Beautiful Maids All in a Row (13 page)

“Think!” Mortimer commanded forcefully.

Andy shrunk back into the crook of his father's arm, away from the mean man.

I spun around so fast I almost gave myself whiplash. I shot the overzealous man a look that could kill before spinning around, all smiles. “Andy, it's okay,” I reassured him. “Nobody's mad at you. You are being so, so helpful. It's just really important that we know. So think really, really hard, buddy. Was he white?” The boy nodded an affirmation. “Good,” I said with a smile. “Okay, was he really tall or really short?”

“No,” he answered.

“What color were his eyes? Blue, green, or brown?”

“He had sunglasses on,” the boy replied.

“What about his hair?”

“He wore a hat.”

Of course he did. “Okay, what did the hat look like?”

“It was blue. With a drawing.”

I reached into my bag beside my foot and pulled out a pad and pen. I ripped out a page and handed Andy the pen and paper. “Can you draw it for me?”

The boy nodded and began sketching. It took him about five seconds to finish. He handed the paper to me. I should have known.

The symbol for the New York Yankees. I handed the drawing to Luke, who frowned.

It was the Woodsman. No question.

“Dr. Burke,” Mortimer said, “I'm going to need your son to talk to our sketch artist to see if we can get a composite from him. We'll need to go to our station.”

“Okay,” Burke said. He collected his son in his arms and stood up. Andy clung to his father's neck, burying his face against it. “Tammy, can you stay with Tiff until we get back?”

“No problem,” she replied. Tiffany went over to her nanny, crawling into her lap. Tammy wrapped her arms around the girl's chest.

“I'll walk you to the car,” Mortimer said, gesturing to the stairs.

I stood up and took a step toward Andy. He turned and looked at me. I rubbed his back soothingly. “You did
so
well.”

The little boy grinned.

Burke followed Mortimer out of the room and down the stairs. The little boy watched me as he went. He waved goodbye, and I reciprocated. When he was out of sight I turned to Luke.

“That went well,” Luke said.

“It's a start,” I said with a shrug. “At least now we have something to release to the press and someone to ID him.”

“We have to catch him first.” He looked over at Tammy and Tiffany, and gestured to the stairs. We walked to the top of the stairs, out of the girls' hearing. “It's him.”

“I know.”

Mortimer stepped through the open front door and climbed the stairs. “We should have a sketch in a few hours.”

“Good,” Luke said. “When you get it, send a copy to our office and to the press. I want it out ASAP.”

“Yeah,” Mortimer said. He looked over at me. “Good catch. How'd you know he talked to the kid?”

“I didn't,” I said. “It was just a guess.”

“Damn good guess,” Mortimer said. “What made you think of it?”

“This guy's into the thrill,” I explained. “He abducts his vics in plain sight and takes them to a public park. The last victim was abducted in front of her son's window. Everything pointed to him escalating. This time he showed himself, although he was smart enough to conceal his eyes and hair so he doesn't make it too easy for us. He meant to have a witness to dare us to catch him. The game
is
part of the thrill.”

“Have you photographed the spectators in front of the house and down at the office building?” Luke inquired.

“Of course.”

“When you get the pictures back, have Andy look at them,” Luke said. “See if the perp is watching us.”

“We should also ask the witnesses to the previous murders if they've seen a man in sunglasses and a Yankees cap,” I advised.

“Good idea,” Luke said.

“I'll show the sketch to the neighbors and co-workers,” Mortimer said. “If we find anything, we'll let you know.” He nodded at me and walked back into the living room.

“I think you impressed him,” Luke said with a smirk.

“Of course I did,” I said smugly. “I'm impressive.”

He smiled at my quip. “Are we done here or do you still want to take a look around?”

I thought for a moment. “Not right now. Too many cooks in the kitchen. I need quiet. Besides, they've taken all of her things; I can't tell much from an empty room. Clarkson can handle the rest.” I shook my head. “I hate to say it, but there isn't much we can do until we find her.”

“I know.” Luke yawned.

“Tired?”

“What gave it away?” he asked ruefully.

