Copyright (c) 2016 by Josh Lanyon

�I thought they discontinued that model,� the officer behind the reception desk remarked as Jason followed Kennedy out of the incident room. Her name badge read A. Courtney.

Kennedy, several strides ahead, was already disappearing through the glass doors. He had kept his voice down, but it was a carrying kind of voice. Or maybe Officer A. Courtney had ears like a bat.

Jason said, �The engine still runs. But we�ll never find replacement parts for that carburetor.�

She gave a snort of amusement, though all traces of humor disappeared as the phone rang and she reached to answer it.

�No. No news,� she was saying as Jason followed Kennedy outside.

Jason would not have been entirely surprised to find Kennedy had left him at the station house�but no. The black and white idled in front of the portico, spilling exhaust into the sultry summer air.

Jason climbed into the backseat behind the cage partition�which was probably exactly where Kennedy believed he belonged. The too-warm interior smelled of drunks and dogs. Or possibly drunken dogs.

Anyway, he and Kennedy needed to work together long enough to bring this kid safely home, and then he�d never have to deal with Kennedy again. He wasn�t sure who he was more irritated with: Kennedy, SAC Manning for talking Jason into this, or himself for agreeing to join an investigation where he was not going to be able to add a whole hell of a lot of value. The �pretty boy� comment had stung more than he wanted to admit.

Boxner hung up his radio and put the vehicle in motion. �Rebecca�s a wild girl, but she wouldn�t take off in the middle of her own party. She was only wearing her bathing suit, for one thing. Her car is sitting in the garage. The housekeeper says none of her clothes are missing. Her purse is still at the house. Her cell phone was left on a table on the deck.�

Kennedy grunted, which could have meant yes, no, or don�t talk when I�m trying to think.

Jason asked, �How wild is wild?�

Boxner shrugged. Once again his dark eyes studied Jason in the rearview mirror as though trying to place him. Unlike in Boxner�s case, those sixteen intervening years had made a big difference to Jason. He�d filled out, lost the braces, and cut his formerly shoulder-length dark hair. Nobody who�d known him then would have expected to find him working for the FBI. Including Jason.

�Nothing that required jail time.�

The Madigans were a wealthy local family, so what did that really mean? Did it matter? In most cases the character of the victim determined the initial focus and direction of investigation. If the Madigan girl was the randomly chosen prey of a psychopath, which is what Kennedy and everyone else around here suspected, then character was irrelevant. Victimology was immaterial. Rebecca was just a pawn in a gruesome game of chess.

�Are the Madigans longtime residents?� Jason didn�t recognize the name.

�They moved here from New York about four years ago. Mr. Madigan is a big deal in commercial real estate.�

So Rebecca had moved to Kingsfield right around the time she started high school. New social dynamics. New friends. New enemies. �How did Rebecca fit in?�

�She fit in okay.�

�Is she an only child?�

�No. There�s a younger brother. He�s away at summer camp. They both fit in okay. Her problem is too much money.�

�That�s not such a bad problem to have.�

�No. It sure as shit isn�t,� Boxner said with feeling.

The sun rose higher in the blue sky. The day grew hotter, dryer. The swarm of wasps at last dissipated, and the search for Rebecca recommenced in this key sector. Canine teams raced into the woods ahead of the slow-moving lines of volunteers and seemed to be swallowed whole into vast green silence.

It reminded Jason all too much of the search for Honey. Just because they had not managed to find Honey in time didn�t mean they wouldn�t find Rebecca. Especially given that Rebecca�s abductor was not Martin Pink.

Another hour passed, and the search moved farther afield. The lines of volunteers grew smaller in the distance.

As a kid, he remembered thinking how strange it was that the weather was completely unaffected by human tragedy. In the case of a missing child, it should by rights be raining. But no, it was a beautiful summer day. Not a cloud in the sky. And if the air had not been crackling with voices and radios and assorted engines, it would probably have felt tranquil, peaceful.

Anyway, there wasn�t time to stand around feeling whatever he was feeling�mostly uneasy; he had volunteered to help and had been handed the thankless task of coordinating the citizen searcher lists. Minimal responsibility and maximum aggravation. Kennedy, on the other hand, had vanished into the housing development an hour earlier. No doubt he was interviewing the Madigan housekeeper for himself, unhampered by his in-name-only partner.

Unless Jason was prepared to bird-dog Kennedy�s every step�which he wasn�t�he was going to have to try and develop a sense of humor about the situation.

Around four o�clock, Chief Gervase and Boxner returned to base. Boxner was saying, �I think it�s suspicious.�

Gervase shook his head. �When you�ve been at this job as long as me, you�ll find out that people act guilty for a lot of reasons.�

�Including they�re guilty,� Boxner said.

�Yeah, and sometimes people are guilty about stuff which has nothing to do with our investigation.� Gervase said to Jason, �Have you got a Tony McEnroe on any of your lists?�

Jason shuffled quickly through the sheets on his clipboard. �No.�

�What�s up?� Kennedy�s voice inquired.

Jason�s heart jumped. He hadn�t seen Kennedy, hadn�t noticed his approach, not that it should have affected him one way or the other, but he was intensely, uncomfortably conscious of Kennedy. Or more likely of Kennedy�s dislike.

Kennedy�s pale hair was dark with sweat and rings of underarm perspiration marked his blue FBI polo, so presumably he had been doing something more active than interviewing witnesses. Behind the sunglasses, his face was as impassive as usual as he met Jason�s look.

�Everyone in Kingsfield is here looking for Rebecca,� Boxner said. �Except Tony McEnroe.�

�Not everyone,� Gervase contradicted.

�Everyone who�s free to lend a hand is here.�

This time Gervase didn�t bother to deny it.

�McEnroe is the boyfriend,� Kennedy said. It was not a question. Jason didn�t doubt Kennedy had already committed all the players to memory.

�The boyfriend,� Boxner agreed. �And what a piece of work that guy is.�

Kennedy directed his sunglasses toward Jason, and Jason said, �I�ve confirmed he�s not officially on one of the search teams.� Then again a lot of people who were out there looking for Rebecca had not bothered to officially sign up. McEnroe might be one of them. Presumably he would know any places that were special to her or where she might run to in times of stress.

�If McEnroe was also missing, I�d have said they took off together,� Gervase said. �But we talked to McEnroe first thing this morning.�

�Waste of time on a waste of space,� Boxner said.

Gervase said, �The Madigans tried to discourage Rebecca from seeing him, but teenage girls have a mind of their own. Like I said, I don�t like him, but I don�t have any reason to doubt he�s telling the truth about Rebecca.�

�Except he�s not out here in the noonday sun wasting any time looking for a girl he�s supposed to be in love with.�

�Maybe we ought to have a chat with Mr. McEnroe,� Kennedy said.

Jason had become so used to Kennedy treating him as though he were invisible, it took him a second to realize he was being addressed. �Sure! Yeah!�

Maybe he sounded overly enthusiastic because Kennedy�s blond brows rose in what was fast becoming his usual skeptical expression regarding Jason, but not only was Jason happy at the opportunity to hand off his clipboard, he was relieved at the promise of at least some cursory investigation into the possibility Rebecca might not be the victim of a copycat killer.

Despite Kingsfield�s gruesome past, serial killers really were the least likely scenario in most missing person cases. And so far a missing person was all they really had.

�I�ll drive you out there,� Gervase said. �Boyd can stand in for me for a little while. Right, Boyd? Nothing you�d like better than to show me up at doing my own job.� He was grinning as Boyd began to protest.

