Iris Johansen - Quinn

“Stop being so protective.” She smiled and finished her coffee. “The last thing I need is Sandra hovering over me. We’re both surviving in the best way we can. She has her congregation, and I have Joe Quinn.” She took Joe’s empty cup and turned toward the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Joe. It’s time I got to work.”

“Good night. Lock your door.”

“Why? I’m not worried about being in any kind of danger.”

“I know. But I’m worried for you. It’s a violent world. Lock your door.”

“Whatever.”

He watched her as she entered the house and waited until he heard the click of the lock.

No, she wasn’t worried. She couldn’t care less about her own physical safety. It had no meaning for her in comparison to her loss of her child. He realized that he was the one who was going to have to care for her.

Another duty for him to assume in the emotional storm that had come to him.

Protecting Eve.

Watching over Eve.

Loving Eve.

That word was coming easier to him now. He was beginning to understand the elements that comprised it. Perhaps the fact that he had to block sexual desire made him more aware of what else he was feeling.

But it also made him aware that the storm of feeling was growing stronger. He was no longer rejecting it. He wanted to go back inside the house and stay with her, be with her…

Tomorrow.

He turned and went down the porch steps and strode toward his car.

“COME IN,” EVE CALLED, when Joe rang the bell the next afternoon. She looked up impatiently from the papers she was working on as he opened the door. “For heaven’s sake, why are you still acting like a visitor? Just walk in.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Have you gone to bed yet?”

“For a couple hours. I had to get away from them.” She grimaced. “But they followed me. I decided I’d rather deal with them than dream about them. There’s coffee on the stove.”

“Have you had any?”

“Too much.” She nodded at the two piles of files that were in front of her. “I’ve divided the children into two categories. Male and female. Whoever took these children obviously preferred girls. There are nine cases here, and six of them were girls. But evidently he doesn’t entirely rule out little boys.” She leaned back in the straight chair. “I had questions. I wanted you here.”

“I wanted to be here.” He poured a glass of orange juice and brought it to her. “What questions?”

“You know about profiling and all that stuff. You were studying records of sexual molesters.” She moistened her lips. “Are these killings all about sex? Is that why he likes little girls? Does he rape them?”

“Probably.” He looked away as she flinched. “But it’s not about the sexual act as much as it is about power. Most serial killers are addicted to power. Sexual domination is a form of power. Perhaps little boys don’t give him the same rush as little girls.” He sat down across from her. Look at her. Ignore the fact that every word was hurting her. “Perhaps that’s why he butchered that little boy so terribly. He was angry with him for not being what he wanted him to be. But we can’t be sure because we’ve never found any of the little girls’ bodies.” He stared her in the eyes. “Any more questions?”

“Not for the moment.” She swallowed hard. “But thank you for not trying to sugarcoat your answer. I had to know. Then it’s all about power?”

“And ego. If a killer has murdered successfully for a long time, then he begins to think he’s impervious to capture. He usually develops a pattern according to how often he needs his fix.”

“Fix,” she repeated. “It’s truly an addiction?”

He nodded. “And he’ll be as reckless as a heroin addict to get what he needs. More, because he believes no one can touch him.”

“A pattern.” She looked down at the sheet of paper in front of her. “The dates of the disappearances of the first three girls are approximately five months apart. Janey Bristol, six years, disappeared from Dunwoody three years ago on August 10. Linda Cantrell, eight years, was reported missing on January 30 from her home in Marietta. Natalie Kirk got off the bus but never made it home on June 5.” She glanced up. “But the other disappearances were less predictable. The next disappearance didn’t happen for another eighteen months. And the next two followed almost immediately. Within a few weeks of each other.” She tapped the third pile of files. “And none of these out-of-town disappearances took place during those eighteen months. They were all before the local Atlanta killings started. And there was over a year between those kidnappings. If he’s what you say he is, I don’t think he was taking a vacation. Where was he? What was he doing?” She added unsteadily, “Who was he killing?”

“That’s what we’re going to find out. He could have been away from the area. Or he might have been in jail.” His gaze narrowed thoughtfully. “First a year, then five months. He’s getting hungrier.”

“Bonnie would have been three months. So maybe she wasn’t one of- I’m trying not to think of Bonnie.” She took another sip of orange juice. “That was one of the nightmares I was having last night.”

“And my nightmare is your having a nervous breakdown and leaving me without someone to help me find this bastard.” He took a pile of files from her. “So we’ll both go over these files and make notes and talk about them for another two hours. Then I’ll keep on, and you’ll take a nap on the couch.”

“I won’t be able to sleep.”

“Then I’ll call a doctor and get him to give you a shot. Take your choice.”

“We’ll talk about it later.” She went back to the file in front of her. “What are we looking for?”

“Circumstances surrounding the disappearance. Similarities, indications of any common traits in the victims or family members.”

“Family members?”

“It’s possible revenge was taken against the child for a perceived slight by the parents.”

“Why wouldn’t he just kill the parents?”

“It could still be on his agenda. He might want them to suffer first.”

“Yes, that would do it.” She opened the first file. “That’s a lot of things to look for, Joe.”

“And better done with a clear head.”

She ignored the jab. “How can you continue to work on cases like this? Doesn’t it make you sick?”

“Sometimes. But it makes me sicker to know that some arrogant son of a bitch is out there killing whoever he pleases and thinking no one is going to catch him.” He was scanning the files in front of him. “Seasons don’t seem to make any difference to him. In some instances, killers only murder in certain seasons or time of the month. Here we have victims in summer, fall, winter…”

“Maybe they’re not all dead,” Eve said. “We keep talking about killings. Maybe some of them were runaways or taken by relatives. Maybe they’re not- But I have to think of them as victims, don’t I? I have to look at these damn reports and think that a monster grabbed them and how and why he did it.”

“You don’t have to do it. Let me bundle up all these reports and take them away. No one is forcing you but yourself.”

“I know that.” She focused her gaze on the report in front of her. “Linda Cantrell.” The picture of the girl showed a child with dark hair and eyes and a wide white smile. “She was Hispanic, but that didn’t seem to have anything to do with her being chosen. The other children were black, white… no Asian…”

“I DON’T WANT TO DO THIS.” Eve glared up at him even as she lay down on the couch three hours later. “I can keep on going. I don’t want to sleep. You have no right to threaten me with your damn doctor.”