“Let's go check into a hotel, catch a few winks. It'll make you feel better.”

“You and I both know the first twenty-four hours are critical.”

“The state police are handling the search. Our men have the scene buttoned down. They'll call with anything crucial. You're dead on your feet. You'll be no good to anyone if you're a zombie. You want to do a half-assed job just because you're stubborn, or take a couple hours to get your head back in the game?”

“Wise words,” he said with a chuckle.

“Well, you said them to me a thousand times through the years. They always worked on me.”

“Fine. Hotel it is,” he said. He started down the stairs, but then stopped and looked back at me. “You're back.” With a smile, he shook his head and continued on.

I followed with a big smirk on my face. Yes, I was. And it felt damn good.

We didn't make it to the hotel. My big blabbermouth of a stomach rumbled just seconds after we got into the car. The noise grew louder, and a few blocks from Audrey's, it began to call to all the other bears within a ten-mile radius. Luke glanced at me. “Are you hungry?”

“Don't worry about me,” I said. “I've got it covered.”

I started rummaging around in my purse for one of the seven candy bars I had left. I never left home without one for just such emergencies. I saw the blue wrapper of a Nestlé Crunch bar and pulled it out. The sweet chocolate melted in my mouth. Absolute heaven. I gobbled the whole thing down in five bites.

“Is that what you're having for breakfast?” Luke asked. “I can stop.”

“You need sleep more than I need food. I'm fine.”

Luke's stomach growled loudly. He grimaced and turned away from me in embarrassment.

“Would you like a candy bar?” I asked with a laugh.

“You and those damn candy bars,” he said, shaking his head. “All that sugar will kill you.”

“You mean if the pills, booze, and cigarettes don't get me first?”

A smile crossed his face. “I guess you're right.”

I squinted my eyes and pursed my lips as if I was expecting a kiss. “I love how you say that. ‘You're right, Iris,' and ‘I agree, Iris.' It's music to my ears.”

He paused. “You haven't been drinking or anything else, have you?”

“You asking as my friend or my boss?” I asked, eyebrow raised.

“Both. I've noticed you've been…clearer. Better.”

“I've just been too busy. Or hiding it really, really well,” I said.

“It's too early for wisecracks.”

“You used to love my wisecracks. I think being away from me has killed what little sense of humor you ever possessed. What, they don't make jokes in Art Theft?”

“No,” he answered in a deadpan voice

I frowned. “That's no fun. No wonder you're so unhappy.”

“I'm not unhappy,” he fired back a little too forcefully.

“Could have fooled me,” I said under my breath.

“The woman who I found sucking down vodka like it was water is telling me that
I'm
unhappy?”

“I recognize the symptoms, that's all. Lack of sleep, withdrawn, irritable—any of this describe someone we both know?”

“I'm overstressed,” he said. “When this case is over I'll take a vacation, go back to Theft, and everything will be fine.”

“If you say so.”

He paused. “I am proud of you, though. For refraining from your…vices.”

“Thank you. I'm kind of proud of me too.”

I turned toward the side window to watch the cars go by. The sky was no longer an abysmal black, but instead had become a midnight blue. A new dawn, a new day. At least for some of us.

“I wonder where he is right now,” I said.

“Who?”

“The Woodsman. Is he sitting in some restaurant having a huge breakfast to celebrate another victory? Is he driving along 95, singing along to some song on the radio?”

“If there's any justice in the world, he's gotten into a car accident and is slowly bleeding out.”

“Where's the fun in that for us?” I asked with a smile. My stomach growled again.
Traitor.

Luke maneuvered the car into the brimming parking lot of a Waffle House. When we got inside, we had to wait five minutes to get a seat. Almost every seat at the counter was filled with truckers getting their early morning coffee-and-sugar fix. Most stared blankly up at the television hanging above the counter. The hostess walked us to our booth and set down the menus. Luke and I sat across from each other and began studying the selections. Just the pictures made my mouth water.

“Remember that waitress in Great Falls?” I asked after our waitress left with our coffee order. “The one who got everything wrong? I ordered coffee and got tea. You ordered pancakes and got eggs. That was so funny,” I chuckled.