Jason bestowed his clipboard on Boxner, who gave him another one of those narrow looks�did he really not remember Jason at all?�and followed Gervase and Kennedy to the chief�s SUV.

The chief�s radio was buzzing with updates as they climbed inside. The interior of the vehicle smelled of the little fake pine tree deodorizer hanging from the rearview mirror.

�I don�t believe we�re looking at the end result of a lover�s quarrel,� Gervase told them as he started the SUV�s engine. �I admit I�m curious as to why young McEnroe isn�t out here with the rest of us.�

Maybe because he knows everyone will be watching him, speculating, whispering. Jason didn�t say it aloud. He gazed out the window at the tangle of maple, birch, and oak trees, giant ferns, and flowering vines lining the roadside. You could wander a few steps from the road and lose all sense of direction in no time. However, Rebecca wasn�t a small child. She hadn�t wandered away from home and gotten lost.

�I saw you finally solved that case in Wisconsin,� Gervase said as the SUV bumped off the grass and onto the paved road. �Did you really throw the sheriff out the window?�

Kennedy said, �No. I thought about it plenty.�

Gervase laughed. �Well, I guess you�ll weather that okay. Your record ought to speak for itself.�

Kennedy didn�t respond, perhaps because he was conscious of Jason sitting behind them, SAC Manning�s eyes and ears. Not so much. Jason wasn�t going to let Kennedy throw anyone out a window, but he also didn�t plan on reporting back to Manning with a transcript of everything Kennedy said and did.

The towering trees overhanging the rural road diffused the bright sunlight, creating a hazy, almost surreal effect. Tonalism. It reminded him of Whistler�s nocturne painting, those dreamy, pensive landscapes. In fact, Whistler had been born in Massachusetts.

Through the fretwork of leaves he spotted the distinctive black hump of a familiar hillside outcropping. Memory slithered down his spine.

�Our boy lives a ways out,� Gervase was saying apologetically. �Come to think of it, here we all live a ways out.�

�Isn�t this near Martin Pink�s property?� Jason asked.

Kennedy�s head turned his way. Sunglasses met sunglasses.

�I guess you�ve done your homework,� Gervase said. �Yep. Pink lived over that ridge to your right. Lived there with his crazy old mother and his pothead brother. They�re all gone now. Even the house is falling down. Of course, it always was.�

The car hit a pothole.

�How long has McEnroe lived in the area?� Kennedy asked.

�Four or five years. Unfortunately.�

Same length of time as the Madigans, Jason noted. Which meant�probably zilch. Despite the sincere efforts of Hollywood writers to prove otherwise, there were actually a lot of meaningless coincidences in crime investigation.

Kennedy had turned that appraising stare on Gervase. �Trouble?�

Gervase dipped his head from side to side in a sort of noncommittal way. �We�ve got an ongoing situation regarding a little patch of so-called medicinal marijuana he�s cultivating on his property.�

At the lack of response from either agent, Gervase said, �McEnroe is twenty-two. Rebecca is seventeen. So yes, there is always going to be trouble in that kind of situation.�

They passed a stand of battered mailboxes and turned down another dirt road. The tattered green canopy of trees created the illusion it was much later than it was, that the afternoon was growing darker and chillier as shadows lengthened, reached out. The light had a tired, watery look to it.

Jason became aware Kennedy was watching him in the side mirror. The sunglasses made it hard to be sure, but he could feel that steady regard, even if he couldn�t see it.

He was newly, uncomfortably aware of how he must have come across earlier. Brash. Cocky. Contentious. Partly he had been reacting to Kennedy�s not even pretending to consult with him. Partly�he had been irritated with himself for not having the gumption to refuse Manning�s request. You didn�t earn promotions by refusing favors to head honchos�however ill-thought-out those requests might be. His irritation, impatience with the situation, had been acerbated by Kennedy�s obvious displeasure at being partnered with him. But why wouldn�t Kennedy be displeased at being saddled with what amounted to a handler?

A handler with a fraction of his experience with violent crime.

Jason winced inwardly. He didn�t like thinking he had been playing the role of company stooge. That was not who he was. Though very likely that was what SAC Manning was looking for from him. And it was probably how he appeared to Kennedy.

Well, you only had one chance to make a first impression and�no. So moving forward, he would try not to be such a prick. And maybe Kennedy, who was almost certainly a congenital prick, would stop treating him like the enemy. It would make the job easier for both of them�and allow them to better serve the people they were there to help.

The road jogged to the left, and they pulled through a gate that looked more like a car had busted a wide hole in the sagging fence. The dwelling was a single-story ranch style painted a dusty red. The doors and shutters were an equally faded blue.

The chief parked next to a white pickup truck, and they climbed out.

It was the kind of place where you expected to be greeted by a barking dog, but there was no dog. No sign of any life. Jason felt an uneasy prickle between his shoulder blades.

He rested his hand lightly on the butt of his Glock, and then noticed Kennedy had unsnapped the thumb-break on his holster. So he wasn�t overreacting, wasn�t unduly nervous. His response was appropriate to the situation. He found it harder to be sure these days.

They followed Gervase across the mowed weeds and up the wooden steps to a small platform that served as, well, a small platform. It wasn�t big enough to be a deck, let alone a porch, but it was wide enough to accommodate the three of them. Gervase banged on the peeling wooden screen. Jason and Kennedy waited.

Jason could hear Kennedy�s wristwatch ticking over the pounding of his heart in his ears.

It took several more energetic knocks before a muffled yell from inside the house reached them. At last the front door swung open. A willowy young man leaned against the frame as though he needed the support. His long blond hair was rumpled, his jaw was heavily stubbled, his dark eyes bleary and hollow. He wore a long-sleeve plaid flannel shirt and Joker boxer shorts.

�I already told you she�s not here!� he snarled at Gervase. It was a weary snarl though, as if most of McEnroe�s energy was going into staying upright.

�Okay,� Gervase said evenly. �You already told us. We�d still like to talk to you.�

�Who would?� McEnroe took in Jason and Kennedy. His scowl deepened. �Who are you?� He turned back to Gervase. �No way. You brought the goddamned ATF out here?�

�You�re thinking of the goddamned DEA. We�re the goddamned FBI,� Kennedy said. �And yes. We�d like a word.�

�How about fuck off?� McEnroe tried to slam shut the door, but he was neither fast nor steady. Kennedy�s hand shot out; he grabbed the edge of the door and gave it a sharp shove. McEnroe staggered and tumbled back, landing on his butt. He blinked up at them in bewilderment from the bare floorboards.

�That�s two words,� Kennedy said.

�Get up, Tony,� Gervase growled. �We�re not here about your crop, so don�t make a bigger ass of yourself than you have to.�

McEnroe climbed ungracefully to his feet and, with several looks of mingled reproach and outrage, led the way into the front room.

The house smelled of cigarettes, bacon, and something vaguely antiseptic. Liniment? Pine-sol? Sea Breeze?

McEnroe flung himself on a sagging sofa upholstered in beige corduroy and glared at them.

�I don�t know what the hell you want from me. I don�t know where Becky is.�

�You do remember she�s only seventeen, right?� Gervase said.

�I remember.�

�What did you argue about last night?� Kennedy asked. He remained standing as Gervase took the tan recliner chair across from McEnroe.

