John Lutz - Night Victims

“Yeah. Pretty chicken-shit. You’d think the sonuvabitch would have some kind of code. Just about everybody does.”

“His code,” Horn said, “is whatever’s in his best interest.”

“Shoulda gone into politics, or to more John Wayne movies as a kid. We also gotta figure he’s in possession of the other dead guard’s gun.”

“He’ll have more than that to work with by this time. Kinda guy that can make a weapon out of Jell-O.”

“Did Anne get to the cabin okay?”

“I haven’t heard yet from Bickerstaff and Paula,” Horn said. “It’s a long drive.”

“Plenty secluded?”

“Surrounded by woods. Anne’s brother’s a dedicated hunter, only uses it for that.”

“I sent along a detail so security will be in place shortly after Anne arrives. It’ll be impossible for Vine to get to her even if he somehow figures out where she is. You can check it out later and be in overall command.”

Horn walked over to the window to watch Cindy Vine being loaded into the back of a patrol car for her ride to captivity and interrogation. A woman in a jam not of her own making, with a difficult time ahead. But maybe that was wrong. Maybe she’d urged her husband on, driven just as he was because of their son. It sure wasn’t a perfect world.

“There was a human hair stuck beneath the duct tape over Emily Schneider’s mouth,” Larkin said. “It turned out not to be hers. We took some hair samples from Vine’s comb to see if we come up with a match. We will. There’s going to be a solid case against Vine. We have no worries on that account.”

Horn nodded, but he didn’t think evidence would make much difference.

They were going to have to kill Vine.

Paula was standing at the bureau in Harry Linnert’s bedroom and packing a blue vinyl club bag. Toothbrush, deodorant, gun. .

“You’re going to spend nights on a stakeout?” Linnert asked behind her, still not quite believing it. That she was a cop hadn’t really hit home until now. Not like this, anyway.

“A security stakeout,” Paula said, continuing with her packing. “It will probably only be for two or three days and nights.”

“You’re guarding some big shot? Some Mafia witness or something?”

She laughed. “Nothing like that.”

“I couldn’t stand for you to be in any danger.”

“I’m not, usually, except for being surrounded by too many doughnuts.”

“They haven’t ruined your figure.”

He came to her and kissed the nape of her neck, then turned her around and kissed her on the lips. The world, everything, slowed down and became better when she was in his arms.

She confided in him, explaining the situation.

He gave her another kiss. “You be careful, you hear?”

She nodded. “For you and for me.”

When Horn used the cell phone to call home from his car parked across from the Vines’ apartment building, there was a message on his machine to contact Kray at the Rion Hotel.

He turned the air conditioner on high, sat back, and punched out the Rion’s number then Kray’s extension.

Kray picked up on the first ring. “Horn?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve been reading the papers, watching TV news.”

“Spending a lot of time in your room.”

“It’s my information center, such as it is. After Emily Schneider was killed, this operation really started to bother me. Then when you told me about Joe Vine. Jesus, you can imagine.”

Horn wasn’t sure he could. “You’re not the one killing women,” he said. “You’re being too hard on yourself.”

“It’s just that I know what someone like Vine can do. How he can be impossible to find, then how deadly he can be. I know his moves. More than that, Horn, I know his counter-moves. Because I taught them to him. The kind of training he had, that I was trained to provide, I had to get inside his mind. I know his mind. I can help you like no one else can.”

He was probably right, Horn thought.

“My advice is to get Anne out of the city, out of an urban environment. Vine is trained to be his most deadly in cities, where we ran night strikes and did certain difficult. . jobs for the government.”

“She’s in a secluded wooded area, in a cabin owned by her brother.”

“That’s good. Urban and mountain terrain are where you don’t want her. Is there lots of underbrush?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Don’t take it for granted that Vine will make noise moving through dry brush. There are ways not to. Thick woods?”

“I was there once. The woods are plenty thick. Gently rolling hills.”

“Water nearby?”

“I recall a creek. Maybe a couple hundred yards beyond the place.”

“Not big enough for a boat or canoe?”

“Definitely not. Probably even dry this time of year.”

“Dry creek beds are like highways through wooded areas,” Kray said. “Vine knows how to travel them.”

“We’ve got that covered,” Horn assured Kray.

“Whatever you do, don’t let Anne accept any package, delivered or mailed. The same goes for any strange object placed outside the cabin, especially one virtually calling for a woman to pick it up. It should be checked before she touches it. She should stay away from windows, especially at night with a light on inside. The thing to remember is he can kill from a distance. There are ways you wouldn’t imagine.”

“We won’t underestimate him,” Horn said.

“Good luck, and if you want me there when and if you get him cornered, please call on me. I might be able to help you in unexpected ways, and at the same time atone for my sins.”

“A church is the place for expiation. A priest rather than a cop.”

“You understand what I mean, Horn. I know you do.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Horn admitted. “But I don’t think I can help you. I’ll keep what you said in mind, though. And thanks.”

“Good luck,” Kray told him again, in a way that left no doubt that he meant it.

Horn sat in the car with the engine idling, wondering if maybe he was being overconfident. Vine was trained in methods beyond those usually dealt with by the NYPD. And the truth was, Horn hadn’t really thought of everything, not so far, and that disturbed him.

He started the car, but before driving away used the cell phone to call an old friend named Morris Beiner on the bomb squad. Men like Mandle and Vine knew how to get their hands on explosives, or they could make explosives themselves.

As the phone on the other end of the connection rang, he remembered Kray’s cautionary voice:. . he can kill from a distance. There are ways you wouldn’t imagine.

All those years in the NYPD, Horn thought. Maybe he hadn’t seen it all. Maybe nobody ever saw it all.

He thought about Anne, hidden away and heavily guarded, and in more danger than she knew. Vine’s motivation might be more understandable-raw, irrational vengeance-but he was no more an ordinary killer than was Mandle. They were both practitioners of the same rare trade. Death’s craftsmen, even artists, in a world of dilettantes.

Maybe there are ways I need to imagine.

When they’d left her alone in the cabin, Anne stood in the center of its main room and looked around. It was a small structure, not much more than the single room in which she stood, with a tiny kitchen area, a bathroom, and a crude staircase that led to sleeping lofts. At least it had indoor plumbing, though her brother told her it sometimes didn’t work all that well. She made a mental note to check it as soon as she got unpacked. Maybe before.

Though the construction was crude-stained cedar planks on the outside and on one of the inside walls-there was a certain coziness about the way the place was furnished. A large nubby sofa faced the big stone fireplace. Antlers and stuffed fish were mounted on the walls, along with a few unframed prints of hunting scenes. The floor was rough-hewn cedar, with an oval red and gray woven rug in its center. There was a smaller woven rug in the same colors in front of the fireplace. Framed photos of her brother holding up fish he’d caught over the years were propped on the mantel, and above them an old rod and reel were mounted on the wall. There was a mustiness about the cabin, made somehow pleasant by the underlying acrid scent of all the cedar.