Lisa Gardner - The killing hour

1:12 P . M .

Temperature: 98 degrees

DR. ENNUNZIO WAS NOT IN HIS OFFICE. A secretary promised to hunt him down, while Quincy and Rainie took a seat in the conference room. Quincy rifled through his files. Rainie stared at the wall. Periodically, sounds came from the hallway as various agents and admin assistants rushed by doing a day’s work.

“It’s not that simple,” Quincy said abruptly.

Rainie finally looked at him. As always, she didn’t need a segue to follow his line of thought. “I know.”

“We’re not exactly spring chickens. You’re nearly forty, I’m pushing fifty-five. Even if we wanted to have kids, it doesn’t mean it would happen.”

“I’ve been thinking of adopting. There are a lot of children out there who need a family. In this country, in other countries. Maybe I could give a child a good home.”

“It’s a lot of work. Midnight feedings if you adopt an infant. Bonding issues if you adopt an older child. Children need the sun, the moon, and the stars at night. No more jetting around the world at the drop of a hat. No more dining at fine restaurants. You’d definitely have to cut back on work.”

She was silent for a moment. Then she said, “Don’t get me wrong, Quincy. I like the work that we do. But lately… it’s not enough for me. We go from dead body to dead body, crime scene to crime scene. Catch a psychopath today, hunt a new one tomorrow. It’s been six years, Quince…” She looked down at the table. “If I do this, I’ll quit the practice. I’ve waited too long to have a child not to do it right.”

“But you’re my partner,” he protested without thinking.

“Consultants can be hired. Parents can’t.”

He turned away, then tiredly shook his head. He didn’t know what to say. Perhaps it was only natural that someday she would want children. Rainie was younger than him, hadn’t already weathered the domestic storm that had been his pathetic attempt at domestic bliss. Maternal instincts were natural, particularly for a woman her age who was bound to be hearing the steady beat of her own biological clock.

And for a moment, an image came to him. Rainie with a small bundle wrapped in her arms, cooing in that high-pitched voice everyone used with babies. Him, watching little feet and hands kick in the air. Catching that first giggle, seeing the first smile.

But the other images inevitably followed. Coming home late from work and realizing your child was already in bed-again. The urgent phone calls that pulled you away from piano recitals and school plays. The way a five-year-old could break your heart by saying, “It’s okay, Daddy. I know you’ll be there next time.”

The way children grew too fast. The way they could die too young. The way parenthood started with so much promise, but one day tasted like ashes in your mouth.

And then he felt a hot, unexpected surge of anger toward Rainie. When he’d first met her, she’d said she never wanted marriage or kids. Her own childhood had been a dark, twisted tale, and she knew better than most to believe she could magically break the cycle. God knows, he’d asked her to marry him twice over the past six years, and each time she’d turned him down. “If it’s not broke, don’t fix it,” she’d told him. And each time, though it had hurt a little, stung more than he’d expected, he’d taken her at her word.

But now she was changing the rules. Not enough to marry him, heaven forbid, but enough to want kids.

“I’ve already served my time,” he said harshly.

“I know, Quincy.” Her own voice was quiet, harder on him than if she had yelled. “I know you raised two girls and dealt with midnight feedings and adolescent angst and so much more. I know you’re at the phase of your life where you’re supposed to be looking forward to retirement, not your kid’s first day of kindergarten. I thought I would be there, too. I honestly thought this would never be an issue. But then… Lately…” She gave a little shrug. “What can I say? Sometimes, even the best of us change our minds.”

“I love you,” he tried one last time.

“I love you, too,” Rainie replied, and he thought she’d never looked so sad.

When Dr. Ennunzio finally strode into the room, the silence was definitely awkward and strained. He didn’t seem to notice, however. He came to an abrupt halt, a stack of manila files bulging under his arm. “Up,” he told them curtly. “Out. We’re taking a walk.”

Quincy was already climbing out of his chair. Confused, Rainie was slower to follow suit.

“You got a call,” Quincy said to Ennunzio.

The agent shook his head warningly and looked up at the ceiling. Quincy got the message. Years ago, a BSU agent had spied on his fellow members of the FBI. Elaborate surveillance systems and audio devices were found snaking through the vast crawl space above the dropped ceiling. Better yet, when the FBI began to suspect espionage activity, they had responded by inserting their own surveillance devices and wiretaps to catch the man. In short, for a span of time-who knows how long-all the BSU agents were being watched by both the good guys and the bad. Nobody forgot those days easily.

Quincy and Rainie followed Ennunzio to the stairwell, where he swiped his security badge over the scanner, then led them up to the great outdoors.

“What the hell is going on?” the linguist asked the minute they were across the street from the building. Now their conversation was muffled by the steady sounds of gunfire.

“I’m not sure.” Quincy held up his dead cell phone. “I’ve been a little out of touch.”

Ennunzio shook his head. He looked decidedly frayed around the edges and not happy with how things had turned out. “I thought you guys were doing good. I thought by talking to you, I was assisting a major investigation. Not killing my own career.”

“We are doing good. And I have every intention of catching this man.”

“Things are heating up,” Rainie told him. “We found another victim late last night. Everything matches the Eco-Killer’s MO. Except this time he kidnapped four girls at once. Which means two more are out there, and if we’re going to break this thing, we need to move fast.”

“Damn,” Ennunzio said tiredly. “After meeting with you guys, I was hoping… Well, what do you need from me?”

“Any luck with the newspaper ad?” Quincy asked.

“I sent the paper out to the lab, so I don’t have results yet. Given that the ad was delivered already typeset inside an envelope with a computer-generated label, there’s no handwriting to analyze. Perhaps we’ll get lucky with paper choice and ink. As for the text, I don’t have anything new to say. Author is most likely male and of above-average intelligence. I repeat the theory that we might be dealing with someone who is somehow mentally incapacitated. Maybe suffering from paranoia or otherwise impaired. Ritual is obviously extremely important to him. The process of killing is as satisfying as the killing itself. You know the rest of that as well as I do.” Ennunzio looked at Quincy. “He’ll never stop unless someone makes him.”

Quincy nodded his head. The news discouraged him more than it should and abruptly he was tired of everything. Worrying about Kimberly. Worrying about Rainie. And wondering what it meant when talk of babies scared him more than talk of psychopaths.

“Special Agent McCormack received another call,” Quincy said. “He was going to write down the conversation, but with everything that’s happened, I don’t think he’s had the time.”

“When was he contacted?”

“Late last night. When he was at the crime scene.”

Ennunzio immediately looked troubled. “I don’t like that.”

“The UNSUB has a keen knack for timing.”