Lisa Gardner - The killing hour

“Yes.”

Mac spread his hands. “Nora Ray, I don’t see how that helps us.”

“I don’t either,” she admitted, her tone suddenly sodden and on the edge of tears. “But it’s something, isn’t it? I have a connection. Some kind of… I don’t know what! But I’m seeing these girls. I know they died! I know they’re hurt and confused and angry as hell at this man for what he did to them. Maybe I can use that. Maybe I can ask them more questions, get information on the killer, find out where he lives. I don’t know. But it’s something! I know it’s something!”

Her voice broke off raggedly. Her hands were now compulsively mashing muffin bits into the tabletop. She squished the soft dough harder and harder with her thumbs. It appeared to be her last link to sanity.

Kimberly looked at Mac. He seemed sorry to have agreed to this meeting. She couldn’t blame him.

“I appreciate you coming out and telling me this,” he said at last, his tone grave.

“You’re not sending me home.”

“Nora Ray-”

“No. I can help! I don’t know how yet. But I can help. If you’re still looking, then I’m staying.”

“Nora Ray, you’re a civilian. Now, I’m in the middle of a formal police investigation. It’s demanding and time-consuming and while I’m sure you mean well, your presence in fact will only slow me down, and-if you’ll pardon my French-fuck things up. So go home. I’ll call you when we’ve learned something.”

“He’s going to strike again. That last summer, he struck twice. He’ll do the same now.”

“Nora Ray, honey…” Mac spread his hands. He seemed to be searching for some way to get through to the girl, to make her understand the futility of her efforts. “The killer’s already struck twice in a manner of speaking. This time, instead of taking two girls, he ambushed four. Now two are dead, two are missing, and so help me God, I can’t keep sitting here and having this conversation. We are in the middle of serious business. Go home, Nora Ray. I’ll be in touch.”

Mac rose from the table. Kimberly took that as her cue to join him. But once again, Nora Ray did not conform to type. She also got up from the table, and this time her brown eyes held a bright, feverish light.

“That’s it, then,” the young girl breathed. “We’re going to find the missing girls. That’s why I’m seeing the first two in my dreams. I was meant to come. I was meant to help.”

“Nora Ray-”

The girl cut him off with a firm shake of her head. “No. I’m twenty-one, I’m an adult. I’ve made my choice. I’m going with you, whether I have to follow you in a taxi or latch on to your trunk. You’re in a hurry, so just nod yes and we can all get on with this. Three heads are better than two. You’ll see.”

“Get on that plane or I will call your parents.”

“No. You look me in the eye and tell me that I’m wrong. Go on: Tell me you’re one hundred percent certain I can’t help. Because this man’s been killing a long time, Special Agent McCormack. This man, he’s been killing for years, and you still haven’t stopped him . Given all that, maybe dreams aren’t such a bad place to start.”

Mac visibly faltered. As guilt trips went, the girl was good. And there was a nugget of truth to what she said. More than a few reputable police departments had brought in psychics and seers over the years. Detectives got to a point in a case where everything logical had been done. Timelines had been analyzed and overanalyzed. Evidence traced and retraced. And cops grew frustrated and trails grew cold and next thing they knew, the mad hatter on the other end of the phone saying I’ve had a vision was the best lead they’d gotten all year.

Kimberly found she was suddenly very into the idea of dreams and she’d only been working the case thirty-six hours. She couldn’t imagine how Mac must feel after five brutal years. And now here they were. Two girls dead. Two girls missing. Clock ticking…

“You know the kind of terrain this man picks,” Mac said at last.

Nora Ray hefted the pack by her side, then kicked out one hiking boot. “I came prepared.”

“It’s dangerous.”

She merely smiled. “You don’t have to tell me that.”

“You were lucky three years ago.”

“I know. I’ve practiced since then. Read survival books, studied nature, got in shape. You’d be amazed how much I know now. I might even be helpful to you.”

“This isn’t your battle to fight.”

“It’s my only battle to fight. My sister’s never coming home, Special Agent McCormack. My family has fallen apart. I’ve spent three years shut inside a dead house, waiting for the day I’d magically stop being afraid. Well, you know what? It’s never going to happen on its own. So I might as well be here.”

“It’s not a vendetta. We find him and you try to touch a hair on his head…”

“I’m a twenty-one-year-old girl, traveling with a pack that’s been cleared by airport security. What do you think I’m going to do?”

Mac still looked very uncomfortable. He glanced at Kimberly. She shrugged. “You do attract a certain kind of woman,” she told him.

“I’m changing my cologne,” he said seriously.

“And until then?”

He sighed. Stared down the terminal. “Fine,” he said suddenly, shortly. “What the hell. I’m illegal on this case. Kimberly’s illegal on this case. What’s one more member of unsanctioned personnel? Goddamn strangest investigation I’ve ever led. Know anything about rice?” he asked Nora Ray sharply.

“No.”

“What about pollen?”

“It makes you go ah-choo.”

He shook his head. “Grab your bag. We’ve got a lot more ground to cover and it’s already getting late.”

Nora Ray fell in step beside Kimberly as both of them scrambled to keep up with Mac’s long, angry strides.

“Feel better?” Kimberly asked Nora Ray at last.

“No,” the young girl answered. “Mostly, I feel afraid.”

Quantico, Virginia

10:41 A . M .

Temperature: 92 degrees

QUINCY AND RAINIE DROVE TO QUANTICO IN SILENCE. They did that a lot these days. Ate in silence, traveled in silence, shared a room in silence. Funny how Rainie hadn’t noticed it much in the beginning. Maybe it had seemed like personable silence back then. Two people so comfortable with each other they no longer needed words. Now, it seemed more ominous. If silence was a noise, then this silence was the sharp crack of an iceberg, suddenly tearing apart in the middle of an ancient glacier field.

Rainie pressed her forehead against the warm glass of the passenger side window. She rubbed her temples unconsciously and wished she could get these thoughts out of her head.

Outside, the sun beat down relentlessly. Even with the AC cranked in the tiny rental car, she could feel the heat gathering just beyond the vents. Her bare legs were hot from sunbeams. She could already feel sweat trickle uncomfortably down her back.

“Thinking of Oregon?” Quincy asked abruptly. He was wearing his customary blue suit; jacket draped neatly in the backseat for now, but tie still knotted around his throat. She didn’t know how he did it every morning.

“Not exactly.” She straightened in her seat, stretching out her bare legs. She wore a fresh pair of khaki shorts and a white collared shirt that desperately needed ironing. No suits for her. Not even if they were returning to Quantico. The place wasn’t her hallowed ground and they both knew it.

“You’re thinking of Oregon a lot these days, aren’t you?” Quincy asked again. She looked at him more carefully, surprised by his tenacity. His face was impossible to read. Dark eyes peering straight ahead. His lips set in a tight line. He was going for the neutral, psychologist-on-duty approach, she decided.