McEnroe�s eyes widened. �I don�t�how do you know? We didn�t.�

Jason positioned himself next to the front door. It afforded a cattycorner view of the kitchen, which was in the process of either being remodeled or sold for parts.

You could tell a lot about a person by the art on their walls, but Tony McEnroe did not have art on his walls. No photos either. The place didn�t seem exactly untidy so much as under halfhearted and perpetual construction. There was a layer of dust on the floor sander by the window.

Kennedy asked, �Why did you leave her party early?�

McEnroe dipped his head, running a hand through his long, oily hair. Or maybe his hair wasn�t oily. Maybe he just used a lot of product. And not much soap. �I-I just felt like it. It was boring. Too many stupid, snotty kids clogging up the place.�

�Aren�t those stupid, snotty kids the same age as your girlfriend?� Kennedy inquired.

McEnroe shook his head without looking up.

Kennedy studied him as though deciding on the best angle of approach. �Tell us about the party. Walk us through the evening again.�

McEnroe raised his head, glowering. �There isn�t anything to tell. I showed up about nine thirty, which was when the party started. Becky was in a bitchy mood. So after an hour of it, I left. That�s it. That�s the entire night right there. I went home and went to bed. The first I heard she was missing was when you knocked on my door this morning.�

�Alice Cornwell contacted you before she phoned us,� Gervase put in.

�Well, okay. Whatever. I just mean I didn�t see her again. She didn�t come here.�

�You don�t seem particularly broken up over your girlfriend going missing,� Gervase observed.

�She�s not missing.� McEnroe�s gaze was defiant.

Gervase looked at Kennedy.

�What does that mean?� Kennedy asked.

�She�s just doing this for attention. I know Becky. This is her idea of getting back at me.�

�Getting back at you?� Kennedy repeated thoughtfully. �Why would she want to get back at you?�

McEnroe seemed to struggle to put his thoughts into words. At last he said bitterly, �Because she can�t stand it when everything doesn�t go her way. When she isn�t the center of attention. When she�s not the one in control.� Absently, nervously, he stroked his arms through the soft material of the flannel shirt.

�I see.�

Jason could tell Kennedy wasn�t buying it. Personally, he wasn�t convinced either way. For sure, McEnroe wasn�t telling them everything. Most people didn�t tell them everything. Not at first anyway.

McEnroe wiped his pale and sweaty face on his shirtsleeve. �Is that it?�

It was a hot summer day. Too hot for long sleeves. Too hot for flannel.

Jason asked, �How did you get those scratches on your arms?� He felt rather than saw the quick look Kennedy threw him.

It was a shot in the dark, but McEnroe gaped at him, instinctively tugged at his sleeves, although the cuffs were already covering his wrists, and Jason knew he was right.

�What? I don�t�I was playing with the cat. Becky�s cat. Snowball. She scratched me. The cat scratched me.� He looked frightened.

�You know what I think,� Gervase said suddenly, heavily. He placed his hands on his thighs, as though about to push to his feet. �I think we�d better finish this conversation back at the station.�

�What?�

As McEnroe jumped off the sofa, Jason tensed, ready for anything. He did not reach for his weapon�he would have been the only one who did�but it was close.

McEnroe was babbling, �You�re crazy, old man! I already told you I had nothing to do with Becky running away. I don�t know anything about it. I don�t want to know anything about it.�

�Maybe you did, maybe you didn�t. There are still questions that have to be answered.�

�I don�t know anything!�

�Son, you can cooperate and come in voluntarily, or I can arrest your ass,� Gervase said. �Up to you.�

�This is crazy!� McEnroe was trembling, wild-eyed as he looked from face to face. �I didn�t do anything.�

Kennedy looked his usual stony self. Gervase looked pained.

�What are you getting so worked up about, McEnroe?� Gervase�s tone grew fatherly, almost reassuring. �It�s routine. You�re the boyfriend, you�re going to be questioned. If you�re innocent, you�ve got nothing to worry about. It�s a couple of hours out of your life.�

McEnroe stared at the police chief and seemed to calm at whatever he read in his expression. He stopped trembling. The wild-eyed look faded.

�I�m not under arrest?�

�Not so far.�

His Adam�s apple jerked. �Can I at least put my pants on?�

�Please do,� Gervase said cheerfully. �Please do.�

McEnroe shuffled out of the room and down the hallway. A door creaked open. They heard the scrape of drawers opening and shutting. The back and forth of footsteps. The slide of a closet door.

�You won�t need your toothbrush,� Gervase said to the ceiling.

Jason said, �I�m going to cover the back entrance.�

Kennedy nodded. Gervase smiled, leaning back in his chair. �Don�t worry. He�s not going anywhere.�

The chief was probably right. He�d lasted a long time at his job, so he probably knew his constituency pretty well, but this go-put-your-pants-on-and-come-with-us method seemed a haphazard way to bring in a suspect. Jason could tell by Kennedy�s expression that he too was listening closely to the sounds of McEnroe moving around his room, so maybe they were on the same page here.

He opened the front door and slipped outside, jumping from the steps and moving quietly along the side of the house, carrying his pistol at low ready.

The mowed weeds ran right up to the foundation of the building. They whispered beneath his feet as he passed the living room window and turned the corner of the house.

No screens on any of the windows.

The back of the house faced the woods. There was a half-constructed deck that looked like someone had got bored playing with giant Lincoln Logs, and a brand new hot tub still in its plastic wrappings. Reassuringly prosaic. The back door screen leaned against the red siding, and the door itself was boarded up.

Nobody was leaving that way. Maybe Gervase knew that.

Those windows without screens made him uneasy. Jason crossed the back of the residence, heading for the east side again�in a minute he�d be going in circles�and turned the rear corner in time to see black curtains gusting in the breeze and McEnroe crawling headfirst out the bedroom window.

At the same instant, McEnroe spotted Jason and brought up his arm.

Jason found himself staring down the barrel of a semi-automatic pistol.

Time stopped.

�Drop your gun,� McEnroe whispered.

Jason did not move a muscle. He could not have moved if his life depended on it, and there was a good chance it did. A perfect and boundless stillness washed through him as he waited for the shot. That terrifying bang that always came a split second after the worst had already happened.

�Drop it,� McEnroe hissed. His hand was rock steady.

It wasn�t even fear Jason felt so much as numb inevitability. He knew he needed to think past the pistol aimed at him, but he could not tear his gaze from the black hole of the barrel pointed at his face. A suicide special. A cheap, compact, small-caliber weapon. Equally special when used for homicide.

Getting shot in the chest with a .22 or a .25 was almost always fatal. That high velocity bullet would ricochet around tearing up organs and everything else in its path like a murderous pinball machine. Getting shot in the head�

Jason let his Glock slip from his fingers. It hit the ground in front of him with a dull thud.

McEnroe slid gracelessly the rest of the way out the window, pistol trained on Jason. There was no more than three feet between them. Too far�and not far enough.

�Don�t move,� McEnroe whispered. �I�ll blow your head off if you even twitch.�

Jason said nothing. There were no coherent thoughts in his brain to speak. He had already done the unthinkable by dropping his weapon.

McEnroe began to walk backward, still leveling his pistol at Jason. Jason stayed motionless, hands at his sides. McEnroe should have made him lock his hands behind his head. Like this, he could tackle McEnroe, wrestle him for the gun.

He didn�t move.

McEnroe turned and sprinted for the trees.

Jason bent and scooped up his Glock. He could take McEnroe out right now. An easy shot. A clean shot. Bam. Right between the shoulders.

