please God, listen to me for once. Protect Nina. Let us find her abductor and allow justice to finally be served.

She tore her eyes from Zack’s and rested her hands on the table in front of her. Her movement caught Abby’s eye and the child looked at her, sniffling.

“Hi, Abby. You can call me Olivia, okay? Do you think you can finish telling us what you saw? If you need more time, that’s okay, but you know that it is really important we know everything if we’re going to find Nina, right?”

Abby nodded and swallowed, her chin quivering. “I’m sorry.”

Olivia shook her head. “Don’t be sorry. Nothing that happened is your fault. Okay? This bad man has been hurting girls for a long time and you have nothing to do with that. Only he is responsible.”

Abby nodded and wiped her face with the back of her hand. Her father handed her a crumpled tissue from his pocket and she took it, tearing it in her fingers.

“You left your house to meet Nina as she was riding her bike up the street. Then what happened?”

“She was still way down the block. I sat on my front porch with a book so she wouldn’t think I was waiting for her, but I wasn’t reading. Then a man just stepped out in front of her and she swerved her bike to avoid hitting him, and rode into the bushes.”

“Where was the man before he stood in front of Nina’s bike?”

Abby frowned. “Gosh, I don’t really know,” she said as she closed her eyes. Olivia gave her time. “It wasn’t the street,” Abby said. “The mailbox. The mailbox!” She opened her eyes. “That’s it! He was at the mailbox and then stepped in front of Nina. She swerved, into the bushes behind the mailbox.”

“Then what happened?” Olivia prompted.

“He leaned over to help her up. At least, that’s what I thought. But she didn’t take his hand, and stumbled over her bike, trying to get up. I started to go over to see if she was hurt.”

“Dear Lord,” Mrs. Vail said, stifling a sob.

Abby bit her lip. “I-I didn’t think anything bad was going to happen, really. I mean, nothing bad happens on our street.”

“It’s okay, Abby. Then what happened?”

“He picked her up and she started kicking and I yelled at him to put her down. I think I yelled for help, too. I-I sort of don’t remember.”

Mr. Vail squeezed her hand. “You did, honey. You did the right thing. I was working in my home office when I heard Abby cry for help. I ran outside and saw Nina’s next-door neighbor, Henry Jorge, running down the street. I didn’t know what I was thinking, except maybe the teenager up the street who just got his license had hit one of the younger kids. We’d talked to his mother twice about his fast driving.” Mr. Vail shook his head. “Sorry.”

“That’s okay,” Olivia said, too familiar with the urge to think and act like everything was normal.

“Abby, what do you remember about the man who took Nina?” Quinn asked.

“I told the policeman who came.”

“I know, but I’d like you to tell us, too.”

“He was tall.”

“Taller than your father?”

Abby shook her head. “No.”

“How tall are you, Mr. Vail?”

“Six foot two.”

“What else did you notice?” Quinn prompted.

“He was kinda old.”

“How old?”

Abby shrugged. All adults seemed old to kids.

“What specifically made you think he was old?”

“He didn’t have a lot of hair.”

“Bald?”

She shook her head, rubbing her nose with the back of her hand. “Short, like a buzz cut, but there was a shiny spot in the back. Grandpa cuts his hair really short because it’s falling out and it doesn’t make him look so old.”

“Could you tell what color?”

She shrugged again. “I don’t really know, there wasn’t a lot of hair. It wasn’t dark, like black or brown, though.”

“What was he wearing?”

She thought. “Jeans. White T-shirt.”

Olivia’s heart pounded. “Did you see anything else that seemed different to you?”

Abby shook her head.

“What about his arms? Were they bare?”

“Yeah, but he had on-” she stopped. “No, it wasn’t a shirt. He had some weird blue thing on his arm.”

“A tattoo?” Olivia asked, hitting herself for leading the girl, but unable to help herself.

“Yeah, it could have been, but it was like smudged.”

“Old tattoos can look that way.”

Olivia’s hands trembled and she put them in her lap. Any doubt that Chris Driscoll was Nina’s abductor vanished.

“Do you know who this man is?” Mr. Vail asked.

Zack and Quinn exchanged looks. Quinn spoke, “We have a couple of good leads.”

“Which means what?”

“Mr. Vail, I’d like to tell you everything we have,” Quinn said, “but in the interest of safety, we can’t say. I will tell you that we have a suspect and between the FBI and Seattle PD, we’re doing everything humanly possible to track him down.”

“Abby, would you be able to describe what you saw to an artist?” Zack asked. “Someone who’ll draw a picture of what you say, so you can help us get a good idea of what he looks like.”

“I don’t remember much.”

“But Mr. Jorge remembers some, and you remember some. Together, I think we’ll have a good idea of what this man looks like.”

“I’ll try.”

