Fear the Dark (12 page)

Sarah straightened slowly. “She sure as hell wasn't herself. I knew—know—Luna Lang. She's very expressive, always has been. But this . . . I've never seen a human face so blank. Even the dead have more expression.”

Robbie said, “If that's his psychic ability, mind control, then it's definitely unique. Human minds just aren't that easily controlled. I mean, magicians and mentalists make it look easy, and the reality of hypnosis has convinced more than one person that it must be easy to actually control another mind just by suggestion—but they're wrong. Almost no one can be hypnotized against their will, and even those that want to and can be can't be forced to do anything their conscious minds would reject. And psychics can't be hypnotized at all.”

“Really?”

“There are more psychics in the world than you might expect,
and the SCU has studied a good number of them. Enough to conclude with fair certainty that psychics can't be hypnotized.”

“Even by another psychic?”

“Especially by another psychic.”

“But you said he was in your head. Earlier, before you guys went out and found Annie.”

“Yeah, that's what's bugging me. I still don't believe I was hypnotized, but he was definitely in my mind. Maybe trying to find out how much control he did have.”

“And it was enough to scramble your memories?”

“Not scramble, exactly. Everything made sense, it was just . . . it played out a different way, and I knew that wasn't right.” She scowled. “Damn, this is difficult to explain. Especially when I haven't figured it out myself.”

Dante said steadily, “Want another puzzle piece to add to the rest?”

“Not really,” Robbie said, but leaned down again to look at the other side of the paused split-screen. “Nessa?”

“Yeah. Watch.” He set the video in motion.

The camera was placed up high so that it covered the entire large kitchen as well as the space beside it, what designers called “keeping rooms” but which were basically just open dens with fireplaces and TVs.

“That light over the island stays on all night. And there are night-lights along the hallways and stairs, mostly because it's a habit of Nessa's to get up. I asked,” Dante said. “The cameras can go to infrared if the rooms go totally dark, that's how the system's programmed, but—well, just watch.”

There was no movement for a few seconds, and then a little girl
in print pajamas, her long hair hanging down her back and her favorite stuffed animal under her arm, came barefoot into the kitchen. She put her toy on the center island, used a strategically placed kitchen stool to climb high enough to reach an upper cabinet, and got a glass for herself.

She filled the glass from the refrigerator's dispenser, then stood sipping for a moment or two.

Then she went completely still.

“Shit,” Robbie breathed.

“Wait for it,” Dante said, still steady.

The little girl's head tilted slightly, as if she were listening to someone. Then she put her glass on the island, walked around the island and to a distant corner—and appeared on a different camera, this one in what looked like a mudroom.

“The light isn't normally kept on in there at two in the morning,” Dante said. “Which is when this recording was time-stamped.”

They could all see the door that probably led to the garage, see the security keypad beside it—

And then everything went black.

“She didn't go near a light switch,” Sarah said. “How long—”

“Ten seconds,” Dante said. “The room stays totally dark for ten seconds, and then—”

And then the lights in the room came back on. Nothing looked disturbed. The door was still closed. The security keypad was still blinking the red light that indicated it was active.

Nessa was nowhere to be seen.

“I reviewed recordings from all the other cameras,” Dante told them. “Inside and outside the house. The
only
cameras that record
Nessa when she gets up are in the great room and the mudroom. You don't even see her in the hallway outside her bedroom, or on the stairs. You see her come into the kitchen, and you see her in the mudroom heading for the door. And then she vanishes.”

“You don't see her in the garage?”

“No. Infrared recordings for out there during the night: two cameras, one trained on the door to the mudroom, the other trained on the double garage doors. No motion at all recorded out there. No sign of Nessa once she leaves. However she leaves.”

Robbie straightened and then moved restlessly away from the computer. “Well, it had to be the same, somehow. The same as Luna Lang. He got her to do whatever it took to make herself mysteriously vanish. Sarah, you guys printed the security keypad?”

“All of them.” Sarah had also straightened. “Nessa knew the code, but Caroline and Matt said she almost never touched the keypad. Still, we checked. Smudges mostly, what you'd expect from keypads touched two or three times a day by at least two people. And the smudges were only on the numbers that are part of the code.”

