Mariah Stewart - Hard Truth

“That’s a good question,” Mitch told her. “Right now, we have no way of knowing if he moved on, or if he simply found another means of relieving whatever it was that compelled him to kill in the first place.”

“So he could still be here,” Regan said, “but he might not be feeling any pressure to kill.”

“Swell.” Lorna put her pizza on her plate. “What happens if he starts feeling the pressure again?”

Mitch looked at T.J.

“This is really your area of expertise, Dawson. I defer to you.”

T.J. shook his head. “Not anymore, pal. I hung up that hat a long time ago.”

“Hey, you know what they say around the Bureau.” Mitch took a sip of beer, then set the bottle back down quietly on the table. “Once a profiler, always a profiler.”

“You were a profiler?” Lorna tried to keep her jaw from dropping.

“Long ago and far away,” T.J. said, as if to dismiss it as having no importance.

There were other questions she could have asked, questions she wanted to ask, but he’d clearly closed that door. She glanced beside her and met Regan’s eyes.

Later, Regan told her silently.

“So, Regan,” Mitch turned his attention to her. “What’s the latest on your search for Eddie Kroll?”

“Who’s Eddie Kroll?” Lorna asked.

“I don’t know who he is. I know a little about him, but I don’t know who he is,” Regan told her. “I found his name in a file in a box of things that belonged to my father.”

“What kind of things?” T.J. appeared relieved to have the topic of conversation shift from his former occupation.

“Old report cards, mostly. All from a Catholic grade school in Illinois from back in the forties. I did try to contact the school, but it closed about fifteen years ago.” She smiled. “I tried tracking the name through the diocese schools, but the trail seems to end in ninth grade. There was no record of him after early March of his freshman year at St. Ambrose High.”

“You’re not giving up, are you?” Mitch asked.

“Are you kidding? I’m hot on this guy’s trail.” She grinned. “I’ll be in Chicago at the end of the week, Saturday, to do a TV show. If Eddie Kroll is out there, I’m going to find him.”

“He probably changed schools-maybe his family moved out of the city-and is happily retired in Florida by now,” Lorna said. “And what’s the big deal with him, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“My dad kept all kinds of things, newspaper clippings, letters, postcards, you name it, that related to specific incidents. But in this case, he kept this guy’s report cards. Why?” She put down her glass. “Why have them? Why keep them? What significance could they have had to my father, who wrote true crime books?”

“Then what you really want to know is, who is Eddie Kroll, and what was he to Josh Landry,” Lorna summed it up.

“Exactly.” Regan nodded. “And one way or another, I’m going to find out. However long it takes, I’m going to find Eddie Kroll.”

“Well, you’ve got your mystery man, I’ve got my serial killer,” Mitch said. “Sounds like we’re both going to have our hands full for a while.”

He looked at T.J., who was working on another slice of pizza.

“Would you at least be willing to take a look at whatever information I get, once we start compiling data on the victims? Sort of a thank you for me getting those reports for you this weekend?”

T.J. looked distracted, as if chewing on Mitch’s question along with the pepperoni.

Finally, he nodded slowly. “Your paybacks are a bitch, Peyton, you know that? But, okay, I’ll take a look. As a thank you. Then we’re even.”

“Sure.” Mitch looked pleased with himself. “Then we’re even.”

The early-morning air was steamy and dense. Summer was reasserting itself, and it wasn’t pretty. Lorna rolled out of bed and into the shower. Thirty minutes later, she felt as if she could use a second one. She’d dried her hair with the blow dryer, but by the time she reached the first floor, the strands around her face were already coils of light brown frizz. She turned on the air conditioner and her computer in the dining room, then followed the smell of brewing coffee into the kitchen.

“I was just debating with myself, whether it was too hot to make coffee,” Lorna said, taking two cups from the cupboard and setting them on the counter. “But you beat me to it, and it smells too good to pass up.”

“I hope you don’t mind,” Regan said from her seat near the window. “I’m such an early riser and it never seems too hot for me to drink coffee. It’s my addiction.”

“I don’t mind at all. I appreciate it. Nice to have it waiting for me.” She got out the half-and-half and a bowl of sweeteners, real and artificial, and placed it all on the table in front of Regan. “I feel like making breakfast this morning.”

She opened the refrigerator and peered inside. “Are you up for eggs? I bought some the other day at the Amish farm about a mile down the road.”

“I could always eat,” Regan replied.

“Scrambled all right?”

“Perfect.”

Lorna set about preparing the eggs while Regan poured two cups of coffee.

“So,” Lorna said as she added butter to the frying pan, “what’s the story with T.J.? Why’d he quit the FBI, do you know?”

“It has something to do with a case he worked on in Georgia, that’s all I know. All Mitch would tell me was that T.J. and his cousin, who was also an agent, both quit at the same time and started up their own business. He said they were really successful, apparently got a lot of work out of the DC area. Politicos and socialites. I guess they had a lot of contacts from being in the FBI. Anyway, the cousin got married last year and moved to some small beach town in Maryland with his wife. They sold off the business and now T.J.’s trying to decide what to do with the rest of his life. The only other thing I know is that the Bureau wants him back-bad. He was apparently very good at what he did.”

“Well, that’s more than I expected you to know.” Lorna smiled as she whipped the eggs in the bowl, then slid them into the pan on the stove.

“I ask a lot of questions.”

“Do you want toast?” Lorna walked to the bread box, passing the dining room door as she did so. She glanced at the computer on the table, and noticed the large reminder message on the screen. She went closer to take a look, then grimaced. “Damn. Damn. ”

“What’s wrong?” Regan appeared in the doorway.

“I forgot I had a meeting today. Damn it. ” She closed the reminder screen and quickly opened a file, then turned on the printer. “I can’t believe I forgot about this meeting. It’s with one of my oldest clients.”

“Where’s the meeting?”

“At my client’s office, back in Woodboro.” Lorna bent over the computer, selected several pages, and hit Print.

“Can you make it?”

“Yeah, if I leave within the next ten minutes.” She grabbed the coffee off the counter. “I’ll have to stop at my town house and change, all my business clothes are there. God, I completely forgot what day it was.”

“Well, you’ve had plenty to think about, these past few days,” Regan reminded her. “You go on and get yourself ready to leave. I’ll finish up the eggs and you can grab a few bites on your way out the door.”

“I’ll have plenty to think about on that long ride back to Woodboro,” Lorna told her as she raced up the steps. “Like how to tell my client he’s operating at a loss.”

She grabbed her handbag, stuffed in the little travel case containing her makeup, and found her shoes. She raced back downstairs, apologizing to Regan as she flew through the kitchen. Regan held a plate out to her and she grabbed it on the fly.