Кей Хупер - Out of the Shadows

"Oh, Christ," Miranda said. "They're eyes. Human eyes."

Tony cleared his throat, but his voice was still a little hoarse when he said, "On the whole, I think I would have preferred to find hacked-off limbs. An arm, a leg. Jesus."

"Be careful what you wish for," Bishop warned as he set the jar upright and reached for the second sack.

They were all braced for further horrors, but what emerged from the second sack appeared quite ordinary, relatively speaking. There was an old cigar box with perhaps two or three ounces of some kind of ash inside, a slightly rusted pair of handcuffs, and a folded pocketknife.

Tony said, "We are sure, aren't we, that this isn't just some weird collection belonging to Adam Ramsay."

Miranda tapped on the lid of the canning jar. "In 1985," she reminded him, "Adam was three years old."

"Well, yeah — but the rest of this stuff?"

Bishop picked up the knife and studied it carefully. "Sharon might get something from touching this," he said, "but even if she doesn't, this is a collectible knife. They're often sold by hardware stores or pharmacies, especially in small towns."

Miranda didn't ask how he knew that; she merely said, "Steve Penman was near the drugstore when he vanished."

"Yes," Bishop said. "He was, wasn't he?".

The lounge of the Sheriff's Department didn't have a great deal to recommend it as far as Bonnie was concerned. One side of the long, narrow room held a kitchenette, while on the other were a couple of leather couches, two tables with chairs, and a bank of lockers. There was a dartboard on the wall, and several open shelves held a few board games as well as a caddy for poker chips and playing cards.

None of it appealed to Bonnie, even if there had been anyone around to join her in a game. Seth had crashed on one of the couches and was sleeping deeply; he'd gotten little sleep the last few nights, she knew, and she didn't begrudge him the rest. The deputies in the building were all working at their desks, busily coping with the aftermath of the storm and whatever duties might help identify the killer.

Randy would be returning to the office anytime now. And Bishop. Bonnie felt a bit wary of meeting Bishop again, talking to him — more so now than before. He and Randy were involved again, and even though Bonnie hadn't exactly discouraged the idea, she was anxious about it.

If it ended badly this time, Bonnie didn't know if Randy would be able to get past it.

Restless, Bonnie wandered out of the lounge. She looked into the big, open area at the front of the building they all called the bullpen, a small sea of desks turned this way and that, and the low dividing wall separating the office space from the reception area. There was a TV on a filing cabinet tuned to the Weather Channel, phones ringing at regular intervals, and the low hum of conversation.

The room smelled like coffee and pizza.

Everybody was busy, so Bonnie continued on. The conference-room door was locked, which didn't surprise her. Randy's office was open and empty. In another office just down the hall, a deputy sat with his back to the door, talking on the phone; judging by the cajoling tone, he was trying to mend fences with a sweetheart.

Bonnie smiled to herself and went on. One office was empty of office furniture but held half a dozen cots, though there was only one deputy, stripped to undershirt and pants, snoring softly. Another room was piled high with the boxes and other stuff that Bonnie remembered Randy had ordered removed from the conference room when the FBI had arrived.

Down some steps and along another hallway were several other rooms; since they were small and boasted small windows in the doors — and none in the rooms themselves — she gathered they were where suspects requiring privacy or more security were questioned.

She peeked into one and saw Justin Marsh sitting at the small table reading the newspaper, his frown and impatiently tapping foot mute evidence of frustration or irritation. Bonnie moved on hastily, not eager to attract his notice.

She looked into a couple more of the rooms, but all were empty. At the end of the hallway were three doors; two led to the cells, she knew, and the other led to the garage where impounded vehicles were kept.

Not interested in any of those areas, she turned and began to retrace her steps. She was just passing the little secondary hallway that led to an outer door to the side parking lot when she felt a rush of cold air.

Bonnie half turned her head but caught only a glimpse, a blur of movement. And then something struck her head, pain exploded, and everything went dark.

"I just don't believe it," Alex said hoarsely, shaking his head. "Right here? He took her from the fucking Sheriff's Department?"

"I should have stayed awake," Seth said, his younger voice thin with fear and worry and guilt.

"You? Jesus, kid, there were a dozen cops in this place — including me."

Tony said, "Never mind who's to blame. The important thing is to find him before — before — "

"Before he kills her," Miranda said. Her voice was very steady, but her eyes were blind.

Tony didn't know what to say to her; he thought it was quite possibly the first and last time he'd ever see Miranda Knight literally paralyzed, unable to do anything except sit there at the conference table and stare at the wall. And he was very relieved when Bishop came back into the room; he had been absent only a few minutes, checking the building for any sign that might help them because he didn't trust anyone else to do it.

Going directly to Miranda, Bishop knelt before her, his hands lifting to rest gently on her knees.

She looked at him, saw him. "I promised to protect her." She was talking to him alone, oblivious to everyone else in the room. "I swore I'd always keep her safe."

"Bonnie is going to be all right, Miranda. We'll find her, and we'll do it before that bastard can hurt her."

"You can't promise," she said almost wistfully.

"Yes, I can," Bishop said. He leaned forward and kissed her, equally oblivious to the watching eyes, then got to his feet and faced the others, one hand remaining on her shoulder.

"We don't have much time, but I think we have a little," he told them. "I don't believe he'll kill her immediately — he made that mistake with the Penman boy and lost the opportunity to question him. And he made a similar mistake with Liz Hallowell."

"With Liz?" Alex frowned at him.

Bishop looked at him. "He thought she was the one who told us where to find Steve Penman, and he didn't take the time to be certain. That haunts him, I'm sure."

"Haunts him?" Alex exploded. "He's a cold-blooded killer without an ounce of conscience, and you claim he can be haunted by a mistake? A fucking mistake?"

Remaining calm, Bishop said, "What I claim is that this killer is an intelligent, complex psychopath with a very definite set of rituals and rules governing his life and behavior. Carelessness caused him to make one bad mistake, and panic caused him to make another; he won't be quick to make a third. He'll need to assure himself that Bonnie is the threat he believes her to be."

Miranda stirred. "How? How can he assure himself of that? You said it yourself — talking to the dead isn't an easy thing to prove."

"Which is why we have a little time," Bishop said, holding her gaze steadily. "But not much, Miranda."

For just a moment she seemed to waver, but then her shoulders squared, her mouth firmed, and she stood up. "We have to find out if Steve asked anybody about that pocketknife at the drugstore the day he disappeared.

We have the list of tire dealerships in the area to contact. We have to figure out if there's something, some place or action, linking all the missing kids together." She drew a breath. "And we have to find out how he could have discovered that it was Bonnie who was the threat — and how he knew she was here."