Jeffery Deaver - The Sleeping Doll

"Really? What?"

"It's an online role-playing game. You know those?"

"For a computer, right? One of those big boxes with wires in it?"

"Touché, boss. It's set in the Middle Ages and what you do is kill trolls and dragons and nasty things and rescue damsels. Kind of what we do for a living, when you think about it. Anyway, the reason it didn't show up at first is that it's spelled differently- N-i-X-m-u-e. The logo is the word Nimue with a big red X in the middle, it. It's one of the hottest games online nowadays. Hundreds of millions in sales… Ah, whatever happened to Ms. Pac-Man, my personal favorite?"

"I don't think Pell's the sort who's into computer games."

"But he is the sort who killed a man who wrote software."

"Good point. Look into that. But I'm still leaning toward it being a name or screen name."

"Don't worry, boss. I can check 'em both out, thanks to all the leisure time you give me."

"Enjoying the band?"

"Double touché."

Dance let Dylan and Patsy out for their bedtime business, then made a fast search of the property. No unrecognized cars were parked nearby. She got the animals back inside. Normally they'd sleep in the kitchen but tonight she let them have the run of the house; they made a huge racket when strangers came around. She also armed the window and door alarms.

Dance went into Maggie's room and listened to her play a brief Mozart piece on the keyboard. Then kissed her good-night and shut out the light.

She sat for a few minutes with Wes while he told her about a new kid at the camp who'd moved to town with his parents a few months ago. They'd enjoyed playing some practice matches today.

"You want to ask him and his folks over tomorrow? To Grandpa's birthday?"

"Naw. I don't think so."

After his father's death Wes had also grown more shy and reclusive.

"You sure?"

"Maybe later. I don't know… Mom?"

"Yes, dearest son."

An exasperated sigh.

"Yes?"

"How come you've still got your gun?"

Children…nothing whatsoever gets by them.

"Forgot all about it. It's going in the safe right now."

"Can I read for a while?"

"Sure. Ten minutes. What's the book?"

" Lord of the Rings. " He opened, then closed it. "Mom?"

"Yes?"

But nothing more was forthcoming. Dance thought she knew what was on his mind. She'd talk if he wanted to. But she hoped he didn't; it'd been a really long day.

Then he said, "Nothing," in a tone she understood to mean: There is something but I don't want to talk about it yet. He returned to Middle Earth.

She asked, "Where are the hobbits?" A nod at the book.

"In the Shire. The horsemen are looking for them."

"Fifteen minutes."

"'Night, Mom."

Dance slipped the Glock into the safe. She reset the lock to a simple three-digit code, which she could open in the dark. She tried it now, with her eyes closed. It took no more than two seconds.

She showered, donned sweats and slipped under the thick comforter, the sorrows of the day wafting around her like the scent of lavender from the potpourri dish nearby.

Where are you? she thought to Daniel Pell. Who's your partner?

What are you doing at this moment? Sleeping? Driving through neighborhoods, looking for someone or something? Are you planning to kill again?

How can I figure out what you have in mind, staying close?

Drifting off to sleep, she heard in her mind lines from the tape she and Michael O'Neil had just listened to.

"And I don't have any children myself, either. That's a regret, I must say… But I'm a young man. I've got time, right?"

"Oh, if you get your act together, Daniel, there's no reason in the world you couldn't have a family of your own."

Dance's eyes opened. She lay in bed for a few minutes, staring at a configuration of shadows on the ceiling. Then, pulling on slippers, she made her way into the living room. "Go back to sleep," she said to the two dogs, who nonetheless continued to watch her attentively for the next hour or so as she prowled once again through the box that Morton Nagle had prepared for her.

Kathryn Dance, TJ beside her, was in Charles Overby's corner office, early-morning rain pelting the windows. Tourists thought the climate in Monterey Bay tended toward frequent overcasts threatening showers. In fact, the area was usually desperate for rain; the gray overhead was nothing more than standard-issue West Coast fog. Today, however, the precipitation was the real thing.

"I need something, Charles."

"What's that?"

"An okay for some expenses."

"For what?"

"We're not making any headway. There're no leads from Capitola, the forensics aren't giving us any answers, no sightings of him…and most important I don't know why he's staying in the area."

"What do you mean, expenses?" Charles Overby was a man of focus.

"I want the three women who were in the Family."

"Arrest them? I thought they were in the clear."

"No, I want to interview them. They lived with him; they've got to know him pretty well."

Oh, if you get your act together, Daniel, there's no reason in the world you couldn't have a family of your own…

It was this line from the police interview tape that had inspired the idea.

A to B to X…

"We want to hold a Family reunion," said cheerful TJ. She knew he'd been partying late but his round face, under the curly red hair, was as fresh as if he'd walked out of a spa.

Overby ignored him. "But why would they want to help us? They'd be sympathetic to him, wouldn't they?"

"No. I've talked to two of them, and they have no sympathy for Pell. The third changed her identity, to put that whole life behind her."

"Why bring them here? Why not interview them where they live?"

"I want them together. It's a gestalt interviewing approach. Their memories would trigger each other's. I was up till two reading about them. Rebecca wasn't with the Family very long-just a few months-but Linda lived with Pell for over a year, and Samantha for two."

"Have you already talked to them?" The question was coy, as if he suspected her of pulling an end run.

"No," Dance said. "I wanted to ask you first."

He seemed satisfied that he wasn't being outmaneuvered. Still, he shook his head. "Airfare, guards, transportation…red tape. I really doubt I could get it through Sacramento. It's too out of the box." He noticed a frayed thread on his cuff and plucked it out. "I'm afraid I have to say no. Utah. I'm sure that's where he's headed now. After the scare at Moss Landing. It'd be crazy for him to stay around. Is the USP surveillance team up and running?"

"Yep," TJ told him.

"Utah'd be good. Real good."

Meaning, Dance understood: They nail him and CBI gets the credit, with no more loss of life in California. USP misses him, it's their flub.

"Charles, I'm sure Utah's a false lead. He's not going to point us there and-"

"Unless," her boss said triumphantly, "it's a double twist. Think about it."

"I did, and it's not Pell's profile. I really want to go forward with my idea."

"I'm not sure…"

A voice from behind her. "Can I ask what that idea is?"

Dance turned to see a man in a dark suit, powder blue shirt and striped blue-and-black tie. Not classically handsome-he had a bit of a belly, prominent ears and, if he were to look down, a double chin would blossom. But he had unwavering, amused brown eyes and a flop of hair, identical brown, that hung over his forehead. His posture and appearance suggested an easy-going nature. He had a faint smile on narrow lips.

Overby asked, "Can I help you?"