Hunted (Reeve Leclaire 2) Page 20

  This has got to be their suspect, and Blankenship is sure it’s Flint. Even better, the link to the store’s security-camera footage has been e-mailed to him. It’s downloading right this minute.

  He drums his fingers, thinking how he’ll present this to Stuart Cox, thinking that all his hard work is finally paying off.

  Blankenship’s computer chirps, letting him know the download is complete. He cues up the security footage and grinds his teeth. The moron at the store has sent him the entire day’s video recording. Twelve hours, 9:00 a.m. to 9:00 p.m.

  The receipt for the headlight is time-stamped 6:44 p.m.

  It takes agonizing minutes to fast-forward and locate the correct time window on the recording. Figures zip across the screen, carrying purchases to be rung up by the cashier, while other staffers rush on and off camera, fetching items from a storeroom.

  At last, here’s their guy. Blankenship almost gasps, the image is so clear.

  Two minutes later, he’s in the SAIC’s office with his laptop, playing the video clip for him.

  “You’re right. Even with that hair, this guy looks like Flint,” Cox says. “I don’t suppose he used a credit card?”

  Blankenship shakes his head. “I’ve got Nikki cross-checking Broncos with known associates. I’ll let you know if we get lucky.”

  When he gets back to his office, Blankenship is surprised to find Milo Bender waiting for him, sitting in a hardback chair.

  “I’ve got something I think you’ll want to hear,” Bender says, getting to his feet with a slight hitch.

  Bad knees, Blankenship observes, hoping he won’t suffer the same indignity.

  “I’m pressed for time, Bender.” He has no patience for hand-holding, and this old guy is becoming a distraction. Should he tell him he’s getting in the way?

  “The thing is,” Bender says, “I believe Flint has an accomplice who links him to those older missing girls.”

  Blankenship frowns. “Where’s the evidence? It was only Flint who kidnapped Reeve. He acted alone. Solo. Same as when he tried to grab the girl at Triangle Park yesterday.”

  “But think about it,” Bender continues. “It’s not unusual for criminals to have dual lives, an outwardly normal life at home that masks secret crimes. Plenty of serial rapists and serial killers had wives at home. Upstanding member of the community, all that, like John Wayne Gacy.”

  “Dual lives. Uh-huh. What’s your point?”

  Bender removes his glasses and polishes them on his shirt. “It’s a bit out of the box, but why wouldn’t Flint have a captive at home—that was normal to him, after all—but then also have another life? He’d go out on kidnapping sprees with his buddy, and then return home to his private captive. See what I’m saying?”

  “Yeah, that would be out of the box. Because there’s no evidence linking Flint to any other abductions. And your theory makes a big leap from just a few marks on a wood plank.”

  “You shouldn’t overlook the significance of that calendar. And remember that an accomplice rented the storage unit. Besides, in two of the cold cases, there were witnesses who reported seeing a pair of men acting together.”

  Blankenship makes a nasal sound.

  “Hear me out,” Bender urges. “The way I see it, Flint’s been locked up for seven years, and meanwhile his partner’s situation will have changed, right? That’s why Flint acted solo at Triangle Park. His partner might be in prison. Or there may be a power struggle between the two.”

  Blankenship’s phone vibrates and he puts up a hand. “Hold on, I’ve got to check this.”

  It’s a text message from Nikki Keswick:

  Found Bronco registered to Olshaker patient. Tacoma.

  Time for a warrant?

  He needs to get going, pronto.

  “Listen, Bender, I know you’re trying to help, but we’ve got active leads. Trust me, man, we’re working it.” Blankenship cups the old man’s elbow and shows him the door. “I think we’ve got this case nailed. Once we catch him, we’ll consider your theory, okay? But for now, like I said, I’m pressed for time.”

  FORTY-EIGHT

  Seattle Library

  Reeve’s muscles ache from yesterday’s exercise, and she fidgets on the hard chair. How can anyone possibly study in this building, with its grids and sharp angles? It’s supposedly an architectural marvel, but it seems designed more as an intellectual exercise than a habitable environment.

