Iris Johansen - Stalemate

She was only a few steps into the throng when her cell phone rang.

"Are you having a good time?" Montalvo asked.

She stopped short, her hand tightening on the phone. "I was until I answered your call. What do you want?"

"Your Jane is a wonderful artist and a beautiful girl. You must be very proud of her."

"More than you could dream. What do you want?"

"It's been three days since you gave me my deadline. I thought you deserved a report."

"Are you going to tell me that you want more time?"

"I said 'report.' Your little boy is Peter Dandlow. Nine years old. He's not from Macon. His parents lived in Valdosta, Georgia. He was reported missing five years ago. He was a latchkey kid and was supposed to call his mom at work when he got home from school. One day she didn't get the call. She never saw him again."

She was so stunned she couldn't speak for a moment. "How did you find that out?"

"Computer files of all the police-department records in the area. It's not easy to break into them but not impossible for a computer geek. I gave my men enough money to give them incentive to work hard and fast. Some of the cities' records were scanty so I sent a man into the precincts of a few of the towns to check through the back files in their morgues." He paused. "You did a great job on the reconstruction of the boy. You should be quite proud. I've sent a fax to your hotel with the boy's picture and your reconstruction. It should be there by now."

She tried to keep her voice even. "How do I know that any of this is true? You could have doctored the photograph."

He chuckled. "How suspicious you are. I approve. By all means, have Quinn check with the Valdosta police. For my part, I'm sure that Peter Dandlow is your victim. I've moved on to step two."

"And what is that?"

"I told you that I'd try to find the boy's killer. Now, two days isn't much time, but I've made certain strides already. I don't believe the boy was killed by his parents, although I understand it's not uncommon in these cases. His father left the boy's mother before he was born and the extent of the boy's injuries would indicate a certain strength and brutality. I could see the mother hitting the child and killing him but not a continuous pounding that-"

"You actually believe you're going to be able to find his killer? No way."

"I'm not saying I'll catch him. The time's too short. But I'll find out enough to point the way."

"It's a cold case, Montalvo."

"Then I'll warm it up. I'm good at making things happen. But I'm disappointed you gave me such a short time. I like to finish what I start. Wouldn't you like me to drag the boy's killer to lie at your feet?"

"No."

He said softly, "What about your Bonnie's killer?"

She went rigid.

"I'll call you in two days, Eve." He hung up.

Her heart was beating hard. She couldn't breathe. She had to get out of here. The crowd around her seemed to be pressing closer and closer…

She made it to the side exit and ran into the alley. The air was cool and crisp. She took a deep breath and then another.

What about your Bonnie's killer?

Damn him. Liar. Liar.

But he'd found out who Marty was in three days.

That didn't mean he could find Bonnie or Bonnie's killer. It didn't mean he was even telling the truth about Marty.

"I saw you run out. What's wrong?"

She turned to see Joe standing behind her in the doorway. "I needed some air." She moistened her lips. "I got a call from Montalvo. He says that Marty is a missing boy from Valdosta. Peter Dandlow. He's sent a fax with the boy's photo to our hotel."

"He's a crook. It could be doctored."

"That's what I said. He said you could check with the Valdosta police."

"You're damn right I will."

She said slowly, "I don't think it's a fake."

"Why not? That head he left on the porch was a fake."

"That's different. He knew I'd find out almost immediately about that. He had a purpose."

"He has a purpose now."

Yes, he did, but not the one Joe thought. "You should have heard his voice. He was… exhilarated. He likes the idea of doing something this difficult. I can see him sitting there, thinking, pushing, demanding, putting the pieces together."

"Then stop thinking about him," Joe said roughly. "You're talking about Montalvo as if you know him. He's trying to con you."

She was beginning to feel as if she did know him. There was no question that he knew which of her buttons to push. Bonnie. Always Bonnie.

She tried to smile. "It's never a bad thing to know the enemy." She moved toward the door. "We'd better go back inside. Jane might be concerned."

"She was surrounded by a crowd of adoring fans when I came out here. What are you going to do? Run back to the hotel to get the fax?"

"No, this is Jane's night. I'm not even going to look at the fax until we get home from dinner tonight."

"Hallelujah." He took her arm. "And tomorrow I'll check with Valdosta. I hope the bastard is lying through his teeth."

"I don't. If it's true, it means Marty will be brought home to his mother."

"And that makes Montalvo a hero?"

"No, it means that what I worked for will come to pass. I don't care how it happens, just so it happens."

He was silent a moment as he opened the door for her. "Sorry. I'll be glad if you're able to bring your Marty home. I just wish it had happened some other way."

"I do too." She didn't want to think Montalvo was some kind of wonder worker.

She didn't want to feel this dark stirring of hope.

She picked up the fax at the front desk when she and Joe arrived back at the hotel before midnight. She waited until they had reached their suite to look at it.

The photo of Peter Dandlow looked amazingly like the reconstruction she had done. The two photos side by side on the fax were very similar. There were differences, of course. There were always differences when you weren't copying but relying on tissue depth and instinct. But she had done a good job, she realized thankfully.

She handed the fax to Joe. "Close."

"Very close. May I have it?"

"Of course." She went to the bathroom and closed the door as pain poured through her. That smiling, sweet boy, full of life and joy. It was always the same. Satisfaction at a job well done and then the poignant regret.

"Eve."

"I'll only be a minute."

"Let me in." He opened the door. "For God's sake, don't close me out." He pulled her into his arms. "I know what you're feeling. I've always helped you through it. What's different now?"

"Nothing." He had a right to be bewildered. She had acted instinctively when she had run away from him. There was no rhyme or reason why she would do that. "I guess I didn't think."

"That's what worries me." He pulled her closer. "We disagree about what you did. That doesn't mean I won't be here for you."

"I know." She buried her face in his shoulder. Dear heaven, she loved him. Why did she feel this desperate sense of loss and regret lately when she was with him? "I know, Joe…"

They were close to the dirty bastard.

Montalvo plunged into the water and waded downstream. He could hear the dogs up ahead yelping as they caught the scent.

Soldono caught up with him. "I'm not going any farther. I don't hunt men like prey."

"Yes, you do." Montalvo's hand tightened on his rifle. "You do anything you have to do, what your orders tell you to do. This kind of hunt isn't usually necessary for you." His lips thinned. "It's very necessary in my world."

"But you're enjoying it."

"Am I?" He plunged ahead. "Think what you like. Just follow me and keep your mouth shut or I'll leave you in this jungle to rot."

He could see Miguel up ahead with the dogs. "Across the clearing," Miguel shouted. "Shall I turn the dogs loose on him?"