The Killing Hour (25 page)

CHAPTER 30

Shenandoah National Park, Virginia
2:43
A
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M
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Temperature: 88 degrees

RAINIE AND MAC WERE STILL WORKING THE VICTIM
’
S BODY
when Quincy materialized before them. His gaze went from them to Kathy Levine, then back to them.

“She’s one of us,” Rainie said, as if he’d asked a question.

“Definitely?”

“Well, she risked ordering a search team based solely on Mac’s hunch, and now she’s picking rice out of a corpse’s pocket. You tell us.”

Quincy raised a brow and glanced at Levine again. “Rice?”

“Uncooked white,” she said briskly. “Long grain. Then again, I’m a botanist, not a chef, so you may want a second opinion.”

Quincy switched his attention to Mac, who was carefully going over the girl’s left foot. “Why rice?”

“Damned if I know.”

“Anything else?”

“She’s wearing a necklace—some kind of vial filled with a clear fluid. That might be a hint. Then we got about nine different bits of leaves, four or five samples of dirt, half a dozen kinds of grass, some crushed flower petals, and a whole lotta blood.” Mac gestured to a stack of evidence containers. “Help yourself to a sample. And good luck figuring out if it came from her hike through the woods or from him. This new strategy of his definitely puts a wrinkle in things. What’d you do with Kimberly?”

“Feds got her.”

Three heads shot up. Quincy smiled grimly. “I believe there’s been a change of plans.”

“Quincy,” Mac said curtly. “Tell me what the hell you’re talking about.”

Quincy didn’t look at him directly. Instead, his gaze went to Rainie. “The FBI case team arrived. No Kaplan, no Watson. In fact, I don’t recognize anyone on the team. They pulled in, spotted Kimberly, and immediately pulled her aside for questioning. I’m supposed to be waiting outside the lodge.”

“Those assholes!” Rainie exploded. “First they want nothing to do with this. Now it’s suddenly their party, and no one else is invited to play. What are they going to do? Start all over at this stage of the game?”

“I imagine they are going to do exactly that. The FBI can launch a pretty good search, you know. They’ll bring in computer operators, stenographers, dog handlers, search-and-rescue teams, topography experts, and recon pilots. Within twenty-four hours, they’ll have a full ops center set up roadside, while planes search the surrounding areas with infrared photography and volunteers stand by to assist. It’s not too shabby.”

“Infrared photography is bullshit this time of year,” Mac said tightly. “We tried it ourselves. Every damn boulder and wandering bear shows up as a hit. Not to mention deer also look roughly like humans in the still photos. We ended up with hundreds of targets and not a single one of them was ever the missing girl. Besides, that assumes the next victim is somewhere in these woods, and I already know she isn’t. The man doesn’t repeat an area, and the whole point of his game is to ramp up the challenge. The other girl is somewhere far from here, and believe it or not, someplace even more dangerous.”

“Judging from what I’ve seen so far, you’re probably correct.” Quincy turned around, looking back up the darkened path. “I give the new federal agents ten minutes before they arrive down here, and that delay is only because Kimberly promised to be unforthcoming with her answers. I know she’s good at that.” He grimaced, then turned back. “All right, for the next ten minutes at least, I’m part of this case and have authority over evidence. So, Ms. Levine, as a botanist, are any of these samples definitely out of place?”

“The rice,” she said immediately.

“I’ll take half.”

“The vial with fluid, maybe. Though that could be a personal possession.”

“Do we have an inventory of what any of the girls were last seen wearing?”

“No,” answered Rainie.

Quincy mulled it over. “I’ll take half the fluid.”

Mac nodded, and immediately produced a glass vial from the evidence processing kit. Quincy noticed his hands were shaking slightly. Maybe fatigue. Maybe rage. Quincy knew from his own experience that it didn’t really matter. Just as long as you got the job done.

“Why take only half the samples?” Levine asked.

“Because if I took the whole sample, something would be missing. The other agents might notice and ask, and then I might feel compelled to hand it over. If, on the other hand, nothing’s obviously missing . . .”

“They’ll never ask.”

“And I’ll never tell,” Quincy said with a grim smile. “Now, what else?”

Levine gestured helplessly to the pile of bags. “I honestly don’t know. Lighting’s not great, I don’t have a magnifying glass on me. Given the state of half of this stuff, I’d say she picked it up crashing through the underbrush. But without more time for analysis . . .”

“He generally leaves three to four clues,” Mac said quietly.

“So we’re missing something.”