You can�t think about what it feels like to get shot.

He raised his weapon. Opened his mouth to shout a warning. The words didn�t come.

McEnroe vanished into the trees.

What the fuck did you just do?

He had to go after McEnroe. It was his job. His duty. He could not continue to stand there like a statue. But he could not seem to�unstick his limbs. He felt paralyzed. His right shoulder was throbbing painfully as though he�d reinjured it. The reality was he was unhurt, and Rebecca�s murderer was getting away.

Metal rings scraped on a metal rod. The curtains next to him suddenly fluttered open, and Kennedy leaned out the window. �Where is he? Where did he go?�

Jason�s lips parted as he stared at Kennedy�s tense, hard features.

He could lie. He could say he didn�t know. That McEnroe had escaped before Jason made it to the back of the house.

The fact he even considered this lie for however brief a moment shocked him. Like it wasn�t already bad enough?

He said through stiff lips, �He ran for the woods. He pulled a gun on me.�

Kennedy shouted, �Then what the hell are you standing there for?�

That broke the spell. Jason launched himself after McEnroe as Kennedy�with a lightness surprising in a man his size�jumped down from the window ledge.

As Jason�s feet pounded the soft, uneven ground, he scanned the treeline for motion or color. He saw nothing.

It was a relief to run. Dodging bullets was preferable to facing Kennedy. Or his own thoughts.

What the fuck? What the fuck?

How could you have done that?

He could hear Kennedy shouting to Gervase, but he didn�t hear the words. He didn�t need to. No time to think about any of it now. Somehow he had to make this right. All his focus needed to be on locating and apprehending McEnroe.

In thirty seconds Jason was across the firebreak. He plunged into the shadowy cool of the woods.

It was like passing through the door into a different world. The tall army of trees seemed to absorb all sound. The temperature dropped an instant few degrees, and visibility grew uncertain. He slowed, listening. From a few yards ahead he could hear crashing sounds as McEnroe piled through bushes and brush in his headlong flight. He was making no effort to be quiet, no effort to conceal his passage. He was desperate.

So was Jason. He charged after him.

High overhead a startled flock of birds took flight.

Twigs snapped to his right. Jason brought his weapon up. Several yards down Kennedy was moving on a parallel line with him.

Wouldn�t that be brilliant? Shoot Senior Special Agent Sam Kennedy by mistake?

You should not be here. You are a danger to yourself and everyone on your team.

The unbidden thought frightened him, made him angry. It wasn�t true. He had made a mistake, but he would fix it.

He paused.

Behind him came the crackle of a radio, instantly muffled. That would be Gervase coming up from the rear. And ahead of him�more sounds of cracking wood. Quieter now, more surreptitious. McEnroe had stopped panicking and was using his brain.

Where are you?

Jason listened, tuning out Gervase�s muted voice speaking softly into his shoulder mic, Kennedy�s careful progress through prehistoric-sized ferns�

There. The brush and splinter of something large moving swiftly through dense overgrowth.

Jason charged after, abandoning stealth and relying on sheer speed.

His oncoming rush must have startled McEnroe who suddenly popped up about a yard ahead, red and yellow shirt a sudden flash of color in the blue-green gloom. McEnroe�s pale face turned briefly toward him, eyes wide in alarm.

Kennedy was shouting a warning, moving into firing stance.

Christ, don�t shoot me. Please don�t shoot me�

Jason barreled on, bursting through bushes and tackling McEnroe. His arms locked around a skinny waist�McEnroe wriggled frantically, kicked at him�and they both plunged over the side of an embankment.

There was a sickening dip in Jason�s belly as the earth fell away and gravity took hold.

They landed on the hillside, rolled, kicking up dead leaves, pine needles, and loose soil, McEnroe sputtering obscenities all the way down. It seemed a ways, but fortunately it was not a steep drop.

They tumbled to the bottom, Jason on top. He scrambled up, planting his knee in the small of McEnroe�s back and pressing the muzzle of his Glock against McEnroe�s skull. He was shaking with adrenaline and fury as he fumbled McEnroe�s pistol from his back waistband.

�Move again and I�ll blow your head off.�

McEnroe cried, �You broke my fucking leg, man!�

�Good. I wish it was your neck.� McEnroe�s legs seemed to be moving just fine, however, and Jason dug his knee in harder. �Quit kicking. I�m warning you.�

Kennedy came down the embankment at a quick easy jog, holstering his weapon at the sight of Jason atop McEnroe.

He reached the flatland at the same time Gervase appeared over the crest.

�Tony, you dumbass.� Gervase gave the all-clear into his mic.

�You have no right! I didn�t do anything!� McEnroe howled.

�Then why�d you run?� Kennedy asked. He helped Jason haul McEnroe to his feet. McEnroe�s jeans were torn, and there was a long gash in his leg, but it was not life-threatening or even apparently incapacitating. He made another clumsy kick toward Jason.

Gervase pulled his handcuffs out as he reached the bottom of the hill. He snapped them around McEnroe�s skinny wrists. �Now you�re under arrest,� he said.

The satisfaction in his voice made Jason wonder if this was what Gervase had hoped would happen. He hadn�t had more than the most circumstantial of evidence against McEnroe, unlikely enough for a warrant to search, let alone arrest. McEnroe trying to make a run for it definitely strengthened the case against him.

Except�what case? All they had so far was a missing girl, and maybe McEnroe was right. Maybe Rebecca had taken off for reasons of her own.

Why was everyone so eager to believe something worse had happened to the girl?

Gervase hauled his prisoner back up the embankment, McEnroe protesting the injustice and his innocence every step of the way.

Jason started to follow but was halted by Kennedy�s voice.

�You want to tell me what happened back there?� Kennedy�s eyes were like blue steel.

�I told you what happened,� Jason said curtly. �He pulled a gun on me.�

�You hadn�t already pulled your own weapon?�

He wasn�t going to lie about it. Even if he�d wanted to lie, not having pulled his own weapon in that situation would not put him in a much better light. �Yes. I had.�

�You�re saying McEnroe got the drop on you?�

Had he? Jason was no longer sure who�d had those precious few seconds of advance warning. Had he frozen, or had McEnroe raised his weapon first? He couldn�t remember. There was only one appropriate answer.

He nodded curtly.

Kennedy continued to watch Jason, granite-faced and unbelieving. To Jason�s relief, he did not pursue it.

They followed Gervase up the hill in silence.

�He�s not our guy,� Kennedy said twenty minutes later, rejoining Jason and Chief Gervase in the observation room.

�What?� Gervase�s jaw dropped. �But-but what about the hot tub? What about buying the Parvels� old house?� He turned to the two-way mirror where they could see Tony McEnroe sitting at the table, crying.

�It�s not even circumstantial,� Kennedy said. �We�ve got nothing on him.�

The chief�s disappointment was approximate to Jason�s relief. He had been increasingly alarmed by the direction of Kennedy�s interrogation. It was comforting to know Kennedy had only been bluffing�it had been a frighteningly convincing performance given the craziness of Kennedy�s line of attack. How many young girls did you plan on luring into that hot tub? In other circumstances it would have been funny, but McEnroe had sure bought it. He believed that any minute now he was going to be arrested for Rebecca�s murder.

