Iris Johansen - Blind Alley

“And what are they?”

“I've got great skills of observation.” He added earnestly, “I promise nothing and no one will get past without my noticing.”

Winnie-the-Pooh, she realized suddenly. He reminded her of Winnie-the-Pooh. That same wide-eyed, cuddly frankness. “That's very comforting.”

He nodded. “It's one of my better qualities. It's not very exciting but being comforting isn't bad. I've got three ex-wives who'll give testimony to that.” His expression was suddenly shadowed. “Two ex-wives. Ellen isn't around to give anyone recommendations anymore.” He started to turn away. “I just wanted to let you know I'd be on the job.”

“Wait.”

He turned to look at her.

“Would you like a cup of coffee?”

“No, thank you.” His smile lit his plump face with a kind of boyish radiance. “You're very kind but I've got to go on duty now.”

She was smiling too as she watched him go down the steps.

“Was that Bartlett?” Eve came to stand beside her.

“I think so.” She shook her head. “Or maybe it was Peter Pan or Winnie-the-Pooh.”

“What?”

“Why don't you go see for yourself? Take him a cup of coffee.” She added solemnly, “He was on duty and wouldn't come in.”

Eve watched as Bartlett picked up a pebble and sent it skimming across the lake. “Maybe I will.” She turned and headed for the kitchen.

For the rest of the day Jane didn't see Trevor except at a distance. He seemed very busy and intent as he talked to Singer and his men. In spite of Joe's cautioning, she couldn't see any signs that Trevor was being overbearing with any of the security team. There was no question that he was in charge but he appeared to be handling them with respect and humor.

It was fully dark when he drove up to the cottage. He spoke for a moment to Bartlett before he got out of the SUV, his arms loaded with catalogues and packages. “I brought your mail,” he said as he climbed the porch steps. “I checked for it earlier. Does it come late in the afternoon every day?”

She nodded. “About four.” She set her computer aside and held out her hand for the bundle. “Thank you. But you didn't have to pick it up.”

“Yes, I did. Your mailbox is three miles away on the main road. I wanted to make sure that there weren't any surprises. Since Aldo was camped out in the woods he probably checked out your mailbox occasionally. It's what I would have done. You never can tell what will come in handy when you're on the hunt.” He sat down beside her on the swing. “But there didn't seem to be anything to worry about. Most of it's for Eve.”

“It's usually that way. Eve's very famous and she has a lot of requests for her services. And she wouldn't like you going through her mail.”

“Like I said, I didn't want any surprises.”

“What did you expect? A cobra in the mailbox?”

“No, that wouldn't fit Aldo's pattern. But Julia Brandon was killed by poison gas. There are ways of making an envelope deadly.”

Her mind jumped immediately to the aftermath of 9/11. “Anthrax?”

“Or something else. I didn't think it likely he'd want to rob himself of the pleasure of a close-up kill, but he's not always predictable.”

“You seem to be doing a pretty good job so far. Poison gas . . . That's the only one who died like that, isn't it? Drownings, incineration, smothering. For a serial killer he doesn't seem to be consistent in his methods. They usually have a weapon of preference, don't they?”

“He's consistent. Each one of those deaths occurred to the citizens of Herculaneum during the eruption. He's killing Cira over and over in every conceivable way she could have died that night.”

“My God.”

No air. Hot. Hot. Hot .

“Are you okay?” Trevor's gaze was narrowed on her face.

“Of course I am.” She looked out at the lake. “How did Cira die?”

“I don't know. Every scroll in the library concerned Cira's life, not her death.”

“Then maybe she didn't die at Herculaneum. There were survivors, weren't there?”

“Yes.”

“Then she could have been one of them.”

“I'd think a woman like Cira would have been heard from in the years after the disaster if she'd lived. She was no shrinking violet.”

“Maybe she had a reason to disappear.”

He was silent a moment. “That had a note of desperation. You really want her to have survived, don't you? Why?”

“Don't be silly. I'm not desperate about anything. She just didn't deserve to die in that tunnel.”

“Tunnel?” He was gazing at her oddly. “Why should she have died in a tunnel? She had a fine home in Herculaneum.”

“Did she? I must have been thinking about the gold in the tunnel.” She changed the subject. “I just remembered that Joe wanted to know if you'd figured out how Aldo found all those women with Cira's face. You said one woman's photo was in the newspaper and I guess he could have stumbled on one or two of them, but not all. And he was moving so fast in the past few weeks that he couldn't have just gotten lucky.”

He shook his head. “I've been concentrating more on getting Aldo, not the whys and wherefores. But tell Quinn I'll work on it.”

“Good. You won't be alone. Joe may figure it out before you do. He doesn't like to ask for help.”

“He didn't. You did it for him. Did Bartlett come by and introduce himself?”

“Yes, he's very unusual. How did you get together with him?”

“I was backtracking after I saw that photo of Peggy Knowles and questioned all the families of the victims I ran across. Bartlett was on Ellen Carter's list. I was pretending to be from Scotland Yard at the time. I'm pretty good and no one else was suspicious. But Bartlett is a hell of a lot smarter than he looks. He followed me back to my hotel and pulled a gun on me.”

“Bartlett?”

He smiled. “He surprised me, too. He was scared to death but he was determined. His hand was shaking so badly that I thought I'd better talk fast or he'd shoot one of us by accident.”

“Why didn't he call the police on you?”

“Because he wasn't happy with the way the investigation had been going. He loved Ellen Carter.”

“He said he had three ex-wives.”

“She was number two. Bartlett stays close to his wives even after they divorce him.”

“Why would they divorce him? He seems . . . sweet.”

“He has a talent for choosing the wrong partners. Some men marry the same type of woman over and over. He has no problem acquiring wives. Women seem to melt and want to take him home. Didn't you?”

She nodded. “And Eve's taken him lunch and coffee today. And she had to leave a reconstruction she's working on to do it.”

“See?”

“Well, evidently you weren't immune either.”

“You're right.” His lips twisted ruefully. “He's stubborn as hell and he wouldn't leave me alone after he knew that I was trying to find Aldo. He quit his job as an accountant and he's been with me ever since.”

“I like him.”

“All women—dammit, I like him, too.” His gaze went to Bartlett. “But he drives me crazy. I'll probably have to rope, tie, and drag him away or he'd stay out there all night. He was happy as hell he could do something constructive to help you.”

“Sweet.”

“And you're melting, too.” He sighed as he got to his feet. “I'll take the mail into the house.”

“I can do it.”

He glanced at the computer. “You're busy. What are you doing?”

“Homework. I like to work out here on the porch.”

He made a face. “Homework. I keep forgetting how young you are. Maybe it's Freudian.” He headed for the door. “Make sure no one picks up the mail every day but me.”