Iris Johansen - Blood Game

Damn, it was hard.

What was she complaining about? If it was hard, then it was only a tiny portion of the hell Joe had gone through for her over the years. From that initial meeting after Bonnie had been taken, he had tried to shoulder every burden, ease every pain. Yet when he had first come into her kitchen that first morning, she’d been bitterly resentful.

There was a discreet knock on the kitchen door. “Ms. Duncan. FBI. I rang the front doorbell, but no one was answering. May I come in?”

Because she’d ignored the bell. She turned back to the stove. “Yes, I suppose you may.”

She heard the door open behind her.

“I can understand why you wouldn’t want to answer the bell. I’ve heard the media has been harassing you. I’m Special Agent Joe Quinn. FBI. I wonder if I could have a few words with you.”

She glanced over her shoulder at him as she turned the omelet in the pan. Dark blue suit, square face, brown eyes, maybe twenty-six or -seven, good-looking. Young, too young. Why hadn’t they sent her someone older, with more experience? “Questions? I’ve answered millions of questions. It’s all in ATLPD’s records. Go ask them.”

“I have to make my own report.”

“Red tape. Procedures.” She scooped up the omelet and put it on a plate. “Why didn’t they send someone right after it happened?”

“We had to wait for a request from the local police.”

“You should have been here. Everyone should have come right away.” Her hand was shaking as she picked up the plate and put it on a tray. “I suppose I’ll have to talk to you, but I have to take this omelet to my mother. She hasn’t gotten out of bed since Bonnie disappeared. I can’t get her to eat.”

“I’ll take it.” He reached out and took the plate. “Which room?”

She wasn’t about to argue. Let him do something, anything. He hadn’t done what was important. He hadn’t found Bonnie. “First door at the top of the stairs.”

She took the pan to the sink and started to wash it. Keep busy. Don’t think. Keep moving.

“She started to eat,” Quinn said as he came back in the room. “Maybe it was the shock of seeing a stranger.”

“Maybe.”

“And how are you eating, Ms. Duncan?”

“I eat enough. I know I can’t afford to lose strength.” She started drying the pan. Slowly. She was desperately afraid of running out of something to do. “What do you want to know, Agent Quinn?”

He looked down at his notes. “Your daughter, Bonnie, disappeared at the park over a week ago. She went to the refreshment stand to get an ice cream and didn’t return. She was wearing a Bugs Bunny T-shirt, jeans, and tennis shoes.”

“Yes.”

“And you didn’t see anyone suspicious loitering anywhere nearby?”

“No one. It was crowded. I wasn’t expecting anyone to be-” She drew a deep breath. “No one suspicious. I told the police that I wondered if maybe someone had seen what a sweet kid my Bonnie was and taken her away. Maybe someone who had lost a child and only wanted another one.” She stared at his face. “And they only looked at me the way you’re doing and made soothing noises. It could have happened that way.”

“Yes, it could.” He paused. “But the odds are against it. I’m not going to lie to you.”

“I know that. I’m not a fool. I grew up on the streets, and I know all about the scum that’s out there.” She looked wonderingly up at him. “But I have to hope. She’s my baby. I have to bring her home. How can I live if I don’t hope?”

“Then hope.” His voice was hoarse. “And I’ll hope with you. We’ll explore every way we can to find her safe and alive. There’s nothing I won’t do. Just stick with me and give me a little help.”

She believed him. The intensity in his expression was overwhelming. Suddenly he didn’t look like the young man she’d assumed him to be when he’d walked into the kitchen. He looked hard and mature and fully capable. “Of course I’ll help.” She glanced away from him as she put the pan in the cupboard. “I’m afraid, you know,” she said unevenly. “I’m afraid all the time. My mother gave up and just went to bed, but I can’t do that. I have to keep fighting. As long as I’m fighting, I have a chance to find Bonnie.”

He nodded. “Then we’ll fight together. I’ll stay with you until we get through this.” He paused. “If you’ll let me.”

Together.

She suddenly felt a little less lonely. Nothing could ease the aching fear, but to share it was somehow comforting. She slowly nodded. “I think that would be very kind. Thank you, Agent Quinn.”

BUT HOW COULD SHE HAVEever dreamed how long Joe would have to stay with her to get her through that search for Bonnie, she thought as she stared into the darkness. He had been everything to her during that period when her life had been pure hell: friend, brother, a constant support when her world was falling apart around her. He’d marshaled everyone to search for Bonnie, then kept Eve sane when the realization had come that her daughter was dead, murdered, and buried away somewhere Eve might never find her.

Yes, she owed him more than he’d ever know. No matter what was wrong in Joe’s life, she had to help him put it right.

____________________

IT WAS ALL BULLSHIT, JOEthought as he switched on the coffeemaker. Forget it. There weren’t any ghosts. No mystic psychic powers.

So he’d believed in Megan for that brief period in the swamp. He’d come to his senses after he’d come back to Atlanta.

Until he’d thought he’d seen Bonnie Duncan. Until Nancy Jo Norris had paid him a visit.

And if those had been hallucinations, then he was left with the realization that he was going off his rocker. He’d trot to the department’s psychiatrist and let the bastard talk soothingly to him about work-related stress and how he should take time off.

He couldn’t take time off. It was his work that kept him balanced.

Some balance.

At least, it kept him busy and full of purpose. He reached for his phone and dialed the M.E.

“Tim Brooks.”

It was one of the M.E.’s assistants. Joe had talked to him before. “Quinn. Is the autopsy finished?”

“Hell, no,” Brooks said sourly “This one will take days. Every test in the book.”

“What’s the preliminary?”

“Loss of blood due to the severance of the jugular.”

“Anything else?”

“Presence of ether and fiber fragments in the nostrils. He evidently knocked her out before he killed her.”

Joe stiffened. “Ether?”

“You heard me. Look, I’ve got to get back. You know I shouldn’t talk to you before we get a final.”

“Thanks, Brooks.” He slowly hung up.

He attacked me and stuffed a handkerchief over my face. It smelled sweet. Then he brought me here and slit my throat.

Nancy Jo’s words during his hallucination earlier today.

But why would he have had that particular detail in that hallucination?

Guesswork from a hundred similar cases?

But there was no case similar to this one. God help him. He was becoming increasingly convinced that was true. And if it wasn’t guesswork, he was left with a choice.

Go to see the department shrink or jump headfirst into the river of no return?

He spun on his heel and strode toward the bedroom.

EVE WATCHED JOE DRIVEdown the road before she reached for her cell phone and dialed Megan’s number. Megan answered after three rings. “I’m sorry to call this late. Did I wake you?”