Iris Johansen - Quinn

“I’m not arguing. I realize I’d be a distraction.”

Since the moment he’d seen her. “As I said, you can check into the Hyatt. The media may still track you down, but we won’t make it easy for them.”

She shook her head. “Too expensive. I’ll be fine at the house.”

“I’ll put you on my expense account.”

“You wouldn’t do that. You’re too honest. Which means you’d probably be paying for it out of your own pocket.”

“One night. Just enough time to take the heat off,” he coaxed. “Otherwise, I’d feel obligated to camp out in front of the house. It’s worth paying for your room just to make sure I get a good night’s sleep.”

“It’s not worth it to me.” She paused. “There’s a cheap motel about two miles from the house. I’ll check in there with my mother for tonight. I don’t need the Hyatt.” She made a face. “I’m no fancy Easterner who has to have room service and a concierge.”

“Yeah, guys like me need a lot of care and nurturing. Otherwise, we just wither away. Where is this motel? I’ll take you there, then go to your house and pick up your mother and have her choose some clothes to pack for you.”

“I can call her.”

“Where is the hotel?” he repeated.

“It’s the Rainbow Inn on Piedmont.”

“Sounds very whimsical.”

“Not very. You’ll turn up your nose at it.” She leaned wearily back in the seat. “Ask me if I care.”

“After my stint in the Middle East, it takes a lot to make me turn up my nose. If it has a shower, I’m good with it.”

“It has a shower.” She was silent for a moment. “Mr. Bristol said he’d pray for me. I’d rather he prayed for Bonnie. But he doesn’t think she’s alive. When he was talking, I was having trouble… I still have a chance. Things were different in her pattern from the other children who- I have a chance.”

“George Bristol is a man in pain. He probably doesn’t realize what he’s saying.”

“He knows.” She was silent again. “We’ve got to find that monster, Joe. For all those children, their parents. For Bonnie. He mustn’t be allowed to be proud of killing any more children. He’s got to be stopped.”

For Bonnie.

She was getting closer and closer to accepting that her daughter could be dead.

“That’s what we’re trying to do.”

“Not ‘trying.’ We’ve got to do it.”

She didn’t speak again until they arrived at the Rainbow Inn.

He gazed at the small one-story economy motel skeptically. It appeared in fair repair but had probably been built at least thirty years before. “Definitely no whimsy. You’re sure it has a shower?”

“I’m sure.” She got out of the car. “And telephones. Will you call me after you talk to CNN and Brian McVey?”

He nodded. “Or I’ll tell you in person after I’ve finished with them, and I bring your mother here.”

“I’ll call her and tell her to come in my car. I might need it.”

“No, she might be followed, and all this would be for nothing. I’ll make sure we’re not tailed. Do you need anything besides a change of clothes?”

“Tell her to bring my notebook and that box of missing person’s reports. I have to go over everything again. There has to be something there that we missed.” She moved toward the office, and there was a touch of despair mixed with the frustration in her voice. “He’s being so damn reckless. He has to have done something that will give us a lead.”

Joe backed the car out of the lot after the door shut behind her.

He couldn’t blame Eve for the exasperation that been founded on fear. Today had been a bad day for her, a complete roller-coaster ride. She had identified with the Bristols, and George Bristol’s certainty that Bonnie was dead had come as a shock. No matter how often she told herself that was a possibility, she couldn’t accept that it might be true.

How the hell would he handle it when she could no longer deny that the distant horror was a reality? And he could see that nightmare hovering on the horizon. Eve was taking comfort in the exceptions, the differences. He was seeing the similarities, and his experience and instincts were scaring him. He could try to prepare her, but at some point she would block him out and stop listening. It would be a purely self-defensive device.

Stop worrying about something he couldn’t change. He’d face that problem when he had to. He checked the address and phone for the Atlanta Constitution .

Now his problem was Brian McVey.

“I DON’T HAVE TO ANSWER your questions, you know.” McVey leaned back in his chair. “I gave Detective Slindak a statement, so I’m not impeding the progress of the investigation. I could send you back to him.”

“You could,” Joe said. “But you’re a young reporter on your way up. You don’t want to antagonize anyone if you don’t have to. You’re going to have enough enemies.”

“You think so?” McVey chuckled. “That’s what journalism is all about. A lot of people don’t like the truth.”

“Particularly in stories like the one you wrote about the hunters finding Janey Bristol’s body. It was pretty grisly.”

“But all true.” His smile was cocky. “I was the first one to get the story, and I ran with it. And the public loves a little blood with their morning coffee.”

“You’d know that better than I.”

McVey’s smile faded. “Don’t be so patronizing. I’ve done my research on you. I may write about it, but I don’t kill. While I understand you were absolutely terrific at it. Who stinks the most, Quinn?”

“I suppose it’s a matter of perception.”

McVey nodded. “And I’ll win a Pulitzer before I’m thirty, and you’ll still be hunting crazies for the next twenty years.”

“Entirely possible. But you’ll not win a Pulitzer by publishing crime-scene details just to appeal to the masses.”

“Why not? I gave everyone what they wanted, and I didn’t hurt anyone.” He met Joe’s eyes. “I could have described the bits of clothing that would have tipped the ID in Janey Bristol’s direction. I didn’t go that far. I decided to let the police get a firm ID before I laid that on the Bristols.”

It was a restraint Joe hadn’t expected. “It was still a shock to every one of the parents of those missing children.”

“Give me a break. I’m no angel. But I do have a few scruples.”

“As long as they don’t get in the way of your Pulitzer.”

“You’re laughing, but I meant it. You have to have a goal, and I’m aiming at the big prize.” He sat forward, his eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. “And I’m on my way. How would I know that first story on the hunters would get me an interview with the killer himself? It was fate.”

“No, it was your byline on a story that stroked the monster’s ego,” Joe said dryly.

“Whatever. It happened, and next time he calls, I’ll have a tape recorder and-”

“You think he’ll call you again?”

“Why not? I listened. I figure he wanted an audience, and I gave him what he wanted.” He grimaced. “Though it made me want to puke.”

“But anything for the Pulitzer.”

“Well, I did try to ask him questions, but he ran right over me. But that could be good. I didn’t make him mad, and that could mean he’ll call me again. Lots of reporters have formed relationships, even friendships, with killers.”

“I wouldn’t count on it. He called CNN, too. I don’t think you’re that special to him.”

McVey’s face fell with disappointment. “I can hope. In the meantime, I can milk the story for all it’s worth. Would you like to comment? I don’t have an FBI quote.”