Gervase persisted. �He�s the boyfriend of the victim. He fought with her before she disappeared. He doesn�t have an alibi. He�s a doper. That�s plenty right there!�

�It sounds like Madigan fought with half the guests at her party,� Kennedy said. �She was alive and arguing after McEnroe went home.�

�She got mouthy with Officer Boxner when he arrived to tell her to turn down the music,� Jason said. �She was alive and well and still arguing with her guests until one in the morning.�

Kennedy gave him one of those unreadable glances.

Gervase shook his head. His disappointment and disgust were obvious.

�He�s lying about something,� Kennedy said. �But I don�t think he�s lying when he says he doesn�t know what happened to Rebecca. I think he believes she took off for reasons of her own.�

�No, I don�t buy it,� the chief said. �Why would she? It makes no sense.�

�I agree. I�m not telling you what I think. I�m telling you what McEnroe thinks.�

Gervase glared at McEnroe and then turned his hostile gaze on Kennedy. �He�s our only suspect. If it�s not him�you know what that means.�

Back to the theory of the copycat killer.

Kennedy shook his head. �It�s way too early to draw that conclusion. To draw any conclusion. There are plenty of possibilities as far as what might have happened to Rebecca.�

�They haven�t even finished today�s search,� Jason said.

�All right.� Gervase sighed, a long weary sound of exasperation. �All right then. You�re the expert. Maybe we will find her today. Although we�re running out of daylight.�

�In the meantime, we�ve got plenty to hold McEnroe on,� Kennedy said. His gaze flicked toward Jason, and Jason knew he was thinking about the fact McEnroe had managed to get the drop on him. His face warmed.

�Okay. I�m heading back to the search site,� Gervase said. �If you want to start reading over statements, I�ll instruct Officer Courtney to make sure you have whatever you need.�

�We hope you�ll be very comfortable here at the General Warren Inn. Just ask for Charlotte�that�s me�if you need anything.� The lanky blonde at the motel front desk slid a keycard across the scratched maple counter.

�Thanks.� Jason picked up the plastic card and glanced back at Kennedy, who had already finished checking in and was walking out the sliding lobby doors into the dark courtyard.

It was eight o�clock on Saturday night. After the search for Rebecca had been placed on hold, he and Kennedy had continued to work their way through the remaining statements. They had come up as empty-handed as the volunteers scouring the woods and hills.

Sometimes no news was good news.

The search�both on foot and on paper�would start again at first light.

Charlotte was watching Kennedy too, and as the doors slid shut behind him, she said, �I remember him from the last time. He stayed here then too.�

She looked to be about eighteen, which would have put her around age eight when Kennedy had been in Kingsfield working the Huntsman case. Jason didn�t doubt her though. Kennedy would always leave an impression.

�Did he leave a nice tip?�

Charlotte looked surprised. �He did, yeah.�

Jason winked at her and started to turn away, but she said quickly, �Do you�do you think you�ll find her? Rebecca?�

�Is she a good friend?�

Charlotte shook her head but then nodded. So which was it? Yes or no? Maybe Charlotte wasn�t sure. �I know her. We hang out sometimes. A bunch of us, I mean. What I wanted to tell you��

When she didn�t continue, Jason asked, �What?�

�You�re wrong about Tony. He didn�t do anything to Rebecca. He wouldn�t have any reason.�

�No?�

�It�s over between them. On both sides; Rebecca just doesn�t want to admit it yet because she likes using Tony to piss her parents off.�

Charlotte was a cute girl. She had wide blue eyes, expertly lined in black, and shiny hair bound in two braids. Not Little House on the Prairie braids, but chic fashion-magazine-style braids. Jason said, �And you know this because you and Tony�?�

She blushed. Nodded.

�I see.� Good news for Rebecca�s parents and bad news for Charlotte�s, in Jason�s opinion.

She raised her chin. �Everyone knows what�s going on here. Nobody wants to say it out loud, but everyone knows.�

�What do they know?�

Charlotte�s voice dropped. �The Huntsman is back.�

�No.� Jason wanted to be very clear about this. He knew only too well how fast rumor spread in a small town. �Martin Pink is sitting in solitary confinement in a supermax prison right this minute.�

Charlotte was not impressed. �Everyone knows there was more than one Huntsma�� She broke off as a tall, sandy-haired man of about fifty stepped out of the back office. He wore glasses and a mustache so bushy it looked fake.

�Charlotte, can I see you in here?�

�Yes, Daddy.� Charlotte left the front desk at once, throwing Jason an apologetic look.

The man studied Jason, nodded politely, and turned away.

Jason was just climbing out of the shower on Sunday morning when his cell phone rang.

He glanced at the ID. SAC Manning. He clicked accept. �West.�

�Agent West,� Manning said. �I�m glad I, erm, caught you.�

Since Jason carried a cell phone, it would be difficult for Manning not to catch him, by which he deduced that for whatever reason Manning was uncomfortable about making this call. Jason felt an instinctive flash of unease.

�Good morning, sir.�

�I received an, erm, rather concerning phone call from Agent Kennedy last night.�

Uh-oh. What was this about? What fresh hell�? He clipped out, �Yes?�

He could hear Manning�s disquiet all the way from Boston. �Kennedy has raised the, erm, question of your, erm, fitness for field duty.�

It was kind of like getting punched in the chest. It took a moment�s struggle before Jason had the breath to say, �He said what?�

�Kennedy has suggested there may be an issue with your return to active duty status. I understand there was an, erm, incident yesterday.�

Jason stuttered with anger and alarm, �Th-the issue is Kennedy doesn�t like being partnered. That�s the only issue here, and it�s a big one.�

By some miracle he had hit on exactly the right response. He could hear the instant relief in Manning�s voice. �Erm. I see. I suspected that might be the case; however, Kennedy was unaware of your, erm, shooting, so his suggestion you froze under fire��

�He claims I froze under fire?� Jason�s voice did not sound like him.

Whoever it did sound like ruffled Manning into saying, �Erm, he didn�t quite say that. He��

�We were never under fire�you�d certainly have heard if we had been�and I did not freeze. Kennedy can�t handle the fact everyone on the planet doesn�t think and react like him.�

Ah. He was playing Manning�s song and hitting all the high notes. Manning fully believed Kennedy was an arrogant sonofabitch who listened to nobody and believed he was the supreme authority on all matters.

His tone was almost conciliatory as he told Jason, �I realize it�s a difficult situation and, erm, Kennedy is a difficult, erm, personality. That�s one reason you were the first, erm, person I thought of for this assignment.�

Yeah. Jason was the first erm person Manning had thought of because he was geographically closest, between assignments, and too erm hungry for promotion to turn down any request from a superior. Mostly because he had been the only agent within driving distance to Kennedy�who would not have been willing to wait around in that parking lot even another five minutes, if Jason was any judge.

Manning was still talking, attempting to schmooze down Jason�s hackles, but Jason was no longer listening. He was running through the conversation he and Kennedy were going to have five seconds after Manning hung up.

At last Manning stopped blabbing and disconnected. Jason hauled on his jeans, slammed out of his motel room, and stalked down the walkway to thump on Kennedy�s door.

Annoyingly, his hair, wet from the shower, was dripping down his face. Jason brushed the drops from his cheeks just as Kennedy opened the door. Terror he might look like he was weeping spurred Jason into attack.

�What the hell do you think you�re doing telling Manning I froze yesterday? You weren�t there. You have no idea what happened. I did not freeze.�

Kennedy said levelly, as though he was used to being greeted every morning by enraged colleagues, �I think you froze.�

�I didn�t freeze. You weren�t even th��

�And I think you should stop yelling the word froze where anyone can hear you.� To Jason�s astonishment, Kennedy wrapped his hand around Jason�s bicep and drew him into his motel room.