“Thank you, Abby.”

Zack stood. “The artist will be in momentarily. Can I get you water? Soda?”

The Vails shook their heads. “Just find Nina. Lydia’s world revolves around her.”

A foul smell awakened her.

Nina coughed, her voice sounding far away, then tasted a mixture of car fumes and dirt. A low, steady hum surrounded her, lulling her as she drifted between sleep and alert, but a sudden ping-ping beneath her jolted her awake.

Something was wrong.

Nina’s entire head felt thick, like when her mother woke her in the middle of the night last year to tell her that Grandma had died. But this was different. It hurt. She shivered in the cold, goosebumps rising on her skin.

Go to sleep. You’re dreaming.

No, it wasn’t a dream. Nina tried to open her eyes, but something held them shut. Like a blindfold. She tried to touch the sore lump on the back of her head, but she couldn’t move her arms. She squirmed. Her hands were bound behind her as she lay on her side.

Then she remembered.

Imprinted in her memory was the face of the man who’d stepped in front of her bike and made her crash.

She was turning the corner from Third to Harrison Drive, her street, when a man was suddenly there in front of her. She swerved to miss hitting him and rode into the bushes, falling from her bike.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he had said, rushing to her.

“I’m fine.” She tried to stand, but her ankle twisted between the bike pedal and frame and she stumbled.

He caught her and she sucked in her breath, staring into very pale eyes, eyes that almost didn’t look real. They didn’t show any feelings and they didn’t look sorry.

Something was wrong with this man, with the way he looked at her. As if he knew her. She drew in a breath to scream and his left hand covered her mouth while he turned her around so his right arm could pin her body against his.

It had happened so fast. One minute she was stumbling from her bike; the next he was moving with her across the sidewalk to a big truck she hadn’t even noticed was there.

“Nina!”

It was her friend Abby, who lived down the street.

She bit the man’s hand and he said a bad word in her ear, but didn’t let go. She kicked backward, trying to hit his private parts, which her mother told her would hurt a lot.

If anyone tries to touch you, scream and kick them in their privates. They’ll let go and you run and run fast.

But she couldn’t connect her foot with him, and suddenly her feet were no longer on the ground as he pulled her up, half carrying her, half shoving her toward the big, white truck. Her arms were pinned to her sides and she wildly kicked her legs in the air.

“Let her go! Help! Someone, help! Help!” Abby started screaming and Nina prayed someone, anyone, was around to help her.

The man pushed her through the door of the truck and slammed her head on the dashboard. Tears streamed down her face from the sharp sting, but she still struggled to free herself.

“Stop!” It was a man’s voice and sounded far away. “You! Stop! I’ve already called the police.”

Nina recognized the man-Mr. Jorge, her next-door neighbor, the one who always complained when Scrappy her orange tabby slept in his daisy bushes. He was going to help her!

Then something hit her hard on the head and she remembered nothing until now, when she woke up to the awful smell of car fumes.

How long had she been sleeping? Where was she? She couldn’t see. She squirmed and found that she could move a little. Though her hands were tied, her feet were free. She wiggled around and realized she could sit up.

The awful stench of exhaust. The bouncing, the low hum of the engine… she was in the back of the truck. The man with the light eyes had taken her, and Mr. Jorge and Abby hadn’t been able to stop him. He was going to do something bad to her. Her mom said if a man took her he’d hurt her, and so she had to run. But she hadn’t run, she hadn’t been able to, and nothing she’d been taught had worked.

She sucked back tears, her fear growing with each ping of rocks on the undercarriage. The pings were coming more frequently. Where was he taking her? What was he going to do? Was he… was he going to kill her like those other girls she’d heard her mother talking to Mrs. Vail about?

This was so bad. All the stuff her mother told her, her teachers told her, didn’t seem important at the time. Her mother worried all the time. “Yes, Mom,” she’d say after listening to another lecture about being careful and to watch out for strange men.

And she’d run her bike right into one.

She stifled a cry. She wanted her mommy so bad right now, but she didn’t want the man to hear her. She had to find a way to get out. She was all her mom had, ever since Daddy died. Nina didn’t even remember him, she’d only been two. Her mom was her only family.

Her mom did everything for her. They weren’t rich; in fact, they were always broke and they couldn’t do things like Abby’s family, like going to the movies or vacationing every summer at Disney World or some other fun place. Nina sometimes resented that Abby’s family had money to do things and Nina’s mom didn’t, but Nina knew her mom worked hard to make sure she had a college savings account and she took gymnastic lessons, which cost a lot of money. Nina loved gymnastics and she knew she was good. Her mom said she loved watching her, and her coach said she’d be able to try out for the state team next year.

The state team was one step closer to the Olympic team. Nina wanted that more than anything in the world.

