“There’s nothing to think about. You’ve got to leave. You don’t have a choice in this, Laurant. I won’t have you—”
Nick quietly interrupted, “Tommy, you ought to call Sheriff Lloyd.”
“Yeah, you’re right.” He’d forgotten about the sheriff until Nick reminded him. “And maybe while I’m gone, you can talk some sense into her,” he added with a frown at Laurant. “She can’t be difficult about this. She has to understand this is serious.”
“I’m not being difficult,” she argued. “Just give me a minute, all right?”
Reluctantly, he got up and went to make the call. Nick used his mobile phone to alert the police that Laurant was there. Then he called his superior. While he was talking to Morganstern, she made her tea and carried it to the table. Then she sat down again.
“You need to get one of these,” he said as he put the phone back in his breast pocket. “We would have known where you were and could have gotten hold of you while you were on the road.”
“In Holy Oaks everyone knows where everyone else is. It’s like living in a fishbowl.”
“The sheriff didn’t know where you were.”
“He probably didn’t bother to ask anyone. He’s very lazy,” she said. “My neighbors knew where I was going and so did the two men who were looking after the store while the workmen were there.”
She picked up the transcript of the conversation the police had made, began to read it, and then put it back down.
“I’d like to listen to the tape now.”
Unlike her brother, Nick was anxious for her to do just that. He left the kitchen to get the cassette player, and when he returned he put it in the center of the table.
“Ready?” he asked.
She stopped stirring her tea. She put the spoon in the saucer, took a breath, then nodded.
He hit the play button and leaned back. Laurant stared at the whirling cassette as she listened to the conversation that had taken place in the confessional. Hearing the stranger’s voice made the horror more real to her, and by the time the tape ended, she was nauseated.
“My God.”
“Did you recognize his voice?”
She shook her head. “It was such a low whisper, I didn’t get all of what he said. I don’t think I’ve heard him before. I’ll listen to it again,” she promised, “but not yet, all right? I don’t think I can . . .”
“Some of what he said was deliberate . . . calculated. At least that’s what I think. He wanted to spook Tommy.”
“And he succeeded. I don’t want my brother to worry, but I don’t know how to stop him. It isn’t good for him . . . the stress.”
“You’ve got to be realistic, Laurant. A man tells him he’s going to kill his sister after he gets his kicks, and you don’t think he should worry?”
She threaded her fingers through her hair in agitation. “Yes, of course . . . it’s just . . .”
“What?”
“It isn’t healthy for him.”
Nick had noticed her slight French accent when she first spoke to him, but now the accent was more pronounced. She might have looked calm and collected, but that facade, like a thin layer of ice, was cracking.
“Why me?” she asked, sounding genuinely bewildered. “I live such a boring . . . ordinary life. It doesn’t make any sense.”
“A lot of weirdos don’t make any sense. There was this case a couple of years back. This pervert did six women before they finally caught him. You know what he told them when they asked him how and where he chose his victims?”
She shook her head.
“At the grocery stores. He’d stand out front and he’d smile at the women as they rushed past him. The first one who smiled back . . . that’s the one he wanted. Ordinary women, Laurant, leading ordinary lives. You can’t look for reasons with these guys, or waste your time trying to figure out how their minds work. Leave that to the experts.”
“Do you think the man in the confessional is a serial killer?”
“Maybe,” he allowed. “And maybe not. He could just be getting started. The profilers will know more after they’ve heard the tape. They’ll have some insight.”
“But what do you think?”
“There’s a hell of a lot of inconsistencies here.”
“Such as?”
He shrugged. “For one thing, he told Tommy he did the other woman a year ago, but I think he was lying about that.”
“Why?”
“Because he also said he’s gotten a real taste for it,” he reminded her. “The one statement conflicts with the other.”
“I don’t understand.”
“If he got off on it—torturing and killing the woman—then he did her recently and not a year ago. He wouldn’t have been able to wait that long.”
“Nick, what about the letter he said he sent to the police?”
“If he wrote it, and if he mailed it, then they’ll get it tomorrow or the day after. They’re ready,” he added. “And they’ll run it for prints, but I doubt he left any.”
“I don’t suppose they found any prints on the cassette, did they?”
“Actually, there was one, but it wasn’t our man’s. The kid who checked him out at Super Sid’s Warehouse had a record, so his prints were on file. It was easy to track him to the warehouse,” he explained. “His probation officer helped him get the job.”
“Did he remember who bought the tape?”
“Unfortunately, he didn’t,” he answered. “Have you ever been to one of those stores? The traffic going through there is unbelievable, and it was a cash-only counter, so there wasn’t any credit card receipt or check to trace.”
“What about the confessional? Did they find any prints there?”
“Yeah, hundreds.”
“But you don’t think any of them are his?”
“No, I don’t,” he replied.
“He’s very smart, isn’t he?”
“They’re never as smart as they think they are. Besides . . .”
“What?”
“We’re going to be smarter.”
CHAPTER 6
Nick radiated confidence, and it suddenly dawned on Laurant that he probably had been trained to present a calm demeanor so that witnesses and victims wouldn’t panic.
“Does anything ever rile you?” she asked.
“Oh, yes.”
“You’re sure the man on the tape is serious, aren’t you?”
“Laurant, no matter how many times you ask me the question, the answer’s going to be the same. Yes, I think he’s serious,” he patiently repeated. “He’s gone to a lot of trouble researching you and Tommy and me. Like I said before, his intent was to scare your brother, and he sure as hell succeeded. Tommy’s convinced this guy’s crazy, but I’ve got this feeling that most of what he said was carefully rehearsed. Now we have to figure out his real agenda.”
She could feel her control slipping and clinched her hands. “I can’t believe this is happening,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “Did you hear what he did to that woman? How he tortured her? Did you . . .”