The effect of Kennedy�s large, capable hand drawing him briefly and disconcertingly close was�confusing. Definitely confusing. Coworkers did not breach each other�s personal space unless they were very good friends�or possibly about to punch each other.

For damn sure straight male coworkers did not casually manhandle each other. It occurred to Jason to wonder if there had been another reason he had been partnered with Kennedy. Was Kennedy gay?

Ha. Could cyborgs be gay?

Cyborg? Fleetingly, he was aware that Kennedy, though also fresh from the shower, had had time to slap on too much aftershave and drink several cups of motel Brand X coffee. He was wearing those reading glasses that made him look older if not scholarly. His shirt was unbuttoned and open, revealing unexpectedly ripped six-pack abs.

Kennedy shut the door and let go of Jason�s arm with an okay-knock-yourself-out salute.

�McEnroe pulled a gun on me,� Jason said. Loudly. �That�s what happened. He had the drop on me. You weren�t there. You don�t know what you would have done in the same situation. It�s speculation on your part. And this isn�t about that anyway. This is about you not wanting to be partnered with anyone.�

�I don�t want or need a partner,� Kennedy agreed. �But if I�m going to have one, he sure as hell needs to be someone I can rely on.�

�You can rely on me!� Though maybe shouting wasn�t the most reassuring means of delivering the message. �And if you honest to God thought you couldn�t, you could have talked to me. You didn�t have to go behind my back.�

He wasn�t sure if he imagined the red tinge that appeared on Kennedy�s face. �I didn�t realize you�d been shot.� Kennedy�s tone wasn�t exactly apologetic, but there was a note of something that might almost have been regret. His gaze lowered briefly to the puckered scar on Jason�s shoulder. �Under the circumstances, I don�t blame you for being gun shy, and if I�d known the reason, I�d have spoken to you directly. That doesn�t change the fact you shouldn�t be out in the field if you�re not able to��

�I�m able,� Jason cut in tersely. �I�m not afraid. Unduly. Of being shot. I did not free��

�And if you can�t admit there was a problem, how am I supposed to believe you�ve got it under control?�

�Christ.� Jason turned away, raking his hand through his wet hair. He faced Kennedy. �All right. Yes. Maybe I did freeze for a few seconds. It was just the surprise, the unexpectedness of finding a gun in my face.� As he made the admission, Jason realized he had fallen for one of the oldest interrogation techniques in the world: let�s work together to fix this mess.

Yeah. Right. Busted!

He finished without hope that there would be any comprehension, �I�ve been back on the job for a month, and I�ve been fine the whole time.� He tried for a lightness he didn�t feel�and Kennedy certainly didn�t feel. �I give you my word, if we end up in a firefight this week, I�ll have your back.�

Kennedy continued to study him, flinty-eyed and unmoved. And then, to Jason�s astonishment, the powerful, aggressive line of the older man�s shoulders relaxed. He said, �All right. I�ll hold you to that.�

�You�ll��

Kennedy said, �You�re correct. I wasn�t there. I didn�t witness the incident. You�ve been cleared for duty. You believe you�ll be ready next time. We�ll go with that.�

They�would? Kennedy would?

There was a pause�a strange moment�where neither of them spoke or moved. Jason was acutely aware of an unexpected intimacy created by physical proximity and a cautious lowering of defenses. This was probably the first honest, unguarded conversation he�d had with Kennedy. It was more than that. He was intensely, forcefully aware of Kennedy as a man. A powerful man. An attractive man. A man with shoulders like a bulwark and a full, sensual lower lip at odds with the ascetic planes of his chiseled face.

What was happening? He didn�t even like Kennedy. Did he?

Kennedy broke the spell with a crisp, �Were you planning to go bare-chested today, Agent West? I�m sure it�ll be a treat for the ladies of Kingsfield, but I suggest you grab your shirt and shoes. We need to get moving.�

�So we�re looking at a copycat,� Jason said.

He and Kennedy were back in their makeshift command center with the door closed. They had returned to town ahead of Gervase and most of his team while the crime scene was being processed�a slow and painstaking operation given the general inaccessibility of that remote location.

Arriving back at the Kingsfield police station, Kennedy had requested all the case files including autopsy reports and crime scene photos from the original Huntsman investigation.

�Possibly.� Kennedy, back to his normal taciturn self, was sorting through the files quickly. He was obviously looking for something specific. Something he had not chosen to share with Jason.

�Possibly?� Jason repeated. �What are the other possibilities? Pink wasn�t acting alone?� We didn�t get the right guy?

No. He didn�t believe it. And, despite what Gervase had said at the crime scene, Jason didn�t think the chief believed it either. The evidence against Pink had been overwhelming.

Kennedy had paused in his search. He didn�t answer Jason.

�Okay.� Jason repeated, �What about the persisting rumor that Pink wasn�t acting alone? Is there any basis for it?�

Kennedy said absently, �I already told you there was no evidence to support that theory.�

�Hey,� Jason said.

Kennedy looked up, frowning.

�Remember me? We�re supposed to be working together.� As Kennedy�s eyes narrowed, Jason continued, �Was anyone besides Pink�s brother identified as a potential accomplice?�

�No. Dwayne Pink primarily came under suspicion because his brother used his van in the commission of his crimes. And because it was hard for anyone to believe that he never had any indication of what Martin was up to.�

Maybe. Unless you were a psychopath yourself it would be almost unimaginable that someone you knew, let alone someone you were related to, was a homicidal maniac.

�What did you think?� Jason asked.

Kennedy drawled, �I thought Dwayne did a lot of dope. Which might have been one reason he didn�t have an inkling. Or maybe he did a lot of dope because he did have an inkling. It�s immaterial because he died two years ago. He�s not involved in this case.�

�Pink didn�t have any other friends or associates who might have taken part in the murders?�

Kennedy had gone back to studying the photos in the file he held. He raised his head, and with an obvious effort at quashing his irritation with yet another interruption, said, �Do you remember Martin Pink at all?�

�A little. He used to fish at Holyoke Pond. Even as a kid I thought there was something not right about him.�

Not right. But not that wrong. Because that wrong was simply inconceivable. Or had been once upon a time.

�Right,� said Kennedy. �Not a popular guy. Not a busy social life. Not a wide circle of friends.�

Jason had to swallow his own annoyance. �Fair enough. Here�s my point. The people of Kingsfield already know that Martin Pink�s brother is dead. And yet the rumor that Pink had an accomplice�and that this accomplice is still out there�continues to circulate. How do you explain that?�

Kennedy stared at him, and Jason felt a jab of satisfaction.

