Кей Хупер - Out of the Shadows

Tony said, "But does that mean he planned to bring future victims here as well? It's obvious we weren't expected to find this place, or at least not so quickly. If it hadn't been for that. . . anonymous tip ... would we have found this boy's body buried out in the woods somewhere — if we found it at all?"

Miranda was about to say something irritable to Tony about harping on that "anonymous tip" that he knew very well had come from her sister when she saw Alex out of the corner of her eye, and realized how close he was. Close enough to hear. Tony had only been continuing to protect their little secret, she realized.

She also realized something else, and it made her feel more than a little grim. Because she had retracted her shield, energy and effort that had been designed to protect both herself and her sister were now focused on a much narrower point — her mind alone. It was a very solid shield that now separated her from those around her. She was beginning to lose even the heightened awareness of her surroundings that was normal for her, her version of Bishop's spider-sense. She always seemed to know where he was, feeling him near long before she actually saw or heard him, but that was something different.

She hoped he'd never discover just how it was different.

Feeling his eyes on her, she forced herself to concentrate on what Alex was saying, and it worried her that his voice actually sounded peculiarly hollow to her.

"... and from what I understand about your profile of the killer, Bishop, wouldn't it be important to him that we did find this victim? I mean, if he was out to prove — to himself and maybe to us — that he was all-powerful and in control, wouldn't he have wanted us to see his handiwork sooner rather than later?"

Bishop nodded slowly. "That's a good point. He would have expected us to know that he had abducted a very masculine, physically powerful kid, but until we found the body we couldn't be sure what he had done to that kid. Without evidence to the contrary, we might speculate that his needs and desires were sexual, something he certainly doesn't want."

Miranda resisted the urge to rub her temples in a vain attempt to soothe the throbbing there. "But why is he so determined not to display — or feel, apparently — sexual desire for his victims? Aren't most murders of this . . . bizarre nature sexual at the core?"

"Virtually always," Bishop answered. "And few murderers bother to try to hide or disguise it. Tony, you said you thought this killer was highly conflicted. I think you were right. I believe this killer has very, neatly divided his life. Light and dark. In the light side, he has a normal existence, with friends, maybe family — and a woman or women he's attracted to sexually. He may even have at least one successful ongoing relationship, apparently normal in every way. In the dark side, he has these violent urges and needs he's driven to satisfy."

"Okay," Miranda said. "But my question stands. Why, as far as he's concerned, may his killings not be sexual or viewed as sexual even by himself? Why is that so important to him?"

"My guess is that he's trying to protect the light side of his life — and the woman or women there. To keep that separate and apart. If what he's doing becomes overtly sexual, then he'll begin to want to do these things to women he's attracted to in the light, sane side of his life. The darkness will spill over, out of his control."

"If this is him in control," Tony said, "I really don't want to be around to see him out of control."

They were all silent for a few moments, then Alex stirred and said, "Speaking of dark, it's getting there. Either we start wrapping this up for the day or else break out the big lights."

Bishop looked at Miranda. "I'll check with Sharon and find out how much more time she needs."

She nodded slightly and watched him walk back to the mill house.

"Supposed to snow tonight."

Miranda was startled to find Alex looking at her intently. She hadn't felt it. She hadn't felt it. "I haven't seen a weather report," she said.

"Well, the weather people are being fairly cagey, but last I heard, the best we could hope for was two or three inches. Worst is a blizzard."

"Great. That's just dandy." She thought it might at least give the townspeople something else to worry about. But bad weather would also threaten potential problems with electricity, and would demand that most of her deputies be out and about helping people rather than in the office chasing down information that might prove helpful to the investigation.

They weren't moving very fast anyway, but a storm could stop them in their tracks.

"Is that cast going to be helpful?" Alex asked, as Tony tested the plaster.

"After all this work, I certainly hope so. But we'll see. It'll take time to run down the right brand of tire, and more time to match up sales of that brand with cars registered in the area, and then . .. Well, it'll take time. But maybe it'll give us something in the end."

Miranda noticed the heavy clouds rolling in and hoped they'd have time.

"Here, wait a second and I'll give you a hand." Alex bent to help lift the plaster cast.

"Thanks."

Miranda watched them carry the cast toward the vehicles parked several yards away. She felt the tingle on the nape of her neck, and didn't have to look to know Bishop was approaching her.

"Is she about done in there?" It gave her a certain amount of satisfaction to know that it bugged Bishop when she did that, especially since it had become patently obvious that she could sneak up on him without his awareness — spider-sense notwithstanding. She was glad to know she could shake his composure at least a bit. Even more, she preferred to have him annoyed rather than thinking too much about how she was able to do it.

"Another half hour," Bishop replied, sounding faintly distracted. "She said not to bother rigging the big lights, and that she'd have a preliminary report for us in a few minutes."

"In the meantime," Miranda said, "we'd better take a last look around. Alex says snow's in the forecast. Whatever clue or evidence we leave out here is likely to be buried, at least for a while."

She felt a light touch on her arm, and was confident enough of her shield that she was able to look at Bishop calmly without jerking from his grasp.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

"Oh, sure. I'm getting used to finding dead kids." She was able to keep her voice dry and unemotional, but it required more of an effort than she had expected. And it shook her to realize that what she really wanted to do was confide that she was unutterably weary, and that it tore at her soul to have to discuss with professional detachment the unspeakable evil being committed in her town.. To confide that she had nightmares when she could sleep at all, that she was desperately worried about her sister, worried about what was still to come. Worried that she had misread what she'd seen or misunderstood what she was meant to do. Worried that she wouldn't have the strength when the time came.

She wanted to confide all that. In him.

He was frowning slightly. He did not release her arm.

"I'm fine, Bishop." It was, of course, the only thing she could say, the only answer she could give him. She still didn't try to pull away. Even with her shield firmly in place — or perhaps because of that — she knew that he was being true to his word and not trying to read her.

"You're not fine," he argued, keeping his voice low. "You're too pale and your pupils are dilated. And don't you think I can tell you've shut off your defenses? Christ, Miranda, I'm the only one who couldn't sneak up and blindside you."

For just an instant, she was tempted to snap that since only he posed a threat to her, her defenses were still in good working order. Instead, she said calmly, "Since nobody's after me, it hardly matters, does it?"