The Third Victim Part 67

Stranger? She didn't know anymore. She had bad thoughts about bad things that had happened way too long ago.

Quincy was looking back at her curiously. She forced her attention to unfastening her seat belt.

Sanders had already located the officer in charge. She and Quincy walked up in time to hear: "Suspect appears to be approximately forty years old, graying brown hair, five-ten, five-eleven, approximately one hundred and eighty pounds. He's wearing a long trench coat, so he could be carrying weapons. The motel owner gives his name as Dave Duncan, supposedly some kind of traveling salesman. Said the man's quiet and a nonsmoker, if that's any help." The officer rolled his eyes.

Time he returned to his room?" Sanders asked.

"Forty-five minutes ago. We have a pair of officers interviewing the bartender, Ed Flanders, right now. I guess the guy's been in twice.

The first time he seemed to be picking a fight with a few locals over whether Danny O'grady had done the shooting or not. We'd gotten the bulletin yesterday to be on the lookout for strangers who seemed to be following the shooting, so we'd already reached out to the bartenders.

Then tonight this guy shows up around seven and starts back in. Except tonight he seemed to be focused on Officer Conner." The officer's gaze slid over at Rainie.

"Ahh, begging your pardon, ma'am, but Mr. Duncan was saying that he knew for a fact you'd killed your mom, you'd killed Mrs. Conner' the officer seemed to decide that was a more polite way of saying it 'some years ago. He said he had proof, but when Ed tried to ask more questions, the guy blew him off.

"We haven't been able to get a good look at him yet we were following him in the dark but Ed swears he knows him from somewhere, just can't think of where."

"Older man?" Quincy probed.

"Heavyset?"

"Yes, sir." Quincy looked at Rainie. She shrugged. "Older man" could be several possibilities. Princ.i.p.al VanderZanden, Melissa Avalon's father. Or, what the h.e.l.l, maybe even Mrs. VanderZanden or Mrs. Avalon in drag.

The UNSUB was clever enough to disguise a bullet. G.o.d knows what he or she could do with physical appearance.

"Why don't we just get this over with?" she said stiffly, and everyone nodded. A few of the young men had their batons out. They had a lot of experience breaking up bar fights during the hot summer months, and now they were good to go.

Officer Carr ran them through the drill. The manager of the hotel would call the room and say there was trouble with the bill, would Mr.

Duncan please come to the lobby. The minute Duncan stepped clear of his room, the officers would descend. They were all wearing flak vests and were prepared to use necessary force. The goal was to be so fast and quick, Duncan would never have time to react. Once they had him in handcuffs, they could begin questioning. Rainie nodded her consent and pretended Sanders wasn't doing the same. She could tell Officer Carr was proud of his role in hunting down a key suspect. Years later this would be one of those stories repeated over and over again in all the good cop bars.

They settled down behind the trees and prepared to watch the show.

The hotel manager nervously picked up the phone and dialed the room.

Rainie could see everything through the uncovered lobby windows and was happy Mr. Duncan couldn't say the same, because the hotel manager was sweating bullets. Poor man looked like he was going to have a heart attack, while beside him a somber young officer had dropped into a crouch and had his gun pointed at the front door. Rainie understood it was just a precaution. She was less sure the hotel manager appreciated that.

The manager set down the phone. He was frowning. He said something to the officer and then Carr's radio crackled to life.

"No one's picking up," Carr muttered.

"The manager can't get Duncan to answer." He appeared worried. He glanced at Bakersville's quartet for advice.

"Think he's figured it out?" Sanders murmured.

Rainie took in the half-dozen cars and sixteen milling men.

"Jeez, I don't know how."

"What about having the manager approach the room in person, knock on the door?" Sanders asked.

"The moment the door cracks open, we'll push him aside and force our way into the room."

Quincy looked at the hotel manager, who had sweated through his white s.h.i.+rt and was now swaying on his feet.

"I don't think so."

"I'll do it," Rainie said.

They all stared at her. She shrugged.

"I swear to G.o.d I have no real desire to be shot. But do you see any other maids around?" She gestured to the all-male crowd.

"I thought not."

Five minutes later Rainie was trying to pull a too-small threadbare gray blouse over her bulletproof vest. The skirt came to mid-calf and honestly didn't do a thing for her legs. Then she thought of her mother, dying in three-inch heels.

Jesus, her head was a mess tonight. Would somebody please get her a beer?

She finally got the blouse b.u.t.toned, sucked in her gut, and walked out to the men.

"You all right?" Quincy asked promptly. Those federal agents didn't miss a thing.

"Fine and dandy." She performed a pirouette, looking for a place to stick her 9 mm.

"Back waistband," Sanders said.

"Can't."

"Why not?"

"Cause the skirt's too f.u.c.king tight!"

"Okay." Sanders raised his hands and walked away. Quincy formed a pile of six clean white towels and tucked her gun in the middle, with the handle sticking out of the back for easy access. He handed it to her, his dark eyes calm.

"He makes a move at all.. ." Quincy said. "I can't shoot him."

"If he goes for a gun, you do what you have to do."

"I can't shoot him," she repeated more forcefully.

"Quincy, if I wound up killing him .. ."

She didn't have to say the rest. It simply hung there between them.

The doubts, the suspicions, the rumors that fourteen years later still hadn't gone away.

"Chances are that he knows we're out here," Quincy said softly.

"Then let's just get it over with. I'm tired of his games." She nodded at Sanders, who looked mighty curious about what would happen next, then at eager Officer Carr.

Everyone a.s.sumed their positions.

Rainie didn't allow herself to think anymore. She lifted the towels high enough to obscure her face and got on with it.