Karen Rose - Have You Seen Her?

There, amid photos of farmers, white-collar professionals, babies and senior citizens, students, parents and teachers, was the one picture he was looking for. The only face that mattered.

William Parker. Smiling. It was the smile Neil had last seen from the window of a black Mercedes sedan on a cold drizzling day in Seattle. It was the smile he'd seen every day from across the courtroom where Parker sat at the defendant's table, tie knotted impeccably, hair neatly combed, eyes defiant. It was the smug, self-satisfied smile that had made Neil want to rip his face in two.

That still made Neil want to rip his face in two.

Gathering his wits, Neil walked back to the computer and brought up a search engine, typed in a few words and got the result he was looking for the first time out. It was amazing how simple a search was when you knew who you were looking for.

Then he cleaned up his area, thanked Miss Wells for her help, and left the Pineville Public Library, his gut churning in the absolute certainty that he had found William Parker and in the absolute belief beyond a shadow of a doubt that Parker was actively murdering once again.

The problem was, he had not a single shred of proof.

So go get some.

Monday, October 3, 5:15 P.M.

Steven pulled his Volvo into the very last parking place. Well, technically it wasn't a parking place, he thought, taking a fleeting backward glance as he jogged toward the soccer fields. It was a grassy area next to the Porta-John next to a sign that said NO PARKING. Technically he was in violation of the law. He was fifteen minutes late for his son's soccer game. The first one in which Matt started. First string.

Technically he'd royally screwed up.

"Don't miss it, Dad, okay?" Matt had asked quietly this morning over breakfast.

"Not for the world," he'd answered. Matt looked unconvinced, making Steven promise himself he wouldn't be late.

Well, damn. He was late. But he was here. He stopped at the sidelines where a group of parents stood cheering. "What's the score?" he asked one of the parents.

"Thatcher!" The man gave him a broad grin and a slap on the back. "Haven't seen you around in ages. Our boys are up one to nothing."

Oh, God, please don't let it have been Matt who scored. Please don't let me have missed that . Steven forced a smile. "Who scored the goal?"

The man drew up like a peacock. "Mine did." Steven breathed a sigh of relief. "But yours assisted," he added and Steven felt his heart sink.

He'd missed Mart's first assist. One game was all Matt had asked and he'd already missed the most important play.

Steven could see compassion flicker across the other dad's face. "I got it on video," he said kindly. "I can rewind it to show you at halftime."

"Thanks," Steven said, feeling his stomach pitch, knowing Matt must have looked for him, knowing his middle son must have been disappointed that his father hadn't been there to cheer.

He'd been late tonight for a very good reason. Kent had called with the results of the ketamine analysis of Lorraine Rush's body. Positive. So now they knew what they'd suspected. The same person was responsible for the abduction of both girls.

They had a serial killer on their hands.

And he'd missed his middle son's big play. L ife sucked.

Have courage, Steven.

Steven easily found Matt among the running boys, his bright red head standing out like a torch. He waited until Matt looked his way and gave a tentative wave, afraid of the look of scorn Matt would probably give back. But his son surprised him. Matt's face broke into a huge grin and he waved back and pointed to the goal.

"I assisted," he shouted.

Steven felt his face break into a relieved grin. "I know," he shouted back. And then the ref blew the whistle resuming play and Matt turned back into the fray. Without taking his eyes from the dancing torch in knee pads, Steven reached in his pocket and turned off his phone. It was the first time the phone had been turned off since he'd bought the damn thing. It's about time , he thought.

He'd watched a full ten minutes of play before he heard the voice behind him. "Excuse me."

Steven looked over his shoulder to find a tall dark man in a denim jacket standing behind him. The man needed a shave and a new pair of shoelaces on his beat-up Nikes.

"I'm kind of occupied here," Steven said kindly. "Trying to watch the game, you know."

"It won't take long," the stranger said. "I want to talk to you about Lorraine Rush and Samantha Eggleston."

Steven huffed out a frustrated sigh. "No comment."

"But-"

Steven turned, keeping one eye on the field. "Look, you can call SBI headquarters and get a statement from the PR guys, but it won't be any different than what I've been telling you press guys all along. No comment . We have highly trained resources on this case. We'll let you know when we have something. Until then, no comment." A huge cheer went up and he turned his attention back to the field just in time to see Matt kick the ball into the goal.

"Yes!" Steven screamed at the top of his lungs, jumping a foot in the air and easily drowning out video-dad. And when Matt looked over this time, Steven gave his grinning son the thumbs-up. "Look, buddy," he said to the stranger behind him, "I have to get back to the game."

But when he glanced back over his shoulder, the stranger was gone. His eyes narrowing, Steven spied a teal Dodge Neon exiting the fields, now a hundred yards away. His hackles raised, Steven gave his attention back to the team who was high-fiving his son.

He pushed the feeling of trepidation to the side and moved closer to the field boundary line.

"Great goal, Matt!" he shouted.

Matt looked over, his face flushed with exertion and excitement. And his smile said it all.

Monday, October 3, 5:30 P.M.

"It's not like you've got a serial killer running around or anything," Neil muttered under his breath as he drove away, unimpressed with his first impression of Special Agent Steven Thatcher.

The leader of the investigation. The guy who didn't have anything better to do than watch a group of kids play soccer. Wonderful. These girls didn't have a fucking chance.

It would have to be up to him.

Grinding his teeth, Neil drove to the address he'd etched in his brain. He pulled his rental car two houses down and… spied. It was a nice house, he thought. Almost as nice as the house they'd owned in Seattle. He wondered if they still had the grand piano and the vases worth a year's salary. He wondered if they still had all the paintings and antiques.

He wondered if they were able to sleep at night. Knowing what they'd done.

He hoped not, because he sure as hell couldn't. He wondered if he'd see William Parker coming and going. He wondered what he'd say, what he'd do when he saw the man whose smug smile had haunted him for three years.

He knew what he wouldn't do. He wouldn't do anything stupid. And he sure as hell wouldn't do anything to allow some fucking defense attorney to have any evidence he gathered thrown out of court on a technicality.

This time he'd do it by the book. This time he'd do it right.

Tuesday, October 4, 8:03 A.M.

"Good morning," Steven said, quelling the muttered conversation around the table. Everyone was edgy this morning. Harry and Sandra were squabbling, Kent looked like he could use a fresh suit, Meg stood looking out the window, and Nancy was fussing over everyone, something she did a lot more when she was stressed. Nancy was like Helen without the matchmaking, he thought and looked up with gratitude as she refilled his coffee cup. "Thanks."

Nancy gave him her motherly smile and moved on to fill the next empty cup.