  She finishes a bit of homework that she e-mails directly to her most cooperative professor, and shuts her laptop. After responding to several messages from her roommates, she starts packing up. She’s supposed to meet Milo Bender for lunch, and it’s still early, but her computer battery isn’t the only thing that needs recharging. Caffeine beckons.

  She exits onto the street and discovers that it’s raining—no surprise. Seattle is called the Emerald City, but the downtown is just as gray and traffic-clogged as any metropolis, especially in bad weather. She hustles along the sidewalk, dodging pedestrians and umbrellas, hurrying from awning to awning.

  She’s drenched by the time she reaches the café, and the place is packed. A clown and a gypsy are waiting on customers.

  Halloween, Hallo-week . . . and what else?

  A woman wearing skeleton earrings orders a sandwich and a mocha latte with an extra shot of chocolate. Reeve orders the same thing. It’s not her usual drink, but having tossed and turned all night, she could use an extra dose of caffeine.

  The moment she places her order, her sister calls. Reeve composes herself before answering, hoping to keep the conversation light.

  000622

  But Rachel has clearly teamed up with their father, because she launches immediately into a recitation of the same admonishments Reeve has already heard. “Dad wants you to come home. He’s worried about your grades, and he’s afraid it’s not safe for you up there.”

  “I know, I talked to him. My flight is already booked for tomorrow, okay? But I’m fine. And I’m keeping up with my studies. I’ve just spent all morning ensconced in the library.”

  She doesn’t add that she’s been researching articles about kidnappings that coincide with dates when Flint left her alone in the basement. It didn’t take long for her to start pairing up names and faces. But Rachel doesn’t need to know any of this.

  Reeve is trying to gently end the conversation when Rachel says, “One more thing. The other reason I’m calling is that I wanted to tell you again how proud I am of you. I’ve watched that press conference over and over, and I know it took courage for you to face those cameras. I wouldn’t have been able to do it. I’d have been terrified.”

  “You? I thought you never suffered one minute of stage fright.”

  Rachel makes a tsking sound. “Acting in a play is a whole lot easier than real life. I could never do what you do. You’re the brave one.”

  “Brave? I don’t think so.”

  “I mean it. After what you did last year in Jefferson? I swear, sis, you’re tougher than bone.”

  Reeve makes a small joke, deflecting the compliment, and hangs up feeling warmed by her sister’s words.

  She has just settled at a table in the corner when Milo Bender comes in, shedding rain from his coat. He wears a preoccupied look as he sets down his briefcase and folds into the seat across from her.

  “You look tired,” she says.

  Bender lets out a sigh. “Pardon my saying so, but it’s a bitch getting old. Nobody takes you seriously.”

  “What happened?”

  “I was just talking to Blankenship. To him, I’m just an old warhorse with outdated ideas.”

  Reeve wrinkles her nose. “Blankenship is just jealous because Nikki Keswick is sweeter on you than she is on him.”

  He suppresses a smile.

  A few minutes later, with coffee, a sandwich, and a muffin in front of him, Bender is looking better. “I shouldn’t be eating all this.” He takes a bite of the muffin, swallows, and adds, “Don’t tell Yvonne.” />
  “It’ll be our secret.”

  “It’s rough having a nurse for a wife. She’s right, of course. My dad’s heart gave out when he was just forty-eight, and she never lets me forget it.” He takes another bite before asking, “So, how are you feeling? Are you sore after yesterday’s session with JD?”

  She huffs. “They make it look a lot easier in the movies.”

  He smiles. “They do, don’t they?”

  A sudden commotion at the door draws their attention to a trio of teens in silly costumes.

  “I keep trying to remember what Flint used to say,” she says, touching the scar at the back of her neck. “It was three words. Halloween, Hallo-week, Hallo . . .” She shakes her head. “And something else.”

  The trio of teens glances over. Reeve shifts in her seat, noticing their stares.