�Charlotte Simpson was just a kid when you solved the original case. Yet she said to me �The Huntsman is back� and �Everyone knows there was more than one Huntsman.� She wasn�t quoting ancient history. She was telling me what she and others currently believe to be true.�

�All right,� Kennedy said. �Go on.�

�You don�t have that kind of rumor without suspicion falling on a specific person. There�s always going to be a particular suspect.�

�That�s debatable.� Even so Kennedy seemed to be mulling over Jason�s words. �This could easily be some kind of urban legend. It wouldn�t be at all surprising under the circumstances.�

�Something else,� Jason said. �When Charlotte was talking to me, her father came out of the back office and shut her up before she could say anything else. It wasn�t subtle.�

�Now that�s not at all surprising.� Kennedy�s tone was dry. �The only other person who came even briefly under suspicion as Pink�s possible accomplice was George Simpson.�

�George Simpson?� Jason repeated. �The George Simpson who went out to Rexford with us today?�

�The same.�

�The George Simpson who, according to Chief Gervase, knows these woods like the back of his hand?�

�That�s right.� Meeting Jason�s look, Kennedy smiled faintly. �No. Simpson was cleared of all suspicion.�

�Why was he under suspicion in the first place?�

�Because Simpson sold the mermaids to Pink.�

It was plain English, but the words didn�t make sense. Jason said, �You lost me. Sold what mermaids to Pink?�

�Ah. You wouldn�t know about that. We kept it out of the press.� Kennedy slid the photo he had been scrutinizing across the desktop.

Jason picked it up. It took a second or two to make sense of what he was seeing. A small talisman or charm carved out of what was probably wood and enlarged many times over so the details of the carving were clear. Tiny scales and fins on a small female form that was half human and half fish.

A mermaid.

�What is this?� His throat felt tight. He already knew what it was. Honey had carried one like it that summer. A small mermaid charm on her key ring.

�Nearly every one of Pink�s victims was found with one of those,� Kennedy said. �A carved mermaid charm. Each one distinct but similar.�

�Found with them?� Jason echoed. His stomach gave an unhappy lurch as he remembered Kennedy squatting beside Rebecca, taking his pen out, and leaning over her body.

�In their mouths,� Kennedy said. �Each girl had a mermaid in her mouth.�

Though both manacled and shackled, the bald and bearded man seated at the stainless-steel table in the prison interrogation room looked like a real and present danger. Pink had bulked up during his years of incarceration. He was not tall, but he was all muscle, and despite the chains and cuffs, he exuded a confidence that was frankly disturbing given how much time he had spent in solitary confinement.

What really disturbed Jason was how much he wanted to walk into that room and bash Pink�s head against the table until his brains poured out. He had not expected such a violent reaction to seeing him again. Not expected to feel this level of hatred. He despised violence. He believed he was smarter than that, better than that. A civilized man. After seeing Martin Pink in the flesh again�he knew just how thin the veneer of civilization was.

He let out a slow, calming breath and nodded. The prison guard opened the heavy steel door, and Jason walked into the eight-by-ten well-insulated room.

Pink was smirking. �Long time no se�� He broke off. His smirk vanished. �Who the hell are you?�

�Special Agent West.� Jason took the chair across the table from Pink.

�Where�s Kennedy?�

Fair question. Kennedy was talking to the prison shrink. For reasons known only to himself, he had decided Jason would be the one to interview Pink. At least, that was the story. Maybe he was on the other side of all that surveillance equipment positioned out of Pink�s line of vision, waiting to see some sign Jason actually was, as Boxner had suggested, Pink�s disciple.

As ludicrous as the thought was, it bothered Jason. He forced himself to concentrate on Pink, unemotionally taking in the shaved head and silver goatee. Pale, dead eyes and a cupid�s bow of a mouth. At least Pink had received proper dental care in prison.

Jason said, �I work with Senior Special Agent Kennedy.�

Pink glared. �I don�t care if you�re Special Agent Fox Mulder. I agreed to talk to Kennedy. Nobody else.�

�Kennedy�s busy.�

Pink�s lips parted as though he was stunned. After a second, he said, �He�s afraid to face me.�

�Yeah. You got him cold,� Jason said. �He�s terrified.� He opened his file.

Pink didn�t like that. �I�m not talking to a piss-ant junior G-man. I�ll talk to Kennedy and nobody else.�

�Then you�ll talk to nobody.� Jason slapped shut his file, rose, and signaled to the guard.

Pink eyed him in open disbelief.

�Let me know if you change your mind,� Jason said.

Please change your mind. I can�t walk out of this room without something�anything�you asshole�

Pink�s expression grew derisive. He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. �Bah-bye,� he drawled.

Jason walked to the reinforced steel door. The guard buzzed Open.

Shit. It had taken him all of two minutes to blow this opportunity. Kennedy was going to nail his hide to the wall. And Jason didn�t blame him.

Maybe Pink would back down?

There was only silence from the other side of the room.

Jason strode out. The door closed behind him with a heavy and final-sounding slam.

�You think Pink had an accomplice?� Kennedy asked.

They had left the prison and gone for coffee, although by then Jason could have used a real drink. He was glad to sit out on this patio, glad of the open air and sunlight. Even the exhaust of cars circling the small parking lot was refreshing after the gray atmosphere of MCI Cedar Junction.

�I think at the end he was trying to make me think he did,� Jason replied.

Kennedy�s face was grim, and no wonder. If he had missed this�missed an accomplice to Pink�s crimes�there would be no living that down.

Jason was pretty sure that was not the case. He said, �I think, belatedly, he wanted to create the illusion he�s the one in control. He�s still the mastermind. He�s the important one.�

Kennedy drummed his fingers on the pink melamine surface of the patio table, thinking. �Not bad, West.�

Jason scowled. �Don�t sound so surprised. I did graduate from the academy.�

All at once he seemed to have Kennedy�s complete and critical attention. �I know. And you did very well. Top of your class. You�re on the fast track to promotion from everything I hear. I�m curious as to why someone with a Masters in Art History would want to go into law enforcement.�

�I like to keep busy.� Jason crumpled his cup and tossed it into the trash bin.

Kennedy, continuing to eye him, offered one of those humorless smiles.

Jason wasn�t sure if he was flattered or alarmed Kennedy had bothered to check up on him. Especially now.

�And a Harley to boot.�

Jason narrowed his eyes.

�Don�t worry. I have no idea who the Harleys are. Nor do I care.�

Now that Jason believed. He asked, �What�s the real reason you sent me in there to talk to Pink rather than interviewing him yourself?�

Kennedy�s blue appraisal grew unexpectedly chilly. �The real reason? I needed an impartial judge.�

Jason thought this over. �To determine whether Pink really was the Huntsman?�

�You got it. It�s what you�re here for, right? To make sure I didn�t screw up that earlier investigation�and that I don�t screw up this one.�

�No one suggested you screwed up the earlier investigation.�

Kennedy�s gaze grew mocking. �Tactfully put. You�ll do well in management.�

�Fuck off,� Jason said quietly.

Kennedy�s pale brows rose.

�Sir,� Jason added.

Kennedy laughed. It was a sound of genuine amusement. �Or maybe not. Anyway, don�t sir me. I�m not your supervisor as you know very well.�

Yes, they were both aware of their roles. Even so, Jason was a little startled by his reaction. Kennedy had a way of getting under his skin. But then, Kennedy had a way of getting under everyone�s skin. That was part of what made him good at his job.

It was also part of why he didn�t have a lot of friends to back him up when he needed it.

Jason said, �If you really were worried, you can relax. I�ve got no doubt Pink is the Huntsman. I don�t believe he ever had an accomplice. I believe he acted alone. And as far as acquiring an apprentice, it was clear to me in the initial part of the interview he was floored at the idea that there could be a successful copycat.�

Kennedy said, �That doesn�t rule out the possibility that he�s got one.�

�If he does, it�s news to him. And not good news either.�

�Maybe.� Kennedy seemed unconvinced. Was he genuinely afraid he had missed something crucial in that initial investigation? Self-doubt seemed out of character for him.

