Iris Johansen - Blind Alley

“Can't you identify who he's trying to punish by killing these women? Records? Databases?”

“It would be a needle in a haystack, Eve,” Joe said.

Trevor nodded. “And unfortunately we don't have any technology that sophisticated. We have no central photographic database. However, we did make the attempt to check all our records and came up with nothing.” He paused, his eyes sliding to the window before he brought his attention back to Eve. “However, I have a theory that even if the odds weren't so huge we might not have been able to find him in our records.”

“Why not?”

“When I was digging for information after the last killing in Brighton, I found records of a killing in Italy and one in Spain before the first murder in London. Both women smothered, both with faces destroyed.”

“Christ, we can't even narrow down his country of origin?” Joe asked in disgust. “What about Interpol?”

Trevor shook his head. “Do you think I haven't scanned every bit of info during these last years? If he did kill other women, there's no record I could find.”

“And he didn't leave any calling cards as some serial killers do?”

Trevor was silent a moment. “Well, yes, he did.”

“What? Why the hell didn't you tell us that to begin with?” Eve said.

“I thought you might already know.” He turned to Joe. “Haven't you received your forensic report on your Jane Doe?”

“Not everything. It's coming in bits and pieces.”

“Then they haven't analyzed the ashes yet?”

“Ashes,” Eve echoed.

“They found ashes with Ruth's body,” Joe said. “We thought it might be evidence she was killed in the woods and the campfire was—”

“Not wood ashes,” Trevor said. “And no cozy little campfire. The report will come back volcanic ash.”

“Shit.” Joe started to dial his phone. “You're sure?”

“Quite sure. Particles of volcanic ash were found with every body. Your Birmingham police were understandably negligent in having the ashes analyzed in a case where the victim burned to death. They'd naturally assume any ashes were produced by the fire itself.”

“Then why didn't you notify them?”

“I'm notifying you now. It's your case.” He rose to his feet and moved swiftly toward the window. “Hadn't you better check on her?”

Eve was suddenly aware of Trevor's tension. The easy composure was gone and he was alert, restless, totally focused. She stiffened as she remembered how his gaze had slid to the window moments before. “Jane?”

He nodded curtly. “You said she was right behind you.”

She glanced at Joe.

He shook his head and hung up the phone. “I didn't discuss her with him.”

Trevor stiffened, his gaze narrowing. “There she is.” He turned to Eve. “You shouldn't have left her alone.”

“If you'll look a few yards behind her, you'll see that she's not alone.” Eve went to stand beside him at the window. Jane was coming up the path with Toby at her heels and the two policemen trying to keep up with her. “I'd never leave her without protection.” Her voice was cold. “You can never tell who you can trust in this world. How did you know about Jane?”

He turned to look at her. “I'm sorry. Of course you'd protect her. I spoke impulsively.”

“How did you know about Jane?” she repeated.

“Your suspicions are very healthy. I approve. But I'm the last person you should be concerned about. To make sure that she's safe is the reason I'm here.” He reached into his wallet and pulled out a creased and faded newspaper clipping. “I've had my assistant scanning all the major city newspapers for some time and lo and behold he came up with this photo of Jane MacGuire.”

Eve recognized the photo. It had been taken when Jane had entered Toby in a charity dog show for the Humane Society three months ago. It was a little blurred but Jane's face was clear. Terror iced through Eve.

“He may not have seen it.” Trevor was reading her expression. “I don't know how he picks his victims. Some have to be random. The Millbruk woman in Birmingham. Peggy Knowles in Brighton. She was a prostitute, too. Neither of them had their photos in the newspaper.”

“And the others?”

“One had just won a gardening award a week before.”

“So he does look at the newspapers.”

“Possibly. But he can't be sure of finding his victims by reading the newspapers and, if they were a source, he'd have to limit himself to certain areas because of the sheer magnitude of the task. I'd say he has some other way of targeting.”

“Another theory?” She was chilled. “You found her, dammit.”

“But the chances were against it. I was really having my colleague Bartlett doing routine checks to see what he could come up with.”

“And you came up with Jane.” Joe took the photo from Eve. “And it's too damn clear. Why didn't you notify me if you thought she was in danger?”

“The e-mail,” he reminded him.

“Damn the e-mail. You should have been specific.”

“I didn't even know he was in your area until the Millbruk murder and that was two months after this photo was taken. And if he'd seen this photo, it wasn't likely that he'd waste time and effort on any other target. He'd have come straight to her.”

“Why?”

“Look at her.” Trevor's gaze went to the photo. “She's so vibrant she almost jumps out of the picture. When you compare her to the other victims, they're like counterfeits compared to the real thing.”

“All the more reason why you should have let us know.”

“There might have been no threat to her.”

“You bastard, we should have been told.”

“I assure you we've been keeping an eye on her. The moment I saw this photo, I sent Bartlett here to watch her. But I'm sure I would have felt the same way if I were in your shoes.”

“You don't know how we would have felt,” Eve said fiercely. “You cold son of a bitch. I don't care if you catch your killer. I want to keep Jane safe.”

“So do I.” He met her gaze. “There's nothing I want more. Believe me.”

She did believe him. There could be no doubting either his sincerity or the intensity of his feeling. It didn't lessen her anger.

“And do you mean you've been spying on us without—”

“I think your policemen are afraid of Toby, Joe.” Jane was laughing as she came into the room. “He growled when they came too close behind me and they stopped so short they almost got whiplash. You'd think they'd realize Toby is—” She stopped as her glance went from Eve to Trevor. She gave a low whistle. “Do I sense a rift in Anglo-American relations?”

Trevor smiled. “Not on my part. I'm solidly in your camp. You're Jane MacGuire, aren't you? I'm Mark Trevor.”

Jane was silent, staring at him. “Hello. You're not what I expected.”

“You're everything I expected.” He crossed the room and took her hand. “And more.”

Jane was gazing at him in fascination and Eve could understand why. She had felt the same response to that smile and charisma when she'd first seen him. But that was before she'd realized how cool and ruthless he could be. In the space of minutes he'd changed from an ally into an adversary. She had an impulse to run across the room and jerk Jane away from him. “Mr. Trevor was just leaving.”

Trevor didn't look away from Jane. “Yes, I'm afraid I've put myself in their bad books. I blew it.” He smiled ruefully. “I was skimming along famously and then I got worried they weren't taking proper care of you and I opened my mouth and let all my hard work go up in smoke.”

“What hard work?”

“They'll explain.”

“I want you to explain.” She gazed directly into his eyes. “You've been trying to catch that murderer. What have you been doing and how does it affect me?”