  The smallest girl, dressed as a ninja, can’t seem to take her eyes off her. The other two teens whisper in the ninja’s ear. She shakes her head. Then the largest one gives her a push in Reeve’s direction.

  The girl approaches, hands clasped in front of her. “Excuse me, but aren’t you Reggie LeClaire?”

  Reeve gives a single nod.

  “I thought so. We saw you on TV last night.”

  Reeve holds her breath.

  “My sister is Jenna Dutton. She went to your school.”

  “I remember Jenna,” Reeve says, feeling a flush of nostalgia. “We were good friends.”

  Best friends, in fact. She smiles at the girl, noticing the same gap between her front teeth, the same honey-colored hair as her friend from middle school.

  “She said you were kidnapped while we were visiting grandma in Idaho. I was little, but we looked for you when we got home. We all looked for you. We really did.” The ninja girl’s eyes well with sincerity. “Anyway, I just wanted to tell you that. And hello from Jenna, too.”

  “How is Jenna doing?”

  A shadow passes briefly over the girl’s face. “She’s okay. She got married, but now she’s divorced, and she’s moved back home. And she had a baby. He’s really cute.”

  The girl’s friends call to her that her latte is ready. She glances at them and says hurriedly “Anyway we’re glad you’re okay. And we all think you’re awesome,” she adds before hustling off to join her friends.

  “That ought to make you feel pretty good,” Bender says after she’s gone.

  “It does.” Reeve sighs. “But what have I accomplished, really? Flint is still out there.” She glances out the window. “And now it’s Halloween, and I can’t shake this feeling of dread.”

  She falls silent, gazing out at the rain and hoping it will continue all night and keep kids off the streets. Then she gives Milo Bender a quizzical look. “You’ve sure been working a lot in your office every morning.”

  He frowns. “I’ve been reviewing old cases, trying to make connections.”

  “And?”

  He gives a shrug in reply.

  “Hey, I’ve been doing a little research of my own.” She tells him what she discovered at the library, matching up reported kidnappings with dates when she was left alone in Flint’s basement. Two girls were taken on two different Halloweens, one on a Memorial Day weekend, and two during the summer months, just as she was. A third girl disappeared from Spokane on a Halloween two years before Reeve was abducted.

  Bender knows far more about these cases than she does. He knows all the girls’ names, and it clearly pains him to talk about them.

  He pushes his half-eaten sandwich away, and says, “I’ve been giving some thought to those cases, comparing them to yours. Seems to me, your kidnapping was unique in several ways. The other girls were taken after dark, while you were kidnapped in broad daylight.”

  “Yeah, and three of those girls were taken from parking lots at or near their schools.” Her stomach knots. “It makes me sick to think about it.”

  “I think he knew where you lived and followed you to the beach. He knew your bicycle. And he purposely let the air out of the tires.”

  She closes her eyes briefly, then asks, “Did he do anything like that with other girls?”

  “Not that we know of, which is another reason your abduction seems unique.”

  She puts her elbows on the table and rubs her temples. “I wish I could remember something to help.”

  He raises an eyebrow. “Like some connection with a fishing cabin?”

  She opens her empty palms in a “perhaps” gesture.

  “You might be interested to hear that the bureau is investigating a new theory. Blankenship thinks that Flint’s accomplice might be a fellow patient at the psychiatric hospital, someone recently released, or perhaps a friend of someone who’s still locked up.”

  She gives him a sharp look. “You sound skeptical. What do you think?”

  His eyes stay on hers and his expression softens. “I think your father is right. I think you need to put all this behind you. You need to go home, concentrate on your studies, get back to your normal life.”

  She looks away without responding. She doesn’t want to even try to explain that she can’t go home and certainly can’t get on with her life while Flint is roaming free. Especially since she’s convinced that he’s poised to strike again.

  It has stopped raining by the time they emerge onto the sidewalk. Milo Bender heads back downhill to return to the office, while Reeve heads in the opposite direction. But she has no intention of returning to the library.

