Iris Johansen - Quicksand

Montalvo nodded. This island obviously was the one in the photo. And to the left was the bank of trees and shrubs that Eve had said hid Kistle's island.

"We go after the child?" Miguel asked.

"You go after the child." He pulled off his boots and shirt, slipped his phone into his waterproof belt, and went into the water. "I go after Kistle."

NOGRAVES.

Eve stopped as she came out of the brush when she reached the north end of the island. A level mossy glade stretched before her and it gave an almost manicured appearance at odds with the wild chaos of the swamp.

No graves.

Unreasoning relief soared through her. Maybe Megan had been wrong. Maybe there was only one grave and it was on some other part of the island. What did Eve really know about Megan's ability or inability? It was all beyond understanding and belief anyway. She had just accepted because she wanted answers and she-

There was a large wooden box lying on the ground across the glade. It had been placed on a bed of branches in a place of visible prominence.

So that she would see it. So that she would know that he wanted her to look at it, touch it.

Dread iced through her. She didn't want to go near it.

It didn't matter what she wanted. The box was drawing her like a magnet. She had to see what was inside; she had to lift the lid.

The moss was moist and resilient beneath her shoes as she slowly crossed the glade toward the box.

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

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

She braced herself and lifted the lid.

Hair ribbons, toys, strands of silky hair bound by rubber bands, fingernails. It was full to overflowing, and some items were labeled with names, some were not. She lifted a strand of curly black hair and stared blindly down at the neatly written tag. Letitia .

She felt sick. She dropped the strand back into the box. She didn't want to touch the poor horrible remains of those children.

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

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

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

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

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

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

She went rigid. "No."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Where are the graves?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Show me her grave."

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

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

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

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

"How clever you are. And perhaps that's why I was so drawn to make contact with you? Maybe I think by killing you, it will somehow validate the lie about killing Bonnie. It does make sense, doesn't it?"

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

"Of course, this is all supposition."

"Show me her grave."

"My dear Eve. She has no grave."

"But all these other children have graves?"

"Not all."

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

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

"Where is Bonnie?"

"Do you really want to know?"

"Where is she?"

He said softly, "Ask the alligators."

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

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