Jeffery Deaver - Roadside Crosses

Overby was saying, "Hamilton, what she means is-"

"I think he's pretty clear on what I mean, Charles."

Her phone then beeped with a text message from Michael O'Neil.

"I've got to take this." She disconnected the call, cutting off both her boss and Royce.

She lifted her phone and read the stark words on the screen.

K- Travis spotted in New Monterey. Police lost him. But have report of another victim. He's dead. In Carmel, near end of Cypress Hills Road, west. I'm en route. Meet you there? -M

She texted, Yes. And ran for the car.

FLICKING ON THE flashing lights, which she tended to forget the car even had-investigators like her rarely had to play Hot Pursuit-Dance sped into the afternoon gloom.

Another victim…

This attack would have happened not long after they'd foiled the attempt on Donald Hawken and his wife. She'd been right. The boy, probably frustrated that he hadn't been successful, had gone on immediately to find another victim.

She found the turnoff, braked hard and eased the long car down the winding country road. The vegetation was lush but the overcast leached the color from the plants and gave Dance the impression that she was in some otherworldly place.

Like Aetheria, the land in DimensionQuest.

She pictured the image of Stryker in front of her, holding his sword comfortably. like really w4nt to learn, what can u t33ch me?

2 die…

Pictured too the boy's crude drawing of the blade piercing her chest.

Then a flash caught her eyes: white lights and colored ones.

She drove up and parked beside the other cars-Monterey County Sheriff's Office-and a Crime Scene van. Dance climbed out, headed into the chaos. "Hey." She nodded to Michael O'Neil, greatly relieved to see him, even if this was only a temporary respite from the Other Case.

"You check out the scene?" she asked.

"Just got here myself," he explained.

They walked toward where the body lay, covered with a dark green tarp. Yellow police tape starkly marked the spot.

"Somebody spotted him?" she asked an MCSO deputy.

"That's right, Agent Dance. Nine-one-one call in New Monterey. But by the time our people got there he was gone. So was the good citizen."

"Who's the vic?" O'Neil asked.

He replied, "I don't know yet. It was pretty bad, apparently. Travis used the knife this time. Not the gun. And looks like he took his time."

The deputy pointed into a grass-filled area about fifty feet away from the road.

She and O'Neil walked over the sandy ground. In a minute or two they arrived at the taped-off area, where a half dozen uniformed and plainclothes officers were standing, and a Crime Scene officer crouched beside the corpse covered by a green tarp.

They nodded a greeting to an MCSO deputy, a round Latino man Dance had worked with for years.

"What's the word on the vic's ID?" she asked.

"A deputy's got his wallet." The deputy indicated the body. "They're checking it out now. All we know so far is male, forties."

Dance looked around. "Wasn't killed here, I assume?" There were no residences or other buildings nearby. Nor would the victim have been hiking or jogging here-there were no trails.

"Right." The officer continued, "There wasn't much blood. Looks like the perp drove the body here and dumped it. Found some tire tracks in the sand. We're guessing Travis boosted the guy's own car, threw him in the trunk. Like that first girl. Tammy. Only this time, he didn't wait for the tide. Stabbed him to death. As soon as we've got the deceased's ID, we can put out a call on the wheels."

"You're sure Travis did it?" Dance asked.

The deputy offered, "You'll see."

"And he was tortured?"

"Looks that way."

They paused at the Crime Scene tape about ten feet from the corpse. The CS officer, in a jumpsuit like a spaceman, was taking measurements. He glanced up and saw the two officers. He nodded a greeting and through his protective goggles lifted an eyebrow. "You want to see?" he called.

"Yes," Dance replied, wondering if he asked thinking a woman might not be comfortable seeing the carnage. Yes, in this day and age, it still happened.

Though, in fact, she was steeling herself for the sight. The nature of her work involved the living, mostly. She'd never grown fully immune to the images of death.

He began to lift the cover when a voice called from behind her, "Agent Dance?"

She glanced back to see another officer in uniform walking up to her. He was holding something in his hand.

"Yes?"

"Do you know a Jonathan Boling?"

"Jon? Yes." She was staring at a business card in his hand. And recalled that somebody had taken the victim's wallet to verify ID.

A horrifying thought: Was the victim Jon?

Her mind did one of its leaps- A to B to X. Had the professor learned something from Travis's computer or in his search for victims and, with Dance away, decided to investigate by himself?

Please, no!

She glanced briefly at O'Neil, horror in her eyes, and lunged for the body.

"Hey!" the CS tech shouted. "You'll contaminate the scene!"

She ignored him and flung back the tarp.

And gasped.

With mixed relief and horror, she stared down.

It wasn't Boling.

The lean bearded man in slacks and a white shirt had been repeatedly stabbed. One glazed eye was half open. A cross was carved into his forehead. Rose petals, red ones, were scattered over his body.

"But where did that come from?" she asked the other deputy, nodding at Boling's business card, her voice shaking.

"I was trying to tell you-he's at the road block, over there. Just drove up. He wants to see you. It's urgent."

"I'll talk to him in a minute." Dance inhaled deeply, shaken.

Another deputy came up with the dead man's wallet in a plastic bag. "Got the ID. His name's Mark Watson. He's a retired engineer. Went out to the store a few hours ago. Never got home."

"Who is he?" O'Neil asked. "Why was he picked?"

Dance dug into her jacket pocket and retrieved the list of everyone mentioned in the blog who might be a potential target.

"He posted in the blog-a reply to the 'Power to the People' thread. About the nuclear plant. It doesn't agree or disagree with Chilton about the location of the plant. It's neutral."

"So anybody connected to the blog at all could be at risk now."

"I'd think so."

O'Neil looked her over. He touched her arm. "You okay?"

"Just…kind of a scare."

She found herself thumbing Jon Boling's card. She told O'Neil she was going to see what he wanted and began down the path, her heart only now returning to a normal beat from the fright.

At the roadside she found the professor standing beside his car, the door open. She frowned. In the passenger seat was a teenager with spiky hair. He was wearing an Aerosmith T-shirt under a dark brown jacket.

Boling waved to her. She was struck by the look of urgency on his face, unusual for him.

And by the intensity of the relief she felt that he was all right.

Which gave way to curiosity when she saw what was stuck in the waistband of his slacks; she couldn't tell for certain but it seemed to be the hilt of a large knife.

Dance, Boling and the teenager were in her office at the CBI. Jason Kepler was a seventeen-year-old student in Carmel South High, and he, not Travis, was Stryker.

Travis had created the avatar years ago, but he'd sold it online to Jason, along with "like, a shitload of Reputation, Life Points and Resources."

Whatever those were.

Dance recalled that Boling had told her that players could sell their avatars and other accoutrements of the game.

The professor explained about his finding a reference in Travis's data to the Lighthouse Arcade's hours of operation.