Iris Johansen - Quicksand

"You sound determined."

"I couldn't be more determined. As long as Joe wants me, I'll never leave him."

"He'll always want you."

"I hope so. He's put up with a lot from me over the years. Sometimes I think he's getting a little tired."

"People don't get tired of you, Eve. Joe wouldn't. I wouldn't. Now stop talking nonsense." Jane reached out and touched Eve's cheek. "But if I can help you work it out, let me know."

"There's nothing to work out. That's not what this is about. It's about Kistle… and Bonnie." She turned toward her bedroom. "I'm going to pack. Will you call and make me a reservation to Bloomburg?"

"Two reservations," Jane corrected. "I'm going with you."

"You said you had to start the work for your next show."

"I can paint anywhere. Do you really believe I'd let you go after that son of a bitch without having me in your corner?"

She smiled. "I guess not. Whatever was I thinking? By all means, come along. It seems as if my entire world is flocking to Bloomburg."

"Right, I'll pack a bag. We can drop Toby off at my friend Patty's, so she can take care of him while we're gone."

"Let's hope that won't be long." She closed the bedroom door. It would be good to have Jane with her. They were so much alike in spirit and background that they might well have been mother and daughter. Jane had appeared years after she had lost Bonnie, and her presence had warmed and enriched her. Jane always insisted that she wasn't hurt that Bonnie dominated Eve's life. She said that friendship was enough. Maybe it was, when the friendship was this close. Daughter or friend, Eve had been lucky to have Jane come into her life.

And to have Joe come into her life and choose to stay.

She reached for her phone and dialed Joe again.

Still no answer. The phone was still turned off. Surely the plane must have landed by now.

He's not even going to be able to take a breath before he's pulled down into the quicksand.

She felt a chill go through her as she remembered Bonnie's words.

She moved over to the closet and pulled out her duffel. Pack and then call Joe again. Dammit, answer me this time, Joe.

Quicksand…

QUICKSAND.

Kistle could feel his muscles strain as he pulled himself hand over hand through the trees twenty feet above the bog. Most quicksand wasn't as dangerous as most people thought, but it could slow you down.

And it made an excellent trap.

He'd left a few scraps of his shirt material on the branches of the path leading here as bait. Then he'd covered the first few yards of the bog with branches. Everything was working out splendidly. The sheriff's men had split up and were scouring the entire forest and he hadn't had to isolate them individually. Two of the pricks were heading this way now, trotting like cattle to the slaughter.

"Come on," he whispered as he settled in the crook of a tree and lifted his rifle, checking the silencer and the scope. "Just a little farther. Come and get me."

A minute later a man burst from the shrubbery at a run. The next instant he was followed by a second man. They were three yards from the camouflaged bog.

A few more steps.

He took aim three feet ahead of them.

Into the quicksand!

He didn't wait to watch them flounder helplessly as they sank.

Two shots.

One bullet in the head of the first officer. The other in the throat of the second man…

He was already moving toward them as they fell. He grabbed the two men by the shirts and dragged them out of the bog, dripping with mud and sand. They had been nothing, no challenge at all. Just as he'd thought. Cattle to the slaughterhouse.

He could feel the excitement tingling through him as he reached into his pocket and pulled out the messages he'd scrawled on scraps of paper he'd ripped from his notebook.

It was starting.

"DETECTIVE QUINN?"

Joe looked around to see a uniformed officer coming toward him across the terminal. "Yes."

"Deputy Charlie Dodsworth." He shook his head wearily. "No, that's not right. They've made me acting sheriff until the next election. I talked to an Eve Duncan at your phone number and she told me-"

"Eve? You called Eve? I told Sheriff Jedroth to call me on my cell phone. Why the hell-"

"I didn't call her. She called me," the deputy interrupted. "The sheriff is dead and Kistle had his phone and contacted her." He turned toward the exit. "I'll give you a ride into town. I have some questions to ask you."

"Jedroth's dead? How did-"

"Not now." Dodsworth waved his hand to stop the flow of words. "I've got to have my questions answered first. You'll have your turn. I've had one hell of a night. I lost my friend. And we lost that damned child killer in the woods. Now I've got to find a way to catch the bastard. What you know, I have to know." He went ahead of Joe through the door and out into the parking lot.

Joe hesitated and then followed Dodsworth toward the patrol car. It was clear all hell had broken loose since he had talked to Jedroth earlier tonight. Kistle had called Eve. My God, it was the last thing Joe had wanted to happen. He should call her and ask what that-

"Detective?" Dodsworth had opened the passenger door. "I want to get this over with quick. I have to go and see Maggie Jedroth and try to explain why her husband died tonight."

How many times had Joe had to break that news? Whether in a big-city precinct or a sheriff's office in a little town, the life of a cop still sucked sometimes. "Fifteen minutes. Ask your questions. Then I have to ask a few of my own and make a phone call."

"I DON'T KNOW ANYTHINGabout Kistle's background," Joe said impatiently. "I told you, I traced him by his cell phone he bought in Detroit. If I knew any of his friends or family, I'd be on my way to see them, since you lost the bastard."

"We'll get him back. Why did Kistle call Eve Duncan?"

"My number was the last number on the sheriff's phone."

"But he talked to her. She said he was taunting her, telling her he could never be caught."

"How could I know anything about that? When I call her, I'll ask what he said." And he needed to make that call right now. Find a way to skip over the unessential questions and give the sheriff a quick summary. "Look, the reason that we're after Kistle isn't only that he may be a child killer. He could have killed Eve Duncan's child, Bonnie. That makes it very personal. If he did call to taunt Eve, it may mean that he's the one we're searching for."

"It wasn't hard to figure out that it was personal after we read the report on you. You may be in luck," Dodsworth said. "Because we're not going to let him slip away from us." He parked in front of the sheriff's office. "Now come inside and sign a statement and we'll-"

"No way. I'll do it later. I told you that-"

The deputy's radio blared out. "Charlie. Where are you, Charlie?"

"Dodsworth," he answered. "Have you got him, Pete?"

"No. God, Charlie. It's bad here. You gotta come and-"

"What the hell is going on?"

"Bill Parks and Lenny Brewster. They're dead, Charlie. Shot."

"Kistle?"

"I guess so. You gotta come and see them."

"I'm on my way." Dodsworth was backing out of the parking space. "I should be there in ten minutes."

"Where are we going?" Joe asked.

"Clayborne Forest." Dodsworth pressed the accelerator and put on the siren. "That was Pete Shaw, a deputy, on the radio. Parks and Brewster were in the posse tracking down Kistle."

THE PATROL CAR WAS METat the edge of the forest by a lanky young deputy whose face was pale enough to show the freckles scattered on his thin cheeks. "They're dead, Charlie. I was talking to them ten minutes before we found them. We split up, but there were two of them and-"