Iris Johansen - Blind Alley

“And I need answers. Talk.”

“I'm not going to be unreasonable. I'd like to have an active role in finding Aldo and park myself at your cottage, but I know you don't want me underfoot. So all I want from you is a promise that you'll let me stay here close to Jane. And that you'll call me if Aldo gets close to her.” His lips tightened. “I'll probably know, but I can't take the chance.”

Joe was silent.

“He's not asking much, Joe,” Jane said quietly. “Less than I expected.”

“I'll make up my own mind. I know where you stand.”

“Where do I stand?” Jane asked. “You tell me. I want to live and I want Aldo. If you think that puts me in anyone's camp but yours, then you're mistaken.”

Joe glanced at Eve.

She shrugged. “It's your job on the line. I'll go along with your decision.”

“Well, that's a first.”

She smiled. “Until I decide it's a wrong decision.”

A little of his grimness disappeared. “That's better. I was afraid you were sick.” He turned back to Trevor. “It's a deal. And if I change my mind for any reason, I'll give you warning. That's all I promise.”

“It's enough,” Trevor said. “I didn't expect much more.”

Eve glanced at Jane. “Ask for the moon and settle for whatever you can get? Is that standard operating procedure with you?”

Trevor grinned. “You never win if you don't go for the high stakes.” He turned to Joe. “Ask your questions.”

“Where is Aldo?”

“I don't know. If I did, I'd be on his trail. If his last victim was in Baltimore, I'd judge that he'll go farther north to hit again. He'll want to seem to establish a pattern that will lead away from Jane.”

“You're so sure that he'll double back? Why?”

Trevor's gaze shifted to Jane. “Because she's perfect,” he said softly. “And he knows it. He's found her.”

“Maybe that's only your opinion. Those other women looked—”

“Found who?” Jane stepped forward to face Trevor. “Who does he think he's found? And why does he want to kill her?”

Trevor smiled. “You asked me that before. Actually, I expected that to be Quinn's first question too.”

“Tell me.”

“He's looking for a woman he thinks turned his father against him and was then responsible for his death.”

“Did she?”

“Maybe.”

“So he hates her.”

“And desires her. Sometimes the lines blur when you're insane.”

“He wants her so much that he tries to destroy her image wherever he finds it?” Joe shook his head. “He's a butcher.”

Trevor nodded. “But he had sexual intercourse with the first few victims. He probably had hopes he'd actually found her and sex was the ultimate humiliation. But then he realized that it was a big world and there were many women who had some resemblance. He felt bound to kill them, destroy the likeness, but he had no desire to have sex with them. Since they weren't really her, it was only a duty.”

“Duty,” Jane repeated. “Why?”

“Because they looked like her and mustn't be allowed to escape,” Trevor said. “He couldn't bear to have anyone who resembled her left alive. They had to die.”

Jane shook her head. “That doesn't make sense. Those women . . . They came from all walks of life. If he followed them, hunted them, he'd have to know something about their history. He must have known they couldn't be the woman who seduced his father.”

“According to his way of thinking there was a chance.”

“Bull. And if Aldo was so clever about tracking down all those women with her face, my face, why didn't he investigate?” She gestured with one hand. “Why not go to the police or hire private detectives and find the right one?”

“It would have been difficult.”

“Not as difficult as killing eleven women on the chance of getting the right one.”

“Yes, it would.”

“Why?” She was shaking, she realized. She didn't want him to answer. What the devil was wrong with her?

He gazed directly into her eyes. “Don't be afraid. I'll take care of you.”

“I don't need you to take care of me. Just tell me why he couldn't find her.”

“Because Cira's been dead for over two thousand years.”

She felt as if she'd been punched in the stomach. At first, only the name he'd spoken was clear to her. “Cira . . .” she whispered. “Her name is Cira?”

Joe grunted with disgust. “A two-thousand-year-old corpse? What the hell are you trying to pull, Trevor?”

“Wait, Joe,” Eve said, her gaze on Jane's face. “Let him talk.”

“He's scaring Jane, dammit.”

“I can see that. Let him talk.”

Jane scarcely heard them. “Cira?” Her hands clenched into fists. “He's looking for Cira?”

“Cira who?” Joe asked.

“No one knew her last name.” Trevor's gaze never left Jane's face. “She was only Cira. Cira the magnificent, Cira the divine, Cira the enchantress.”

“Cut to the chase,” Eve said curtly. “We're losing patience. How could a two-thousand-year-old corpse kill Aldo's father?”

“Sorry.” Trevor pulled his gaze away from Jane to smile at Eve. “Actually, Cira wasn't really responsible. His father killed himself when he set off an explosion to seal off the tunnel.”

“Tunnel?” Eve repeated.

He nodded. “The selfish bastard wanted everything for himself. He sealed the entrance, but he wasn't good with explosives and blew himself up too.”

“Where did this happen?”

“Northern Italy,” Joe said. “Four years ago. Right?”

“Close,” Trevor said. “You've been busy, if you traced me that far. It was four years ago and the job was supposed to be in northern Italy. But something more interesting popped up.”

“Aldo?”

“No, Aldo was in the shadows back then. Aldo's father, Guido.”

“What was his whole name?”

Trevor hesitated before answering, “Guido Manza.”

Joe swore. “Dammit, you've known Aldo's last name all this time and you've never told the police? Some of those women might be alive now.”

“I didn't know what the bastard was doing until he left Italy and went to England. I thought he was just running from me until I saw the photo in the Times of that woman he killed in Brighton. I made the connection as soon as I saw the resemblance and started backtracking.”

“Why would he run from you?”

He didn't answer. “And what good would a name do Scotland Yard? He was using fake ID and there was no way of using his friends or family to get to him. Aldo was a loner.”

“Descriptions. They could have run photos of him in the newspapers.”

“Aldo wanted to be an actor. He studied costume and makeup in Rome before his father jerked him away to the excavation. That's one of the reasons why he was difficult to trace when he started his killing spree. He's an expert at disguise. He's an expert at quite a few things. He's really brilliant.”

“You're making excuses.”

“No, I'm giving you reasons.” He shrugged. “But you're right. From your point of view I did everything wrong.”

“Because you wanted to catch Aldo yourself,” Jane said.

“Of course. I told you. He has to die.”

The matter-of-factness of the words sent a chill through Jane. He was right, he'd said those words before but in this moment they seemed more real, more frightening. Before she'd been excited, challenged, confident. She didn't feel confident now. She felt shaken, as if her entire world had been sent spinning.

“Why?” Joe asked.

“What?” Trevor's gaze was on Jane's face again. “Oh, because he deserves it. Why else?” He turned away. “She's had enough. Take her back to the cottage. I'll contact you later.”

“I want to know—”