“I guess the cameras were out of her reach.”

“Very much so. And the nearest ladder was in the garage, high on a rack. A ladder much too heavy and unwieldy for a ten-year-old girl to manage.”

“Even if she'd had time.” Her frown deepening, Robbie swung around to look at the other two. “Time. Jonah said none of the clocks were affected in the Tyler house.”

“The videos are time-stamped,” Dante said. “That was something else I checked to make sure. No missing time on the recordings. When the mudroom goes dark for ten seconds, the camera's clock
keeps time. It doesn't stop or slow down. Neither do any of the other clocks.”

“So,” Sarah said, “whether Nessa got herself out of the house or he got her out, it was managed without somehow tampering with any of the cameras.”

“Or maybe,” Jonah said from the front doorway, “that's exactly how he got her out. By tampering with the cameras.”

Robbie stared at him, still frowning. Then her frown cleared, and she swore under her breath. “We've been missing the obvious, haven't we?”

“I think we were meant to,” Jonah said, closing the door and coming the rest of the way into the big room. He still looked tired, but it was clear his mind was working just fine. “Want to spook an entire town, have people disappear seemingly into thin air. Which any decent magician can do.”

“No mirrors or trap doors,” Sarah offered, still frowning.

“Who needs mirrors or trap doors when he can hack into a security system?” Jonah said.

“Goddammit,” Dante muttered. “You're right; at the Tyler house, that's the only thing that makes sense. And all he had to do at the condo complex was insert a line of code for a few seconds of static and then have Mrs. Lang move a couple of cameras a few inches.”

“Just about any computer geek could have done that,” Jonah said. “It's a basic system, and even though it's hardwired in, there aren't exactly dozens of firewalls. It's an apartment complex, not a bank. And not a theater; those cameras would have had to be hacked for Sean Messina to get out of the theater unseen. And they were installed a good ten years ago.”

“So not too difficult to hack,” Robbie noted.

“Not difficult at all. Now, the Tyler house, that would have been a lot harder. That would have taken some skill. Sounds almost impossible. Until you remember that security systems are designed to keep people
out
. Not in.”

Dante was rubbing his jaw absently. “Yeah, okay, but it still would have taken some skill to orchestrate the garage and outside cameras so the images remained frozen long enough for Nessa to get out and away, and yet keep the time stamp going.”

Jonah nodded toward the evidence board, where the shadow of a man's outline represented their unsub—with no information beneath it. “So now we know three things about him. Can't really prove he's psychic, not in a courtroom. But now we know he's good with computers and understands security systems. I can name off the top of my head a couple dozen men who barely know how to use their cell phones.”

“It's a good start to the profile,” Robbie said. “Now we're beginning to understand this guy.”

“Wait a minute,” Sarah said. “Luna looked hypnotized. And we didn't see anyone around her.”

Robbie sighed. “He wasn't within sight of me when he was
messing with my memories. But that didn't stop him from doing a pretty fair job, despite my shields. I seriously doubt Mrs. Lang had any shields at all. So . . .”

“She would have been easy,” Jonah said. “Nessa certainly would have. The only one of the others I would have called strong-minded is the judge.”

“Contrary to popular opinion,” Robbie said, “the more intelligent someone is, the easier they are to hypnotize. I'm guessing our psychic unsub would have been able to handle the judge too. At least long enough to get him away from his fishing site and maybe trussed up in the trunk of a car.”

“Which tells us something else about him,” Dante said.

Sarah looked at him, brows raised in question.

“Control is an issue with this unsub. He's turned people into his puppets, mindlessly doing his bidding. I'm guessing he has little to no control over any of the people in his normal life. And that there's probably someone he'd love to control but hasn't yet gotten the nerve to try.”

Clearly uneasy, Sarah said, “How far would he take that when it comes to our missing people? I mean, okay, let's say he used a little bit of psychic control and some decent computer skills to abduct these people. And then—what?”

None of them wanted to consider worst-case scenarios, but it was Robbie who finally said, “Since we don't yet know why
these
people were taken, what their connection to him—and to each other—is, why these particular people were his targets, we can't even speculate about what he did after he abducted them.”