  FORTY-NINE

  Reeve expects JD Bender to turn her down, but instead he says, “Visiting a crime scene sounds way more interesting than working on this old boat. I’ll pick you up in twenty.”

  He arrives right on time and peppers her with questions all the way to Triangle Park. Somehow, relaying information to him helps her feel that she’s getting a grip on things.

  He parks his pickup truck in the half-empty parking lot in front of the shabby building, and they climb out. A brisk wind has come up. She zips up her leather jacket and points out the store where the three girls had been shopping, one of only a handful of open stores.

  “Why did he choose this place?” JD asks, looking around.

  Just then, a van pulls in and stops. A mother and two daughters spill out and bustle into a store.

  They exchange a glance, then Reeve jams her fists into her pockets. “You know what? I recognize this place. My mom used to bring us here after ballet class.” She points at a storefront on the corner with a large “For Lease” sign in the window. “That was a candy shop.”

  “So, what exactly happened here? Do you know any details that weren’t in the news?”

  A visceral memory of the stun gun’s jolt shudders down her spine. She shoves the feeling aside, then tells JD everything she knows about what the evidence team found. Pointing across the parking lot, she adds, “See those trees over there? They found fresh cigarette butts that they think were his”

  “Meaning he just hung out, smoking, until he saw his opportunity?”

  “Apparently.”

  She studies the small stand of trees, then scans the shopping center from end to end. “He could watch the whole place from there.”

  As if by mutual agreement, they head toward the trees.

  “What I can’t figure out,” he says, “is how he thought he would get away with it. It was sloppy. There were witnesses.”

  “And it seems impulsive.”

  They reach the stand of trees, where the scent of pine mixes with the fresh, loamy fragrance of damp earth, and turn in unison to view the shopping center and the parking lot.

  “God, it really is a triangle, isn’t it?” She kicks at the ground, then abruptly straightens.

  “What?”

  “Dr. Blume said that Flint has an obsession with threes. I wonder if he chose this place based on its name.”

  “Triangle Park? That’s a thought. But there must be hundreds of places with some variation of three in the name. Tri-Valley High. Three Tenors Café. Thi
rd Place Books. The list is endless.”

  “Crap. It’s like a puzzle I can’t solve.”

  He shakes his head. “It’s not your job to solve it.”

  “But I can’t stop obsessing about those missing girls, the ones whose abductions coincide with the days he left me alone in the basement.”

  Worry lines his face as he scans the park. “Do they have any new leads?”

  “Agent Blankenship thinks he’s found a connection with a former patient, but . . .” She scowls. “I don’t think your dad would agree. And I trust his judgment more than anyone’s.”

  “Well, as my dad always says, when you’re blocked and can’t move forward—”

  “Turn around and look behind you. I know.”

  They share a wry smile.

  “But the thing is, I went back to the basement already. What else can I do?”

  “I keep thinking about Dr. Moody,” JD says. “Flint broke into his psychiatrist’s house, stole various things, and then he killed him. That strikes me as very, very odd. What motivated him?”

  “You think like an agent.”

  JD grins. “It must’ve rubbed off. But humor me: What do you know about Dr. Moody?”

  “Arrogant, self-important. And he was kind of a celebrity. He was on 60 Minutes.”

  “And he was divorced. You met his ex-wife, right?”

  “Who was distraught, and apparently cleared of any suspicion.”

  “Dad said Moody was quite the ladies’ man, so maybe one of his girlfriends played a role.” JD scoffs. “Though it’s hard to imagine any woman wanting to help a sex criminal like Flint. That would be perverse.”

  “Perverse, but it happens. Even Ted Bundy had female admirers, remember?” She starts to pace. “If Flint got help from one of Dr. Moody’s ex-girlfriends, what could be her connection with—” She stops in midstride, picturing an attractive blonde who was at Flint’s trial. Reeve’s own hair had thinned from years of deprivation, and she recalls envying the woman’s thick tresses. “Wait. I remember a blonde who worked with Moody. I think she was his assistant.”