Lisa Gardner - Hide

"Dori didn't disappear from her house. She vanished when she was visiting her grandparents out in Lawrence. Different jurisdiction, different circumstances. Looks like the Lawrence department asked for a copy of the police report for the unknown subject in Geraldine Watts's house, but nothing came of it. Remember-no prints, no detailed physical description in the file. I think Lawrence gave the Granger incidents a cursory glance, and then, realizing there wasn't anything solid there to sink their teeth into, focused their attention on their own case."

D.D. sat back. "Shit. You're thinking Annabelle was the real target, Dori the consolation prize."

"Something like that."

"Where does that leave us?"

"Twenty-five years wiser. Look." Bobby leaned back, tucked his hands behind his head. "I don't want to criticize Stan-n-Dan. I went through their report, and they gave Mr. Granger more time than a lot of officers would. I think what hurt them, however, was that they weren't hunters. They went up in that attic, they saw a nest. Once it got that term, everyone else saw a nest as well, and that, coupled with the description of the guy as 'disheveled,' led all the investigators down a certain path. It's one of the reasons this case didn't seem to connect strongly to Dori Petracelli. According to reports, Dori's abductor was driving a white van. But no one thought of the Peeping Tom on Annabelle's street as owning a vehicle, as having those kinds of resources."

"They were chasing a homeless man, someone mentally ill."

"Exactly. But when I look at the scene in the attic, I don't see a vagrant seeking shelter. From a sniper's perspective, this was a hunting blind. Think of the vantage point-three stories up and directly across the street from the target. Guy's got cover over his head, a sleeping bag for comfort, snacks in case he gets a little hungry, and a bucket for bodily functions. It's perfect. Hunting is about waiting. This guy had come up with the perfect setup to wait a very long time."

"Premeditated," D.D. said softly.

"Calculated," Bobby clarified. "Clever. This guy, the Peeping Tom, he'd done it before."

"Maybe five other times?"

"Yeah." Bobby nodded quietly "Maybe. My two cents-Annabelle Granger was targeted by a sophisticated pedophile who had probably already abducted at least one other girl by this time. And if Annabelle's father hadn't proved to be such a paranoid little shit, it would be her body down there in that pit, not Dori Petracelli's. Annabelle Granger got away. Dori wasn't so lucky"

D.D. rubbed her face. "We're sure this is 1982? There is absolutely, positively no chance that every single investigator involved got the date wrong?"

"It was 1982."

"And you're sure-absolutely positively sure-that Richard Umbrio was already incarcerated in Walpole at this time?"

"Yep. Got that date on several reports as well. The Peeping Tom wasn't Umbrio, D.D. It's not even a matter of comparing dates. Look at MO. Umbrio was an opportunistic predator, snatch and grab, Hey little girl, have you seen my lost dog? This is far more elaborate, almost ritualized. We're talking a totally different breed of whacko."

"But the use of an underground pit!" D.D. exploded. "The close physical match between Annabelle Granger and Catherine Gagnon. You can't tell me it's completely coincidence."

"There are other options. Copycat, for one. By August '82, Umbrio's trial's long finished, the details of the abduction made public. Maybe someone found it 'inspirational.'"

"But victims' pictures, particularly children, aren't made public," D.D. countered. "So, again, how to explain the physical resemblance between Annabelle and Catherine?"

"Pictures aren't made public during the trial phase, but Catherine's description would've been broadcast when she was declared missing. And that search went on for four weeks."

"Huh." D.D. chewed on her lower lip, considered that information.

Bobby unlaced his fingers. "Umbrio wasn't a talker. He never volunteered information to the police on what he did, not even after being found. So you have to consider maybe he had other victims. And/or maybe he had help."

"An accomplice who went unidentified?"

"Yep. Umbrio was barely twenty when he was convicted, nearly a kid himself. Sometimes, two angry juvenile minds…"

"Klebold and Harris."

"It happens. Finally, I'm wondering about cellmates or pen pals. Pedophiles seem to have a thing for networking. Just consider all the 'Internet groups' and international 'child sex slave' rings that have been uncovered in recent years. More so than the other homicidal maniacs out there, pedophiles like to chat. Now, Umbrio went to prison with a reputation as a fairly brilliant, if not creative, offender. Maybe someone went looking for him there."

"Well, this just keeps getting better and better." D.D. scowled at him. "I thought you had something for my press briefing. What the hell here can I report to the press?"

Bobby held up a staying hand. "One last thing to consider. It's not scientific, but we can't dismiss it: cop instinct. You felt it the minute you entered the chamber. I did, too. Catherine Gagnon's case is somehow tied in to what happened out in Mattapan. I can't feel it, touch it, or taste it, but I know it's true, and so do you. Which is why Catherine's phone call matters so much."

D.D. suddenly perked up. She appeared almost wild with hope. "Catherine's returning to Massachusetts? She's going to talk to us? She's going to let us finally arrest her for setting up the murder of her husband!"

"Mmm, not quite. Her answer to returning to Mass., as the saying goes, is not anatomically possible. We're going to her."

"Oh yeah, two detectives flying to Arizona. Brass will love that."

"Ahh," Bobby said with a wiggle of his eyebrows, "but they will. Once you explain to the press that you've already had a major break in the case, and will soon be interviewing not one, but two potential witnesses." Bobby rose out of his chair, headed to the door. Now was the time for a clean getaway. Unfortunately, he wasn't quite fast enough.

"What do you mean, two witnesses?" D.D. called after him. "Catherine Gagnon is only one."

"Oh, didn't I mention that? I meant to include Granger. In return for Catherine's cooperation, she is demanding to meet Annabelle."

BOBBY GOT LUCKY at the North End apartment complex; one of the residents was walking out as he was walking up. The thirty-something male took in Bobby's olive khakis, collared shirt, blue tweed sports coat, and politely held the door. Bobby jogged up the front stairs, grabbed the heavy outer door, and waved his thanks. Gotta love urban professionals; they automatically trusted anyone who dressed like them.

Bobby skimmed the mailboxes until he found the right name. Top floor of a walk-up. Wouldn't you know it? Then again, hiking up the narrow staircase was probably as close to real exercise as he was going to get. He hit the stairs, thinking about the good old days when he'd been part of an elite tactical unit who knew how to make an entrance. They could crawl through smoke, drop from choppers, belly-slide through swamps. Only thing you saw was the target in front of you. Only thing you heard was the grunt of the teammate beside you.

Around the third floor, the lack of sleep caught up with him. His stride slowed. He started panting. At the fourth floor, he had to wipe his brow. Definitely time to get his sorry ass to a gym.

At the fifth floor, he spotted the apartment door, saving himself the humiliation of passing out. He paused on the last step, catching his breath. When he finally moved down the hallway, he heard a dog whine excitedly from the other side of the door even before he knocked. He went with a light knuckle rap. The dog promptly hurtled itself at the door, growling and scratching furiously