“Or he’s making it harder,” Rainie commented.

Mac shrugged. “I’d say the stack of false positives makes it hard enough.”

Quincy glanced at his watch. “You have five minutes. Sort through, then go. Oh, and Rainie, love, better turn off your cell phone.”

Mac had finished with the girl’s foot and was moving up the body. He tilted back the girl’s head, cracked open her mouth, then inserted a gloved finger into the abyss. “He’s twice hidden something in a victim’s throat,” he said by way of explanation. He twisted his hand left, then right, then sighed and shook his head.

“I got something.” Rainie looked up sharply. “Can I get some better light? I don’t know if this is just bad dandruff or what.”

Quincy adjusted his flashlight. Rainie parted the girl’s hair. There appeared to be a fine powder dusted over the strands. As Rainie shook the victim’s head, more residue fell onto the plastic bag she had laid beneath it.

Levine moved closer, catching some of the dust on her finger and sniffing experimentally. “I don’t know. Not dandruff. Too gritty. Almost . . . I don’t know.”

“Take a sample,” Quincy ordered tersely, his gaze returning to the path. There, he heard it again. Not far off anymore. The thump of descending footfalls.

“Rainie . . .” he murmured tightly.

She hastily scraped a small bit of the powder into a glass vial, corked it, and threw it in her fanny pack. Kathy added some of the rice; Mac had already claimed half of the fluid.

They were scrambling to their feet as Quincy moved toward Levine. “If they ask, you started working the scene under my orders. This is what you found, properly catalogued and waiting for them. As for me, last you knew, I was heading away from the scene. Trust me, you won’t be lying.”

The footsteps pounded closer. Quincy shook the botanist’s hand. “Thank you,” he told Kathy Levine.

“Good luck.”

Quincy headed down the hillside and Rainie and Mac quickly followed suit. Levine watched as the darkness opened up, and then there was no one there at all.

“For the last time, how did you know to come to the park? What led you and Special Agent McCormack straight to Big Meadows and another girl’s body?”

“You’d have to ask Special Agent McCormack about his reasoning. Personally, I was in the mood for a hike.”

“So you just magically discovered the body? Your second corpse in twenty-four hours?”

“I guess I have a gift.”

“Will you be asking for another hardship leave? Do you need more time to
grieve,
Ms. Quincy, in between finding all these dead bodies?”

Kimberly thinned her lips. They’d been at this for two hours now, she and Agent Tightass, who had introduced himself with a real name, though she’d long forgotten what it was. He’d thrust, she’d parry. He’d punch, she’d dodge. Neither one of them was having much fun, and in fact, given the late hour and lack of sleep, both of them were getting more than a little pissed.

“I want water,” she said now.

“In a minute.”

“I hiked five hours in nearly a hundred-degree heat. Give me water, or when I succumb to dehydration, I’ll sue your ass, end your career, and keep you from ever having that fat government pension to fund your golden years. Are we clear?”

“Your attitude doesn’t speak well for an aspiring agent,” Tightass said curtly.

“Yeah, they didn’t care for it much at the Academy either. Now I want my water.”

Tightass was still scowling, obviously debating whether he should give in, when the door opened and Kimberly’s father strode in. Funny, for the first time in years, she was genuinely happy to see him, and they’d only parted ways hours ago.

“The EMTs will see you now,” Quincy said.

Kimberly blinked her eyes a few times, and then she got it. “Oh, thank God. My
aching . . . everything.”

“Wait a minute,” Tightass started.

“My daughter has had a very long day. Not only has she been instrumental in finding a lost woman, but as you can tell by looking at her arms and legs, it was at great personal cost to herself.”

Kimberly smiled at Tightass. It was true. She did look like hell. “I walked into a patch of stinging nettles,” she volunteered cheerfully. “And some poison ivy. And about a dozen trees. Not to mention what I did to my ankles. Oh yeah, I need some medical attention.”

“I have more questions,” Tightass said tersely.

“When she’s done being treated, I’m sure my daughter would be delighted to cooperate.”

“She’s not cooperating now!”

“Kimberly,” her father said in a chastising tone.

She shrugged. “I’m tired, I’m hot, and I’m in pain. How am I supposed to think clearly when I’ve been denied water and proper medical attention?”

“Of course.” Quincy was already crossing the room and helping her out of the metal folding chair. “Really, Agent, I know my daughter is a very strong young lady, but even you should know better than to question someone without first getting them proper treatment. I’m taking her straight to the EMTs. You can ask your questions again after that.”