“No,” Jonah agreed. “We can't. All we can really know is that none of their bodies have turned up. Yet.”

—

HE HADN'T REALIZED
how tired he was until he was showered and had to force himself to eat something. Had to eat. Had to keep his energy up.

But he realized just how tired he was when he heard faint sounds coming from his Collection, and had to concentrate hard for several moments until they were still and silent again.

He had been able to keep them still and silent even while he slept, but that was a different thing. He supposed, having done some reading on the subject, that what he used then was a kind of posthypnotic suggestion, planted deeply in their minds.

Maybe too deeply. The girl was, as far as he could tell, the only one who never stirred.

Maybe he had gone too deep with her.

He thought about it, but not really with any anxiety. After all, it was
his
Collection. It didn't matter what they wanted or needed. They belonged to
him
. He only fed them because it pleased him to keep them alive.

For now, at least.

—

SARAH WAS FROWNING
again. “Wait a minute. The first abduction. The teenagers. Simon Church's old Jeep isn't exactly crammed with electronics, unless you count those god-awful loudspeakers he
jerry-rigged in the back. Nobody could hack into that thing except with an axe.”

“True,” Jonah conceded. He half sat on the conference table after finding a small space free of file folders. “But there's still the mind-control thing. Or whatever it is. Hate to say it, but neither one of those kids could come close to winning an academic scholarship, and they were both very self-centered.”

“Easy targets,” Dante noted.

Sarah hadn't stopped frowning. “Say you're right about that. We are still left with two very large elephants in the room,” she said. “The first is those photographs I took that didn't show the open car doors
or
the footprints both Jonah and I saw. And the second is those energy bubbles.”

Robbie shook her head. “I still think those energy bubbles have something to do with him and his abilities. I don't know why it's only outside and not inside,
or
how it monkeys with time like that. But I'm certain he's the cause.”

“And the photographs?” Sarah's voice was a bit tense.

Dante murmured, “The more intelligent the person . . .”

“You think he played one of his little mind games on me?” She didn't
quite
snap the question.

“Don't shoot the messenger,” he said, holding up a placating hand. “But at least until he killed Officer Duncan, this unsub was apparently a two-trick pony. Computers. And some kind of psychic mind control. We really haven't seen anything else from him in the way of skills.”

It's not difficult at all to cut someone's throat.

Nobody said that. Out loud, at any rate.

Jonah said, “Sarah, we know there was time for him to take those
kids wherever he took them and still get back to the car before you found it.”

“Okay. But you saw the open doors and footprints too, Jonah. And there was
not
a lot of time between you leaving and Tim getting there with the tow truck.”

Nobody said anything, until finally she swore and said it herself. “Him too, huh?”

Jonah spoke carefully. “It was just before that cloudburst. You took the photos quickly, and Tim got the car hooked up to his tow truck quickly. If the unsub
did
have to . . . mess with your memories, both of you, it wouldn't have been for long.”

“All he really had to do,” Robbie said, “was stall you two long enough to close the car doors and rake away the footprints—but leave the memory of that in your mind and Tim's.”

Sarah remained stubbornly silent.

Robbie tried again. “I doubt he can create images on film, not that specific, at least. The energy he leaves is too . . . uncontrolled.” A thoughtful expression crossed her face briefly, but then she shook her head slightly and finished, “You took photos of the scene as it actually was; you only
remember
the way it looked when you found it, and showed it to Jonah.”

Grim, Sarah said, “Any way you can prove that?”

“In court? No.” Robbie sighed. “But I can probably prove it to you. Telepathically.”

“So you can read more than surface thoughts,” Jonah said.

“Memories sometimes. Especially if the person I'm reading has been . . . fretting about something. And I can usually project those memories back to whoever I'm reading. Look, Sarah, it's up to you. I can keep my focus very narrow, and look only for those memories.”

Not exactly protesting, Sarah said, “Is it dangerous for you to try reading me with the unsub around somewhere?”

“I'm not so sure he's near enough to matter,” Jonah said. “It's not dawn yet, barely twenty-four hours since he abducted Nessa Tyler. And it's been a very busy twenty-four hours for him. He has to be feeling the strain. Seeing Samantha go out the way she did is all the proof I need that psychic abilities take, sometimes, more energy than a psychic has to give.”

