Iris Johansen - Blind Alley

“It meant nothing,” he repeated. “I just decided there was no reason to withhold myself from you. It may be a long time before I take your life. Months. Years. I don't care how long it takes now that I've found you. As long as I watch you, guard you, you'll never get away from me. But I deserve the pleasure of getting closer to you, hearing your voice, listening as you become more and more afraid. It's my right.”

“And it's my right to hang up on you.”

“But you won't do it. You'll keep on talking because you're hoping I'll tell you something that will lead Trevor and Quinn to me. And every word you say gives me a burst of pleasure.”

She felt sick with revulsion. He meant it. She could hear the feverish excitement mixed with the anger in his tone. But he was right, she had to take advantage of the opportunity. “Just who do you think I am?”

“I don't think, I know. You're Cira. I thought I'd buried you in that tunnel but I realized after I killed that woman in Rome that you were too strong not to be able to be born again. I knew I had to search until I found you.”

“You're certifiably nuts. I'm not Cira, I'm Jane MacGuire.”

“With Cira's soul. And you know it. Why else did you attach yourself to a forensic sculptor like Eve Duncan? You knew I'd come to destroy that hideous face and you wanted to make sure that it survived. It won't survive. Do you know how many times I woke up at night and watched my father staring at you? I can't remember him ever touching me with affection but he'd stroke that damn bust like it was a woman he loved. I tried to destroy it when I was ten and he beat me until I couldn't walk for a week.”

“Am I supposed to feel sorry for you? He should have drowned you at birth.”

“He probably thought the same thing. I was just an encumbrance to him after you came into his life. But now I'll get my own back. So enjoy your feeling of triumph. Sit in that cottage surrounded by all those people you've duped to do your will. You'll rot there, bitch.” He hung up.

She couldn't move to turn off her phone. She felt as if she'd been scourged, beaten. Dear God, he was brimming, frothing with hatred. The poison was all-consuming and paralyzing.

Get over it. Aldo wanted her to feel this weak and helpless. Think about what he said and try to find something positive in all that ugliness. She forced herself to turn off the phone and lean back in the swing.

Positive?

My God.

Mail,” Trevor said as he came up the steps an hour later. “Nothing for you but a letter from— What the hell is wrong with you?”

“I'm okay.” She wasn't okay, but she was better. She wasn't surprised that Trevor had noticed how disturbed she was. She felt as if it were written in every line of her expression. That was the reason she hadn't wanted to go inside and face Eve. She added haltingly, “It's not been an easy day.”

“It was your choice to flaunt that blasted ring in Aldo's face.” His gaze was searching her expression. “But I didn't expect this reaction.”

“Neither did I.” She tried to smile. “And I guess I shouldn't complain. Actually, I suppose my little jaunt was a complete success. I was trying to goad him to make a move and I certainly accomplished that aim.”

“What?”

“Aldo called me.” She looked down at the phone still in her hand. “About an hour ago.”

“Holy shit. What did he say?”

“He was angry. He didn't like the fact that his gift didn't seem to bother me. It was . . . ugly.” She moistened her lips. “He was muttering about me having Cira's soul and how he hated— My God, he hates my face. He's on some kind of mission to rid the world of it. You were right, he was killing her in effigy with all those other murders.”

“But he didn't call any of the others to chat,” he said grimly. “And he didn't squander pretty trinkets on them.”

“None of them made him as angry as I did. I've been sitting here trying to think of something constructive that could come out of this but it's hard. One thing, he's going to phone me again. He believes it's his just reward. On the negative side, he said he could wait a long time to kill me, that he was in no hurry. He wants to break me, make me afraid.” Her hands clenched into fists. “Well, I'm in a hurry. I can't take much more of this.”

“We made progress today. He called you.”

“It's not enough. He meant what he said. He'll wait until he's wrung every bit of pleasure from the situation.” Her lips tightened. “He was . . . foul. I've never touched anything that ugly. He . . . made me afraid. I can't let that happen again.”

“We can have Quinn check phone records to try to trace him.”

She nodded. “I thought of that. But I doubt if he'd have called if he hadn't thought it was safe.”

“We'll try anyway.”

“Of course.” She straightened on the swing. “We'll do everything we can. I'll talk to Joe and Eve later tonight.”

“Not now?”

“I don't want them to see me like this—not now.” Talking to Trevor had eased the sick fear that Aldo had engendered, but she had to move away from it, drown the memory of that call for a while. Her glance went to the envelope still in his hand. “You said I had a letter?”

He didn't speak for a moment and then smiled faintly. “Yes, from Harvard. Did you apply there?”

He was letting her slide away from the subject, she realized with relief.

“Yes, I applied for early acceptance.” She took the letter without opening it. “Maybe I've been accepted.” She tossed it down on the porch swing. “That would be nice.”

“Your enthusiasm is astonishing.”

“I'm not sure I want to go to an Ivy League school. But Joe went there and he liked it. Where's my list?”

He reached in his pocket and handed her a slip of paper. “This is all I can remember and he may not go to these sites anymore.”

“And he may.” She glanced over the list. “Two of these are Italian Web sites. One English newspaper . . .”

“He went to Oxford for two years. He liked to keep in touch.”

“And this one in Florence, La Nazione. Is that a newspaper too?”

He nodded. “He grew up there. Most people keep an eye on their hometowns. He also went to another newspaper site in Rome, Corriere della Sera .”

She pointed to another site. “And this one?”

“ Archaeology Journal ? It's a weekly magazine and practically the professional bible of modern-day archaeology.”

“But he was an actor. It was his father who was the archaeologist. He probably skips this one now.”

“No, there are often articles about Pompeii and Herculaneum. He has a vested interest.”

She'd gone on to another site. “This one's in Rome, too. Another newspaper?”

He smiled. “No, one of Italy's premier porn sites. Very explicit, very kinky. You can bet he's still interested in visiting that one occasionally.”

“What kind of kinky?”

“I was curious, too, when I watched him bring up the site so I checked it out. They specialize in sadomasochism and necrophilia.”

“Raping dead people?” She shivered. “Creepy.”

“And it confirmed my belief that Aldo was not a nice fellow.”

“You said he didn't rape any of the victims after those first women he killed in Rome.”

“That doesn't mean he's not interested in sex. Maybe he didn't consider any of the others worthy. Or these days he may get off on the kill itself.”

She moistened her lips. “Those women he raped. Was it before or after he killed them?”

“After.”

“Sick.”

“No question. Do you need to know anything else?”

“I'll let you know.” Her tone was abstracted as she went over the list. “I may be able to figure out the rest. I can go to a gateway site and get a rough translation.”