“I don’t know—”

Quincy already had his right arm wrapped around Kimberly’s waist, and his left hand holding her arm around his shoulder, as if she was in desperate need of support. “Come to the medic station in thirty minutes. I’m sure she’ll be ready for you then.”

Then Quincy and Kimberly were out the door, Quincy half bearing her weight and Kimberly managing a truly impressive limp.

In case Tightass was watching, Quincy took her straight to the first-aid station. And as long as she was there, Kimberly had some water, grabbed four orange slices, and then saw an EMT—for approximately thirty seconds. He gave her salve for her legs and arms, then she and Quincy were striding rapidly away from the station and into a remote section of the parking lot.

Rainie was waiting. So was Mac. They each had a vehicle.

“Get in the car,” Quincy said. “We talk again on the road.”

CHAPTER 31

Shenandoah National Park, Virginia
3:16
A
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M
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Temperature: 88 degrees

MAC FOLLOWED QUINCY
’
S TAILLIGHTS,
leading them away from the buzzing chaos of Big Meadows, and into the inky black of a winding road lit only by the moon and stars.

Kimberly didn’t speak right away. Neither did Mac. She was tired again, but in a different sort of way now. This was the physical fatigue that came after a long, arduous journey and little sleep. She liked this kind of tired better. It was familiar to her. Almost comforting. She had always pushed her body hard and it had always recovered quickly. Her battered emotions, in contrast . . .

Mac reached over and took her hand. After another moment, she squeezed his fingers with her own.

“I could sure use some coffee,” he said. “About four gallons.”

“I could use a vacation. About four decades.”

“How about a nice cool shower?”

“How about air-conditioning?”

“Fresh clothes.”

“A soft bed.”

“A giant platter of buttermilk biscuits smothered in gravy.”

“A pitcher of ice water, topped with sliced lemon.”

She sighed. He followed suit.

“We’re not going to bed anytime soon, are we?” she asked quietly.

“Doesn’t look it.”

“What happened?”

“Not sure. Your father showed up, said an official FBI case team had arrived and that we were no longer invited to the party. Damn those Feds.”

“They pulled Dad and Rainie off the case?” Kimberly was incredulous.

“Not yet. The fact that they both turned off their cell phones and made a quick getaway probably helped. But it looks like the Feds are trying to reinvent the wheel again, and even your father knows better. We worked with Kathy Levine to identify which items might be clues on the victim’s body, then we took half the evidence. And now, just for the record, I believe we’re officially AWOL. Did you really want to be an FBI agent, Kimberly? ’Cause after this . . .”

“Fuck the FBI. Now tell me the plan.”

“We work with your father and Rainie. We see if we can’t find the remaining two girls. Then we track down the son of a bitch who did this, and nail him to the wall.”

“That’s the nicest thing I’ve heard all night.”

“Well,” he said modestly. “I do try.”

Shortly, Quincy’s car turned in at one of the scenic vistas, and Mac followed suit. Given the hour, no other cars were around, and they were far enough off Skyline Drive to be invisible from the road. They all got out of the two vehicles and congregated around the hood of Mac’s rental car.

The night still felt hot and heavy. Crickets buzzed and frogs croaked, but even those sounds were curiously subdued, as if everything were hushed and waiting. There should be heat lightning and thunder. There should be an impressive July thunderstorm, bringing cleansing rain and cooler temperatures. Instead, the heat wave pressed down on them, blanketing the world in stifling humidity and silencing half the creatures of the night.

Quincy had taken off his jacket, loosened his tie and rolled up his sleeves. “So we have three possible clues,” he said by way of starting things off. “A vial of liquid, rice, and some kind of dust from the victim’s hair. Any ideas?”

“Rice?” Kimberly asked sharply.

“Uncooked, white, long grain,” Mac informed her. “At least that was Levine’s best guess.”

Kimberly shook her head. “That doesn’t even make sense.”

“He likes to make it harder,” Mac said quietly. “Welcome to the rules of the game.”

“How far away do you think the other two victims are?” Rainie spoke up. “If he’s taken multiple victims, maybe the first victim speaks for all three. He’s only one man after all, working with a limited amount of time to set this up.”

Mac shrugged. “I can’t be sure of this new format, of course. In Georgia, he definitely moved around a lot. We started at a state park famous for its granite gorge, then moved to cotton fields, then the banks of the Savannah River, and finally to the salt marshes on the coast. Four clearly diverse regions of the state. Here, however, you’re right—he has some practical issues involved in placing bodies all over the state, particularly in twenty-four hours or less.”