Well, now she wanted something even more. She had to find a way to escape.

Nina stifled a sob. She tugged at the ropes that bound her hands. They were tight, and her fingers were numb. How-wait. She just might be able to-yes! It was just like the rings.

Though it hurt her wrists so much tears streamed down her face, Nina pushed herself up with the palms of her hands and pushed her body backward through the hole her arms made. She eased down, not wanting to make a sound, then worked her arms under her legs until they were now in front of her.

Yes!

She reached up and tore off the blindfold and blinked. She saw nothing. No light coming from streetlamps. No light from the cab of the truck. She was locked away in a camper shell, far from her mom, far from help. Her heart pounded. How would she get home? Even if she got away from the man, where was she? Where would she go?

Stop it, Nina! She couldn’t think like that. Just get away. Get away. She could figure everything else out later.

Just run away.

She used her teeth on the ropes binding her wrists, the rough fiber making her lips and gums raw. But it was working. They were loosening.

Suddenly, the truck started driving up a steep hill and she toppled over and couldn’t stop herself from crying out when her sore head hit the back gate. She righted herself and felt around for a handle on the camper shell. She couldn’t find one. She was trapped.

She continued working on the ropes as the truck slowed, winding around sharply. The air became noticeably colder.

She had to get out. As soon as he opened the gate, she had to run. As fast as she could.

And not look back.

Assistant District Attorney Ross Perdue was working late Friday night. He had no wife, no children, and lived for his job. Everyone in the courthouse predicted he’d be appointed to fill Hamilton Craig’s remaining term as district attorney and could very well be the youngest elected D.A. in county history if he ran in the next election.

Most people thought Ross was a ladder-climber, but those who knew him well-which weren’t many-knew he was motivated by far more than a title. Eight years ago, when he was a law student, his young pregnant wife was gunned down on their first wedding anniversary.

The next semester he changed his focus from corporate law to criminal law and he’d never looked back.

The nature of Hamilton Craig’s death bothered him, but he couldn’t figure out why. Maybe it was the randomness of it, that it was too much like Becky’s. There seemed to be no reason, and random violence seemed so unfair, like a tornado falling out of the sky and obliterating only one house in a neighborhood of thousands.

The knock on his door came after six, long after most attorneys had left for the weekend.

“Come in.”

It was the Redwood City Chief of Police, Bill Tuttle. Ross stood and extended his hand. “Chief. What can I do for you?”

He didn’t sit. “Gary Porter was killed sometime last night in his house.”

“Gary Porter? Do I know him?”

“Probably not. He was a detective, retired a few years ago.”

“And?” Ross prompted.

“We checked out his house this morning when his wife called from her trip to Paris and said she couldn’t reach him. He’s been on heart medication for a few years, so she was worried about him. We found him in his kitchen, shot to death.

“From what we could see, Gary came home after Hamilton Craig’s funeral. Turned on the lights. Went to his den. Poured himself a Scotch. Drank about half before the power went out. He went to the kitchen-probably to get a flashlight to check the fuse box-and someone shot him in the chest. Then they shot him at close range when he was already down.”

“Shit.” Ross’s hands tensed. “Do you have a suspect? Do you need a warrant?”

Tuttle paused. “I cajoled the crime lab into working overtime to analyze the bullet. They just came back with their report. It matches the gun that killed Hamilton Craig.”

“No coincidence.You thinking maybe they worked on the same case? Vengeance murders? I can run released prisoners, see if they match up-”

“There’s one I want to check out right away.”

“Who?”

“Brian Harrison Hall.”

“Hall? I just met him this morning. He gave Seattle PD some valuable information on the murders up there. Why in the world would he kill Hamilton and a retired cop?”

“Because he went to prison for thirty-four years?” Tuttle leaned over Ross’s desk. “Ross, let me tell you straight. My twenty years of experience tells me that it’s no coincidence that Hall was released less than a month ago and now Hamilton and Gary are dead. He lives in town. He has a motive. I just want to talk to him. But I need a warrant to search his apartment.”

“Aw shit.” Ross weighed the pros and cons. If Hall was innocent, they’d be in for a rocky ride with the press. They’d had so much PR trouble since his overturned conviction. It would look like they were railroading him.

But if he was guilty… “Is there anyone else you think he would go after?”

“Hell if I know. The judge? That was Clive Dunn. He died years ago. Same with Porter’s partner. Maybe the parole board members? The arresting officer? That gal who testified against him? I don’t know.”

“I don’t know if we have probable cause,” Ross muttered. “But-” he looked at his blotter to see what judge was on duty tonight. “Okay, luck is on our side. Faith Hayes has the night docket. She’ll give us a warrant. Probably limited, but it’ll get us in his apartment. Agreed?”

“Agreed.”