“Funny?” he asked. “We'd been up for forty-eight hours and hadn't eaten in twenty-four. I wanted to shoot her.”

We both smiled and shook our heads. Then I looked across at him as I had a million times before and a flurry of moments paraded through my brain. The time our car got a flat tire on I-95 and I had to change the tire because native New Yorker Luke didn't know a jack from a Jill. The time I sprained my ankle while searching in the woods for a body, and he carried me a mile to the ambulance. The time, without even asking, he handed me the exact file I needed the second I needed it. From the Mona Lisa smile on his face, I could tell he was thinking the same thoughts I was.

I met his eyes. “We had some good times, huh?”

“Yeah,” he said, “the best.”

We broke our gaze when the waitress returned with our coffee. “Thank you,” I said before adding lots of cream and sugar. We drank it down in gulps. “I love their coffee.”

“It's great,” he said with a yawn that wracked his entire body.

I put my cup down. “You're not going to get any sleep, are you?”

He finished the yawn. “Well, by the time we finish here, we'll either be called to the Richmond office with some new crisis or they'll have found her.”

“Will you be functional?”

“You're not the only one who can survive on a few hours of sleep.” He picked up his cup and downed the remaining coffee.

“Well, I got about nine hours last night, so I feel great.”

“Any nightmares?”

“No, slept like the dead.”

“That's great.”

I knew what he was thinking. That he'd cured me or something. I balked at his enthusiasm. “It was bound to happen sometime,” I said. “Don't go reading too much into it, okay?”

Our waitress returned a few minutes later with our breakfast and the second the smell hit my nose, my mouth began to water, literally water. Before she could set the plate down, I stuffed the sausage into my mouth, and it burst with spicy flavor. It tasted so good I almost pulled a
When Harry Met Sally.
I shoveled the eggs and hash browns into my mouth.

“This is so good,” I said with my mouth full. “I am so hungry.” Luke half-smiled and began picking at his breakfast. “Eat up, Hudson. Who knows when we'll have a chance again.”

He nodded and began loading his fork with food. I took a bite of my eggs and turned my attention to the television. On the screen a reporter, a young Asian woman, stood in front of Audrey's office building, speaking into the camera as a sea of red and blue lights danced behind her. I couldn't hear what she was saying, but she gestured to the building behind her. I tapped Luke's arm and pointed to the television behind him. He turned.

A picture of Audrey blowing out birthday candles came on. I stood and walked over to the counter, my female presence startling the men around me. I smiled graciously and wedged myself between two businessmen. “Could you please turn that up?” I asked the waitress behind the counter.

She walked over to the television and adjusted the volume.

“…an orthodontist, was believed to have been abducted at approximately nine
P.M.
A statewide manhunt for the abductor is underway. Local, state, and federal law enforcement are working together in the search. There has been no official statement, but sources tell us that Audrey Burke is believed to have been abducted by ‘the Woodsman,' a serial killer who has killed four women in three different states.”

Luke came up behind me. “What are they saying?”

I shushed him.

Mortimer came on the screen. “As of now we are treating this as a simple abduction; there has been no conclusive proof that this is the work of the same man. But our best officers and local law enforcement are on it. We will find her.”

It returned to the reporter. “Included in this task force is Dr. Iris Ballard,”—
oh,
shit
—“a renowned forensic psychologist and former agent of the FBI.” My old ID photo from my FBI days appeared. My lips were pursed and my eyes cold. I looked like an ice maiden with a stick up her butt. I always did hate that picture. The men at the counter turned to stare at me. “Dr. Ballard, as you may remember, was instrumental in capturing Sheriff Stephen Meriwether, also known as the Rosetta Ripper.” Meriwether, in full khaki brown sheriff's uniform, filled the screen. My heart stopped beating, the way it always did when I saw his face. It was always the same picture. I had the damn thing memorized. His shaggy, curly blond hair fell two inches down his forehead. Those chocolate-brown eyes smiled and played in the light. His toothy grin revealed two dimples in either cheek. A cherub madman.