“The logistics of hauling multiple bodies are complicated,” Quincy commented.

“Vehicle of choice is probably a cargo van. Gives him a place to stash kidnapped women, inject poison in their veins, and then haul them around. In this case, he’d also need plenty of room, given four victims.”

“How did he manage to snatch four women at once?” Kimberly murmured. “You’d think at least one of them would put up a fight?”

“I doubt they had a chance. His favorite method of ambush is using a dart gun. He closes in on the car, darts the women with fast-acting ketamine, and they’re drifting off to la-la land before anyone can protest. If another car drives by, he can pose as the designated driver with four passed-out passengers. Then, once the coast is clear, he loads the women into his van, ramps up the ketamine to keep them unconscious for as long as he needs, and he sets off for stage two of his master plan. He’s not a flashy killer, but he certainly gets the job done.”

They all nodded morosely. Yes, the man certainly got the job done.

“Rainie said you got a call again,” Quincy said to Mac.

“At the scene. Caller swears he’s not actually the killer, though. He got mad when I accused him of the crimes, swore he was just trying to help, and said he was sorry more girls had died. Not that he volunteered his name or the killer’s name, mind you, but he still swears he’s a stand-up guy.”

“The caller’s lying,” Quincy said flatly.

“You think?”

“Consider the timing of both your recent calls. First one comes the night before the first victim is found—incidentally, right around the same time the killer must have been plotting his ambush, if he had not already taken the four girls. Then the second call comes tonight, when you’re at the scene of the second victim. I believe that is what Special Agent Kaplan would consider a suspicious coincidence.”

“You think the Eco-Killer’s close?” Mac asked sharply.

“Killers like to watch. Why should this UNSUB be different? He’s left a trail of breadcrumbs for us. Perhaps he also likes to note our progress.” Quincy sighed, then squeezed the bridge of his nose. “Earlier, you said the GBI attempted several times to find the Eco-Killer. You tried tracing the drugs that were used. You did the standard victim profiling, you looked at veterinarians, campers, hikers, birdwatchers, all sorts of outdoorsmen.”

“Yes.”

“And you created a profile. It describes the killer as being male, white, above-average intelligence, but probably stuck in a menial job. Travels often, has limited social skills and is prone to fits of rage when frustrated.”

“That’s what the expert told us.”

“Two things strike me,” Quincy said. “One, I think the killer is even smarter than you think. By definition, his game forces your immediate attention and resources on finding the second victim—instead of pursuing him.”

“Well, in the beginning, sure—”

“A trail grows cold, Mac. Every detective knows that. The more time has passed, the more difficult it is to find a suspect.”

Mac nodded his head more grudgingly. “Yeah, okay.”

“And second, we now know something very interesting that you didn’t know before.”

“Which is?”

“The man has access to the Marine base at Quantico. That narrows our suspect pool down to a relatively small group of people within the state of Virginia. And that’s a lead we shouldn’t squander.”

“You think a Marine or an FBI agent did this?” Mac asked with a frown.

Quincy had a faraway look in his eye. “I don’t know yet. But the emphasis on Quantico, the phone calls to you . . . There’s something significant there. I just can’t see it yet. Can you write down the conversation you had tonight? Word for word, all of the caller’s comments? Dr. Ennunzio will want to see it.”

“You think he’ll still help us?” Kimberly spoke up.

“You assume he knows we’ve been taken off the case.” Quincy shrugged. “He’s a backroom academic; field agents never think to keep those kinds informed. They live in their world, the BSU lives in its own. Besides, we’re going to need Dr. Ennunzio. So far, those letters and phone calls are the only direct link we have to the Eco-Killer. And that’s important. If we’re going to break this pattern, we must identify the UNSUB. Otherwise, we’re only ever treating the symptoms, not the disease.”

“You’re not going to abandon the other two girls?” Mac asked sharply.

“I am,” Quincy said calmly. “But you’re not.”

“Divide and conquer?” Rainie spoke up.

“Exactly. Mac and Kimberly, you work on finding the girls. Rainie and I will continue our pursuit of the man himself.”

“That could be dangerous,” Mac said quietly.

Quincy merely smiled. “That’s why I’m taking Rainie with me. Let him just dare to tangle with her.”

“Amen,” Rainie said soberly.

“We could try the USGS again,” Kimberly said. “Bring them the samples we have. I’m not sure what to make of the rice, but a hydrologist is a good start for the fluid.”

