Lisa Gardner - The killing hour

“You think he’s watching.”

“As you said, he likes the process. For him, it’s as important as the kill itself. We have a new theory.” Quincy was watching Ennunzio’s face very closely. “The UNSUB most likely uses a cargo van as his kill vehicle. We understand from Special Agent Kaplan that there is an unusually high number of vans coming and going off the base these days-they belong to various contractors doing construction work on the property.”

Ennunzio squeezed his eyes shut. He was already nodding. “That would fit.”

“Kaplan is now examining the list of workers for anyone with a previous address in Georgia. That may give us a name, but I think it’s too late.”

Ennunzio opened his eyes, staring at them both sharply.

“The UNSUB wanted Quantico, the UNSUB got Quantico, and now he doesn’t need it anymore,” Quincy continued. “The action is out in the field, and I think that’s where we’re going to have to go if we’re to have any chance of finding him. So, Doctor, what do you know that you’re not telling us yet?”

The forensic linguist appeared genuinely startled, then wary, then carefully composed. “I don’t know why you say that.”

“You’re taking a lot of interest in this case.”

“It’s what I do.”

“You’ve gone out of your way to focus on the caller, when in fact, you deal with notes.”

“Linguistics is linguistics.”

“We’re accepting all theories,” Quincy tried one last time. “Even the fuzzy, half-baked ones.”

Ennunzio finally hesitated. “I don’t know. There’s just something about this… A feeling I get on occasion. But feelings are not facts, and in my line of work I should know better.”

“Would it make a difference,” Rainie said, “if we told you we had three more clues?”

“What are they?”

“Water. Some kind of residue. And some uncooked rice. We believe we can trace the water and residue. We haven’t a clue about the rice.”

Ennunzio was gazing at them now with a curious smile on his face. “Rice?”

“Uncooked long grain. What about it?”

“You said he favors dangerous terrain, correct? Unpopulated areas where there is little risk of his victims being found by accident? Oh, he is good, very, very good…”

“What the hell do you know, Ennunzio?”

“I know I used to be a caver in my younger days. And now I know your UNSUB was, as well. Quick, we need to make a call!”

Virginia

3:12 P . M .

Temperature: 101 degrees

THE SUN WAS HIGH IN THE SKY. It baked Tina’s little pit, until the mud flaked off her body to reveal tantalizing slices of burnt, festering skin, and the mosquitoes had themselves some lunch. Tina didn’t care anymore. She barely felt the pain.

No more sweat. She didn’t even have to pee and it had easily been over twelve hours. Nope, not even the tiniest drop of water could be squeezed from her body. Dehydration definitely severe now. She worked at her task, covered in goose bumps and shivering again and again from some deep, unnatural chill.

Rocks didn’t work. Too large and bulky for prying away rotting wood. She’d remembered her purse and feverishly dumped out the contents in a jumbled pile on the center of the boulder. A metal nail file. Much better.

Now she gouged out slices of old railroad ties, desperately crafting footholds and handholds while the mosquitoes buzzed her face, the yellow flies bit her shoulders, and the world spun round and round and round.

Nail file dropped. She slithered to the ground. Panting hard. Her hand trembled. It took so much effort just to locate the file in the mud. Oh looky, another snake.

She would like to close her eyes now. She would like to sink back into the comforting stink of the muck. She would feel it slide across her hair, her cheek, her throat. She would part her lips and let it into her mouth.

Fight or die, fight or die, fight or die. It was all up to her, and it was getting so hard to know the difference.

Tina retrieved the nail file. She went back to work on the railroad ties, while the sun burned white-hot overhead.

“Where am I going? Right turn? Okay, now what? Wait, wait, you said right. No, you said left. Damn, give me a sec.” Mac slammed the brakes, threw his rental car in reverse and jolted backward thirty feet on the old dirt road. Sitting beside him, Kimberly was trying desperately to find their location on a Virginia state map. Most of these old logging roads didn’t seem to show up, however, and now he had Ray Lee Chee trying to guide him by cell phone over terrain that was as spotty as the phone connection.

“What? Say that again? Yeah, but I’m only hearing every fourth word. Bats? What’s this about bats?”

“Cavers… rescue team… bats… on cars,” Ray said.

“A batmobile?” Mac said, just as Kimberly yelled, “Look out!” He glanced up in time to see the giant tree fallen smack across the middle of the road.

He hit the brakes. In the backseat, Nora Ray went, “Oooomph.”

“Everyone okay?”

Kimberly looked at Nora Ray, Nora Ray looked at Kimberly. Simultaneously, they both nodded. Mac gave up on the road for a second, and returned his attention to the cell phone.

“Ray, how close are we?”

“… two… three… zzz.”

“Miles?”

“Miles,” Ray confirmed.

All right, forget the damn car, they could walk. “How’s the team coming?” Mac asked. Ray was under strict orders to assemble the best people he could find for a down-and-dirty field team. Brian Knowles, the hydrologist, and Lloyd Armitage, the palynologist, were already on board. Now Ray was trying to round up a forensic geologist and a karst botanist. In theory, by the time Mac, Kimberly, and Nora Ray magically found and rescued victim number three, Ray’s team would have arrived, ready to analyze the next round of clues and pinpoint victim number four. It was late in the game, but they were preparing to make up for lost time.

“Bats… cavers…” Ray said again.

“I can’t hear you.”

“Karst… volunteers… bats…”

“You have volunteer bats?”

“Search-and-rescue!” Ray exploded. “Cavern!”

“A volunteer group for search-and-rescue. Oh, in the cave!” Mac hadn’t even thought that far ahead. Kimberly had searched the various county names combined with rice, and lo and behold, up had come an article on the Orndorff’s Cavern. Apparently, it was home to an endangered isopod, a tiny white crustacean that’s approximately a fourth of an inch long. To make a long story short, some politician had wanted to build an airport in the area, environmentalists had tried to block it using the Endangered Species Act, and the politician had replied that no way in damn hell would progress be halted by a grain of rice. And now the Orndorff’s Cavern isopod had a cool nickname among karst specialists.

So they had a location. If they could find it, and if they could get the girl back out.

“Water… dangerous,” Ray was saying on the other end of the phone. “Entrance difficult… Ropes… coveralls… lights.”

“We need special equipment to access the cave,” Mac translated. “Okay, so when will the search-and-rescue team arrive?”

“Making calls… different locations… Bats… on cars.”

“Their cars will have bats?”

“Stickers!”

“Gotcha.”

Mac popped open his car door and got out to survey the fallen tree. Kimberly was already out and walking its length. She glanced up at his approach and grimly shook her head. He saw her point. The tree trunk was a good three feet in diameter. It would take a four-wheel-drive vehicle, a chain saw, and a winch to move this sucker now. No way was it happening with a guy, two girls, and a Camry.