Robbie was nodding slowly. “He abducted Nessa, touched Sam's mind at least once and probably twice, messed with my memories, murdered someone . . . And if he's keeping our missing people alive, he has to do whatever it takes to accomplish that. You're right. He can't keep up that kind of pace, not unless he's a hell of a lot more powerful than any psychic
I've
ever met. He has to eat, to sleep.”

“So,” Jonah said, “maybe this is our chance to try to get ahead of the bastard.” He looked at his second. “Sarah, I hate to ask, but it would help if we could cross off one more supposedly spooky thing from our list of what he can do. We're never going to figure out who he is unless we know what he
isn't
.”

“Okay, okay.” Sarah drew a breath and let it out. “Just . . . don't expect me to like it.”

Keeping her own voice brisk, Robbie said, “I'm not a touch-telepath, but probably best if we're both sitting down when I try this.”

“When you
try
it?”

“Well, I know I can read you, but that doesn't necessarily mean I can read you right now. Control is one of the things we struggle with.” She looked suddenly at Dante, brows raised. “Maybe part of the unsub's control issues?”

“Maybe. If those energy bubbles are what's left over when he uses his abilities, it could be he doesn't have as much control as he thinks he does, and is . . . spilling . . . the energy he can't fully control.”

“That's all we need. If Sam says his energy is negative, I believe her. Especially since we know now that he's a killer. I hadn't thought . . . but killing Officer Duncan could have added to that negative energy. I wonder if he even realizes.”

Sarah said, “Hate to interrupt, but can we please get this over with? Just because I've been comfortable with the idea of psychic abilities doesn't mean I'm all that anxious to have my mind read. No offense,” she added to Robbie.

“None taken. I'm still not entirely comfortable with reading people, and I've been able to do it all my life.” She sat down at the table, while Sarah sat down immediately to her left.

“What do I do to help?” Sarah asked.

“Sounds trite, but close your eyes and think about that morning. When you found the car, and the teenagers gone. Just think about that, okay?”

“Got it.” Sarah drew another breath and let it out slowly, closed her eyes, and concentrated. It was a Saturday, early Saturday, and she was doing an easy patrol alone because she'd wanted to get out of the station for a while. Just an easy patrol on a peaceful morning—

—

WHAT THE HELL
is the Church boy's old Jeep doing out here? Honestly, I would have thought him too lazy to be up and about so early. Unless it's late for him . . .

Huh. Why're the doors open?

She pulled her cruiser off the road and far enough back not to disturb any evidence—just in case there was some. She even unsnapped her weapon holster once out of her cruiser, though that was, she told herself, just a precaution.

She felt . . . odd. The hair on the back of her neck was stirring, and she didn't know why. She wanted to call out for the Church boy but knew she was close enough to wake Mildred Bates, and that was the last thing she wanted. Even though it was more likely than not the dratted woman would be up any time now.

She approached the Jeep warily.

Engine off, but key in the ignition. The back packed full of stuff, like somebody was moving. And in the front passenger seat, a girl's colorful, bespangled purse.

Amy Grimes. She was very proud of her gaudy purse, carried it everywhere even though most girls her age had ditched purses in favor of little pouches just big enough for cell phones, driver's licenses, and maybe a credit card or a few bucks.

Sarah pulled a pair of nonlatex gloves from the inner pocket of her lightweight jacket and put them on. Amy Grimes's purse contained an equally bejeweled cell phone, the usual girly stuff—plus what looked like several thousand dollars in cash.

An elopement. Of course.

So . . . where were the soon-to-be-wed teenagers?

Sarah walked around to the driver's side—and that was when she saw the tracks down the gentle slope of the embankment and to the flat below.

Footprints. A large pair and a smaller pair. Weirdly precise footprints that just . . . stopped.

Sarah stood looking around for a few moments, puzzled but also conscious of that uneasy sense of things being not right.

Amy wouldn't have left her purse like that, especially with so much cash. Simon Church wouldn't have left his Jeep just sitting on the side of the road, keys in the ignition as though inviting it to be jacked.