Michael Prescott: Next Victim

Tess didn’t answer. Andrus was right. Yet there had been a time, not so long ago, when she had thought the world made sense. Part of her still wanted to believe it.

Another part of her, the dominant part, could not forget the evening of February 12.

The key in the lock…the door opening…and in the kitchen, the water running in the sink…

Briskly, Andrus reviewed the details of the bust. The suspect was William Hayde, forty-two, never married. His age, his Colorado background, his solitary lifestyle, his job as a civil engineer-it all fit.

"And even so," Andrus finished, rising, "I still say Hayde is a red herring. I’ll bet you lunch at Giuseppe’s on that."

Tess smiled. "Giuseppe’s?"

"Great restaurant. You’ve got to try it."

"I haven’t had much of an appetite lately."

Andrus didn’t respond. He straightened his jacket-in the years Tess had known him, she had never once seen him with his jacket off-and shrugged on a dark trench coat, just like in the movies. Tess asked where he was going.

"Home…where all decent self-respecting people should be on a Friday night. I have a Yorkshire terrier who needs to be fed-assuming he hasn’t broken open the kitchen cabinet by now and foraged for his own dinner-and there’s a stack of three-oh-twos I’m overdue about reading."

"Sounds like fun."

"I lead a full life, Tess. Call me if this clown turns out to be the real thing. Believe me, I’ll be happy to pick up the tab at that restaurant." He turned to Larkin. "Step into the hall, Peter. I want a moment in private with Agent McCallum."

Larkin, peeved, did as he was told. Andrus shut the office door. "So, Tess…how are they treating you?"

She shrugged. "The way any interloper would be treated. With suspicion, aversion, and disdain."

"I can talk to them."

"Please don’t. That only…"

"Makes it worse?"

"It’s office politics. They know I worked under you in Denver. They see me as some kind of threat. At least, some of them do. The more paranoid ones."

"And the rest? How do they see you?"

"As a washout."

"You’re not, you know."

"I’m not sure what I am."

"If it weren’t for Mobius-and what happened that night-"

The key in the lock. Water in the sink. Her footsteps on the stairs as she climbed to the second floor…

"I’d be in a different place right now," she said, finishing his statement for him. "Don’t I know it. But thinking ‘what if’ doesn’t get you anywhere."

Andrus hesitated, evidently dissatisfied with this answer. "What I really want to know is…how are you holding up?"

"Just fine."

"You’re handling this okay?"

"Don’t I seem to be?"

"I didn’t mean professionally. I meant…on an emotional level."

Up the stairs to the upper floor, the gun in her hand, no sound anywhere in the house…

"I’m great," she said. "Really. Never better."

"We both know that’s not true."

She saw his disappointment. He wanted her to trust him enough to level with him.

"Okay," she admitted, "I’ve been better. I’ve also been worse. Working other cases, waiting for this one to open up again-that was harder."

"At least now you’re back in it."

"Right. And I’m hanging in there."

"Aren’t we all." He hesitated. "Maybe I shouldn’t have brought you in."

"You had to. And I have to be here. I have to be involved."

"Then I hope it brings you some closure."

Closure. God, how she hated that word, with all its smug psychoanalytic neatness. As if there could ever be closure. As if grief were a room in a house, and she could just shut the door and seal it away.

On the upper floor, moving down the hall toward the bedroom, the door ajar, her heart beating loud against her ears…

"Thanks," she answered. "I hope so too."

There was a short silence as both of them tried to think of something more to say.

"If you need to talk…" Andrus managed.

"You’re available. I know."

"Please keep it in mind."

She wouldn’t, though. Andrus was not a man she would feel comfortable confiding in. He was too coldly analytical, too fussy and well organized. Besides, he knew too much already. She could preserve her privacy only if she kept her feelings to herself. Because her feelings were the only private part of her she had left.

But she couldn’t tell him any of this, so all she said was "I will. ’Night, Gerry."

"’Night, Tess."

She joined Larkin in the hall. They headed deeper into the maze of squad rooms and offices.

"Despite what the AD thinks," Tess said, "Mr. Hayde sounds promising to me."

Larkin grunted. "Mr. Hayde. You know, that name’s almost like ‘Mr. Hyde.’ Only with an A."

"So?"

"Think it’s an omen, maybe?"

She looked at him and saw that goddamned smirk. More games.

"Have we got a warrant for his house?" she asked.

"No probable cause. They checked his car, though. Without a warrant."

"I guess that’s why Andrus didn’t mention it."

"Probably. Anyway, they gave it a quick once-over-no forensics, just a visual. Didn’t find anything."

"Anything else the AD neglected to tell me?"

"Only that Hayde’s a cold fish. Didn’t even break a sweat when we left him alone in the interrogation room for twenty minutes."

"If he’s our guy, he’d have to be cold."

"Yeah. If."

He must be, she thought. He had to be.

They turned a corner and came upon two closed doors. The one on the left had a sign on it reading, DO NOT DISTURB-INTERVIEW IN PROGRESS.

Behind that door was Mr. William Hayde, who might or might not be the only man Tess hated on this earth.

Larkin reached for the other door, then turned to her. "I know this case has cost you, Tess."

She wanted to say that he had no idea how much it had cost her, but she held back, because he had addressed her without irony for the first time.

"I met him once, you know. Paul Voorhees."

Her voice caught. "Did you?"

"In New Orleans. I was working a multiple rapist, and Paul came in to consult. Helped us a lot. We snagged the guy. Eddie Mullen-they called him the Devil, because he wore a Mardi Gras devil mask. Paul must’ve told you."

"I don’t think he did." She wondered how many other cases he had left undiscussed.

"Well, anyway, Paul was a good guy. And I know it’s tough-losing any colleague, let alone your partner."

Let alone someone who was more than a partner, she thought, but Larkin didn’t know about that part of it, and didn’t have to know.

"You’ve been through a lot." Larkin looked away. "I hope tonight ends it. For everybody’s sake…but most of all for yours."

"Thank you," she said with a quick, faltering smile that her mouth couldn’t quite hold.

"Okay, then." Larkin clapped his hands, signaling an end to whatever sort of moment they had shared. "Let’s settle in for some Q and A."

He pulled open the door and gestured for her to enter the observation room, where agents Tyler, Hart, and DiFranco stood before a bank of TV monitors watching the suspect from several angles.

From this distance Tess couldn’t see his face on the multiple screens. She wondered what he would look like. She wondered if he would match the face that visited her in nightmares.

Larkin was waiting for her to enter. She brushed past him, trembling just a little as she stepped inside the room.

At 10:45, Amanda Pierce drove into the short-term parking lot of Los Angeles International Airport. She ditched her Sunbird at the curb, grabbing her small suitcase out of the backseat, and disappeared into the concourse.

She had chosen the airport because it was large and brightly lit and would be crowded on the first night of a holiday weekend. Also, she didn’t know if the feds realized that LA was her final destination. There was a chance she could convince them she was taking a flight to another city.