Mac nodded thoughtfully. “They might know something about the rice. Maybe it’s like the Hawaii connection. Wouldn’t mean anything to a layman, but to the proper
expert . . .”

“Where are those offices?” Quincy asked.

“Richmond.”

“What time do they open?”

“Eight
A
.
M
.”

Quincy glanced at his watch. “Well, good news, everyone. We can all grab a few hours’ sleep after all.”

They drove out of the park. They found a chain motel in one of the nearby towns and booked three rooms. Quincy and Rainie disappeared into their tiny quarters. Mac went into his. Kimberly went into hers.

The furniture was sparse and dingy. The bed was covered by a faded blue comforter and already had a crater in the middle from one too many guests. The air was motel air, stale, reeking of old cigarettes mixed with undertones of Windex.

It was a room. It had a bed. She could sleep.

Kimberly cranked the air-conditioning. She stripped off her sweat-soaked clothes, climbed into the shower and scrubbed her battered body. She shampooed her hair again and again, while trying to forget the rocks, the snakes, that poor girl’s torturous death. She scrubbed and scrubbed. And she knew then that it would never be enough.

She was thinking of Mandy again. And of her mother. And of the girl found at Quantico. And of Vivienne Benson. Except the victims got all tangled in her mind. And sometimes the body in the Quantico woods bore Mandy’s face, and sometimes the girl in the rocks was actually Kimberly in disguise, and sometimes her mother was fleeing through the woods, trying to escape the Eco-Killer, when she had already been butchered by a madman six years before.

An investigator should have objectivity. An investigator should be dispassionate.

Kimberly finally got out of the shower. She pulled on a T-shirt. She used the dingy towel to wipe the steam from the mirror. And then she regarded her reflection. Pale, bruised face. Sunken cheeks. Bloodless lips. Oversized blue eyes.

Jesus. She looked too scared to be herself.

She almost lost it again. Her hands gripped the edge of the washbasin tightly. She sank her teeth in her lower lip and fought bitterly for some trace of sanity.

All of her life, she’d been focused. Shooting guns, reading homicide textbooks. She had genuinely found crime fascinating, sought it out as her father’s daughter. All cases were puzzles to be solved. She wanted the challenge. Wear a badge. Save the world. Always be the one in control.

Tough, cool-as-a-cucumber Kimberly. She now felt her own mortality as a hollow spot deep in her stomach. And she knew she wasn’t so tough anymore.

Twenty-six years old, all the defenses had finally been stripped away. Now here she was. A young, overwhelmed woman, who couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep, and had a fear of snakes. Save the world? She couldn’t even save herself.

She should just quit, let her father, Rainie, and Mac go at it alone. She’d already bailed from the Academy. What would it matter if she simply disappeared now? She could spend the rest of her life curled up in a closet, hands clasped around her knees. Who could blame her? She’d already lost half of her family, and almost been killed twice. If anyone was entitled to a nervous breakdown, surely it was Kimberly.

But then she started thinking of the two missing girls again. Mac had told her their names. Karen Clarence. Tina Krahn. Two young college students who’d simply wanted to hang out with friends on a hot Tuesday night.

Karen Clarence. Tina Krahn. Someone had to find them. Someone had to do something. And maybe she was her father’s daughter after all, because she couldn’t just walk away. She could quit the Academy, but she could not quit this case.

A knock sounded on the door. Kimberly’s gaze came up slowly. She knew who had to be standing there. She should ignore him. She was already walking across the room.

She opened the door. Mac had obviously used the past thirty minutes to shower and shave.

“Hey,” he said softly, and strode into her room.

“Mac, I’m too tired—”

“I know. I am, too.” He took her arm and led her over to the bed. She followed only grudgingly. Maybe she did like the smell of his soap, but she also wished desperately to just be alone.

“Have I mentioned yet that I don’t sleep well in strange motel rooms?” he asked.

“No.”

“Have I mentioned that I think you look really good wearing just a T-shirt?”

“No.”

“Have I mentioned how good I look wearing nothing at all?”

“No.”

“Well, that’s a shame, because it’s all true. But you’re tired and I’m tired, so this is all we’re gonna do tonight.” He sat on the bed and tried to pull her down with him. She, however, dug in her heels.

“I can’t do this,” she whispered.

He didn’t force the issue. Instead, he reached up a large hand, and cradled her cheek. His blue eyes weren’t laughing anymore. Instead, he studied her intently, his eyes dark, his expression somber. When he looked at her like this, she could barely breathe.