He took hold of her hand and squeezed. “Laurant, take a deep breath. All right?”
She did as he suggested, but it didn’t help. The impact of what she had heard was finally hitting her full force. Chilled to the bone, she pulled her hand away and began to rub her arms.
She was covered with goose bumps and was visibly shivering. Nick grabbed his jacket and draped it around her shoulders. “Better?”
“Yes, thank you.”
He had the sudden urge to put his arm around her and comfort her just like he would one of his own sisters if she were scared, but he didn’t know how Laurant would react, and so he stayed where he was and waited for her to give him some sort of signal.
She pulled the jacket tight around her with a death grip on the lapels.
“How long have you been here?”
“About an hour.”
Both of them fell silent, and for several minutes the only sounds were the ticking of the clock above the kitchen sink and Tommy’s muffled voice from the living room. Nick noticed she hadn’t touched her tea. Then Laurant looked up at him, and he saw the tears in her eyes.
“Are you feeling overwhelmed?” he asked.
She brushed a tear away and answered, “I was thinking about that woman . . . Millie . . . and what he did to her . . .”
The tea was cold, and she decided to make another cup. Then she decided to fix a cup for Nick too. The chore kept her busy and gave her a moment to try to get a grip on her emotions.
Nick watched her work and thanked her when she put the unwanted tea in front of him. Waiting until she sat down again, he said, “I was wondering how you’re going to hold up.”
“You’re hoping I’m tougher than I look?”
“Something like that.”
“Exactly what is it you do for the FBI?”
“I work for the lost-and-found department.”
“What is it you find?”
“When I’m lucky?”
“Yes, when you’re lucky.”
He leaned over to hit the rewind button and then glanced back at her. “Kids. I find kids.”
His eyes were the most intense shade of blue, and when he looked at her directly, she felt as though he were trying to see inside her mind. She wondered if he were analyzing her every move as though she were a chess piece. Was he trying to find her vulnerability?
“It’s specialized work,” he commented, hoping that would put an end to the discussion about his job.
“I’m sorry we had to meet this way . . . under these circumstances.”
“Yeah, well . . .”
“Look how I’m shaking,” she said as she put her hand out for him to see. “I’m so angry I want to scream.”
“Then do it.”
The suggestion brought her up short. “What?”
“Scream,” he said.
She actually smiled, so silly was the notion. “Monsignor would have heart failure, and so would my brother.”
“Look, just take a few minutes and try to chill out.”
“How do you propose I do that?”
“Let’s talk about something else, just for a little while . . . until Tommy comes back.”
“I can’t think about anything else right now.”
“Sure you can,” he advised. “Try, Laurant. It might help calm you down.”
She reluctantly agreed. “What should we talk about?”
“You,” he decided.
She shook her head, but he ignored it and continued on, “It’s odd, don’t you think, that we’ve never met before today?”
“Yes, it is odd,” she agreed. “You’ve been my brother’s closest friend since you were little boys, and he lived with your family all those years, yet I don’t know much about you at all. Tommy came home for summer vacation, and you were always invited to come too, but you never did. Something always came up.”
“My parents went over once,” he said.
“Yes, they did. Your mother brought family photos with her, and there is one of you . . . actually it’s the entire family . . . and Tommy . . . standing in front of a fireplace at Christmas. Would you like to see it?”
“You’ve got it with you?”
She didn’t have any idea how telling it was that she carried the photo with her. He watched her dig her billfold out of her purse. She’d put the picture in one of the plastic covers that came with all the billfolds, and when she handed it to him, he noticed her hand wasn’t trembling anymore.
He looked at the photo of the eight Buchanan kids clustered around their proud parents. Tommy was there too, squeezed in between Nick’s brothers Alec and Mike. His brother Dylan was sporting a black eye. Nick figured he’d probably given it to him during one of their family football games.
“Your mother helped me learn all the names,” she said. “You’re a little blurry though, and Theo’s elbow is blocking half your face. No wonder I didn’t recognize you today.”
He handed the billfold back to her, and as she was putting it away, he said, “I know a lot about you. Tommy had pictures up on the wall, the ones the nuns sent of you when you were little.”
“I was very homely.”
“Yeah, you were,” he teased. “All legs. Tommy would read me some of your letters too. It used to tear him up that he couldn’t bring you over to live with him. He felt so guilty. He had a family, and you didn’t.”
“I did all right. I spent my summer vacations with Grandfather, and the boarding school was really very nice.”
“You didn’t know any other way of life.”
“I was happy,” she insisted.
“But weren’t you lonely?”
She shrugged. “A little,” she admitted. “After Grandfather died.”
“Are you comfortable with me?”
The question jarred her. “Yes, why?”
“We’re going to be spending a lot of time together, and it’s important that you feel you can relax around me.”
“How much time will we be spending together?”
“Every minute of every day and night until this is over. It’s the only way, Laurant.” Without pausing to give her time to absorb that bit of news, Nick commented, “Your brother went crazy when he found out you were modeling.”
She smiled again. “Yes, he did get a little crazy. That episode merited a long-distance call to the Mother Superior. I couldn’t believe my own brother would tell on me.”
“The Mother Superior . . . her name was Mother Madelyne, wasn’t it?”
His memory was impressive. “Yes,” she answered. “After Tommy told on me, Mother called the people I was supposed to be visiting during the summer break. They were very wealthy, and I had met an Italian designer through them.”
“He took one look at you and wanted you, right?”
“He wanted me to model his spring fashions,” she corrected. “And I was in several shows.”
“Until Mother Madelyne dragged you back to the convent.”
“It was mortifying,” she admitted. “I was put on probation, which meant pots and pans for six months. Overnight, I went from glitz to dishwater hands. Do we spend every minute together, Nick?”