Lisa Gardner - The killing hour

“The EMTs will see you now,” Quincy said.

Kimberly blinked her eyes a few times, and then she got it. “Oh, thank God. My aching… everything.”

“Wait a minute,” Tightass started.

“My daughter has had a very long day. Not only has she been instrumental in finding a lost woman, but as you can tell by looking at her arms and legs, it was at great personal cost to herself.”

Kimberly smiled at Tightass. It was true. She did look like hell. “I walked into a patch of stinging nettles,” she volunteered cheerfully. “And some poison ivy. And about a dozen trees. Not to mention what I did to my ankles. Oh yeah, I need some medical attention.”

“I have more questions,” Tightass said tersely.

“When she’s done being treated, I’m sure my daughter would be delighted to cooperate.”

“She’s not cooperating now!”

“Kimberly,” her father said in a chastising tone.

She shrugged. “I’m tired, I’m hot, and I’m in pain. How am I supposed to think clearly when I’ve been denied water and proper medical attention?”

“Of course.” Quincy was already crossing the room and helping her out of the metal folding chair. “Really, Agent, I know my daughter is a very strong young lady, but even you should know better than to question someone without first getting them proper treatment. I’m taking her straight to the EMTs. You can ask your questions again after that.”

“I don’t know-”

Quincy already had his right arm wrapped around Kimberly’s waist, and his left hand holding her arm around his shoulder, as if she was in desperate need of support. “Come to the medic station in thirty minutes. I’m sure she’ll be ready for you then.”

Then Quincy and Kimberly were out the door, Quincy half bearing her weight and Kimberly managing a truly impressive limp.

In case Tightass was watching, Quincy took her straight to the first-aid station. And as long as she was there, Kimberly had some water, grabbed four orange slices, and then saw an EMT-for approximately thirty seconds. He gave her salve for her legs and arms, then she and Quincy were striding rapidly away from the station and into a remote section of the parking lot.

Rainie was waiting. So was Mac. They each had a vehicle.

“Get in the car,” Quincy said. “We talk again on the road.”

Shenandoah National Park, Virginia

3:16 A . M .

Temperature: 88 degrees

MAC FOLLOWED QUINCY’S TAILLIGHTS, leading them away from the buzzing chaos of Big Meadows, and into the inky black of a winding road lit only by the moon and stars.

Kimberly didn’t speak right away. Neither did Mac. She was tired again, but in a different sort of way now. This was the physical fatigue that came after a long, arduous journey and little sleep. She liked this kind of tired better. It was familiar to her. Almost comforting. She had always pushed her body hard and it had always recovered quickly. Her battered emotions, in contrast…

Mac reached over and took her hand. After another moment, she squeezed his fingers with her own.

“I could sure use some coffee,” he said. “About four gallons.”

“I could use a vacation. About four decades.”

“How about a nice cool shower?”

“How about air-conditioning?”

“Fresh clothes.”

“A soft bed.”

“A giant platter of buttermilk biscuits smothered in gravy.”

“A pitcher of ice water, topped with sliced lemon.”

She sighed. He followed suit.

“We’re not going to bed anytime soon, are we?” she asked quietly.

“Doesn’t look it.”

“What happened?”

“Not sure. Your father showed up, said an official FBI case team had arrived and that we were no longer invited to the party. Damn those Feds.”

“They pulled Dad and Rainie off the case?” Kimberly was incredulous.

“Not yet. The fact that they both turned off their cell phones and made a quick getaway probably helped. But it looks like the Feds are trying to reinvent the wheel again, and even your father knows better. We worked with Kathy Levine to identify which items might be clues on the victim’s body, then we took half the evidence. And now, just for the record, I believe we’re officially AWOL. Did you really want to be an FBI agent, Kimberly? ’Cause after this…”

“Fuck the FBI. Now tell me the plan.”

“We work with your father and Rainie. We see if we can’t find the remaining two girls. Then we track down the son of a bitch who did this, and nail him to the wall.”

“That’s the nicest thing I’ve heard all night.”

“Well,” he said modestly. “I do try.”

Shortly, Quincy’s car turned in at one of the scenic vistas, and Mac followed suit. Given the hour, no other cars were around, and they were far enough off Skyline Drive to be invisible from the road. They all got out of the two vehicles and congregated around the hood of Mac’s rental car.

The night still felt hot and heavy. Crickets buzzed and frogs croaked, but even those sounds were curiously subdued, as if everything were hushed and waiting. There should be heat lightning and thunder. There should be an impressive July thunderstorm, bringing cleansing rain and cooler temperatures. Instead, the heat wave pressed down on them, blanketing the world in stifling humidity and silencing half the creatures of the night.

Quincy had taken off his jacket, loosened his tie and rolled up his sleeves. “So we have three possible clues,” he said by way of starting things off. “A vial of liquid, rice, and some kind of dust from the victim’s hair. Any ideas?”

“Rice?” Kimberly asked sharply.

“Uncooked, white, long grain,” Mac informed her. “At least that was Levine’s best guess.”

Kimberly shook her head. “That doesn’t even make sense.”

“He likes to make it harder,” Mac said quietly. “Welcome to the rules of the game.”

“How far away do you think the other two victims are?” Rainie spoke up. “If he’s taken multiple victims, maybe the first victim speaks for all three. He’s only one man after all, working with a limited amount of time to set this up.”

Mac shrugged. “I can’t be sure of this new format, of course. In Georgia, he definitely moved around a lot. We started at a state park famous for its granite gorge, then moved to cotton fields, then the banks of the Savannah River, and finally to the salt marshes on the coast. Four clearly diverse regions of the state. Here, however, you’re right-he has some practical issues involved in placing bodies all over the state, particularly in twenty-four hours or less.”

“The logistics of hauling multiple bodies are complicated,” Quincy commented.

“Vehicle of choice is probably a cargo van. Gives him a place to stash kidnapped women, inject poison in their veins, and then haul them around. In this case, he’d also need plenty of room, given four victims.”

“How did he manage to snatch four women at once?” Kimberly murmured. “You’d think at least one of them would put up a fight?”

“I doubt they had a chance. His favorite method of ambush is using a dart gun. He closes in on the car, darts the women with fast-acting ketamine, and they’re drifting off to la-la land before anyone can protest. If another car drives by, he can pose as the designated driver with four passed-out passengers. Then, once the coast is clear, he loads the women into his van, ramps up the ketamine to keep them unconscious for as long as he needs, and he sets off for stage two of his master plan. He’s not a flashy killer, but he certainly gets the job done.”

They all nodded morosely. Yes, the man certainly got the job done.

“Rainie said you got a call again,” Quincy said to Mac.