Jason said, �I don�t think Pink plays well with others. And I don�t just mean the homicidal maniac thing, though that�s an obvious factor. I don�t think he�s the type to share the glory or the gory. He�s a one-man show.�

�Yeah.� Kennedy drained his coffee and dropped the cup in the trash. �But someone�s waiting in the wings.�

As they walked back to their car, Jason said, �He honestly didn�t think you were aware of the mermaid connection. I don�t know how he imagines every single person on that taskforce could have missed it, but he�d convinced himself you had. I think that was important to him. Believing he�d gotten away with something. Believing there was still something that was his and his alone.�

�Very possible. It would be his final shared intimacy with the victims.�

At Jason�s questioning look, Kennedy said, �That�s the real point of taking trophies. Serials like to relive their relationship, if you will, with the victims. Trophies help facilitate that.�

�By relationship you mean murder.�

�There�s more to it, but yes, murder is always the keystone of the relationship. Trophies are like talismans. They�re tangible. They�re proof it actually happened. In Pink�s case he took trophies, but he also left something of his own, of himself, with the victims. It was another way of keeping the connection.�

�Delightful,� Jason said bitterly.

�In some ways Pink was pretty na�ve. It was more luck than cunning that allowed him to run free so long. In an urban environment, he�d have been caught right away.�

�What was the significance of the mermaids? He told me some cock-and-bull story about a mermaid sticking her tongue out at him once. I think he must have been talking about one of the girls who used to work at the Blue Mermaid. But nothing ever happened to any of those girls. At least not that I remember hearing.�

�No. We were never sure what the significance of the mermaids was.�

Jason stared at the highway and the never-ending stream of cars racing into oblivion.

Kennedy glanced at him and said, �You�re never going to get a satisfying answer on the why. Serial killers don�t kill for the normal reasons of gain or revenge or lust. Their motives don�t even qualify as motives as recognized by a rational mind.�

�Insanity is a legal definition not a medical diagnosis.�

�True. But how else do you classify the brain of a ruthless predator that kills and tortures for pleasure? People want to understand the why and the how, but there are some things there�s no understanding.�

Yes. Kennedy had this right. Despite his training and education, Jason still wanted to understand, still wanted to be able to make some sense out of�insanity. Because regardless of legal definitions, there was nothing normal about a person who could do the things Pink had done.

Jason forced his thoughts to the practical. �Couldn�t you track the manufacturer down?�

�We tried. We didn�t get anywhere. George Simpson had only purchased the gift shop that year. The mermaids Pink bought from him were the last of already existing stock. It was a dead end.�

Kennedy pressed the key fob unlocking the doors, and they climbed into the sedan. However, Kennedy didn�t start the engine. He seemed to be thinking.

�Something wrong?� Jason asked.

�No.� Kennedy glanced at him. It was an odd look. A measuring look.

�Are you sure?�

�Yeah. Yeah, I am.� Kennedy stared out the windshield. �I think we should stay in Boston tonight.�

�Boston? Why?�

�A couple of reasons. I want to go over some things regarding the case, and I�d prefer to do that without any audience.�

�Okay.�

It was true their presence generated a lot of attention in Kingsfield. Not so much that Jason would have thought they couldn�t speak freely, certainly in private, but if Kennedy thought they needed a few hours off-site, okay. Jason was in no rush to return.

His puzzlement must have shown.

Kennedy said, �It hasn�t hit you yet, has it?�

Jason said warily, �What hasn�t hit me?�

�If Pink is telling the truth, then there�s a strong possibility this copycat is someone involved in the original investigation.�

Jason said, �You�re suggesting local law enforcement? Yes, the thought had occurred.�

Kennedy�s expression was noncommittal. �That�s one possibility and, believe me, I like that thought as little as you do. However, that was a big taskforce. We had hundreds of people including crime scene technicians and state police working to break the case.�

�Okay, but we also have to consider Pink may be lying about sharing that information. Or he may have shared the information and not remembered.�

�Given the fact he has almost zero contact with the outside world and the contact that he does have is screened��

Jason said, �Yeah, I think someone should conduct another check into this fianc�e of his, for starters.�

Kennedy nodded. �Also the doctor. Kyser. The desire to impress a doctor, let alone a doctor writing a book on serial killers, would be exactly the kind of impetus that might lead Pink to share that critical piece of information.�

�The fact remains he could have talked prior to his arrest. You said he used his brother�s van. Maybe his brother was more involved than anyone realized. Maybe someone else was involved. It�s possible Pink has an apprentice without realizing he has an apprentice.�

�Pink�s brother is dead.�

�I know, but he could have talked before he died. People do talk.�

�That they do.�

Jason said suddenly, �Both Boxner and Pink used the word disciple.�

�It�s not an unusual word. In fact, it�s a word that crops up a lot in copycat cases.�

�Maybe. Boxner was there that night, and he had access to those old files. He admitted looking through Honey�s file. That�s how he knew I was considered a suspect.�

Kennedy frowned. �Rebecca returned safely back to the party after speaking to Boxner. Are you suggesting�what? Boxner arranged to meet her later? Arranged to meet her in the woods?�

�The case he tried to build against me works just as well for him. You brought up the possibility of local law enforcement being involved. I don�t think Chief Gervase is a serial killer.�

Kennedy answered seriously, �No. Gervase is not remotely the right psychological profile. Neither does Boxner fit the profile. You don�t just suddenly turn into a serial killer because a mermaid sticks her tongue out at you.�

�Okay, but does the original profile fit this profile?�

Kennedy frowned. �We�re not dealing with the same offender.�

�But if we�re dealing with an apprentice or a former accomplice�shouldn�t the profile dovetail in certain ways?�

�It does in certain ways, and those are the ways that eliminate Gervase and Boxner both.�

It probably was pretty far-fetched as theories went. Jason said, �How about George Simpson? Was he part of the original investigation?�

�No. He�d been recently injured in the line of duty and had retired on a disability pension. Which is how he came to be running a gift shop and motel.�

�I bet he still had plenty of friends on the force. Cops are as chatty as everyone else when they�re among friends.�

Kennedy leaned forward and started the engine. �Let�s talk it over at dinner. I want to make some phone calls.�

Of course there were plenty of excellent reasons why not.

Jason managed to block them all out as Kennedy unlocked his door and let them both inside his room.

The lights were out. The room smelled like all hotel rooms. The only landmark was Kennedy.

The door swung shut, the deadbolt slid home, Kennedy�s arms closed around Jason.

Jason was conscious of Kennedy�s muscular length backing him into the door, the alcohol-scented heat of Kennedy�s breath on his face, the speedy expertise with which Kennedy�s long fingers unbuckled Jason�s holster�clearly he had plenty of practice in disarming lovers�before turning his attention to Jason�s shirt buttons.

�Good,� Kennedy muttered. �This is good.�

Which�the jury was still out, but yes, it was looking promising so far. Jason arched his neck and found Kennedy�s mouth. Hot and tasting like booze with an undernote of stinging sweetness. Kennedy neither rejected nor reciprocated the kiss, his attention focused on undoing the last buttons of Jason�s shirt.

Jason�s shoulders were wide, and his shirt was tailored, so it took a few seconds, but at last Kennedy laid bare Jason�s chest. He let out a sigh of satisfaction, fingertips skating lightly, slowly, over the flat planes of Jason�s abs, tracing a line between his pecs, and circling round to graze the nipples that pricked to attention at that tingling touch. Jason�s breath caught in his throat.

Kennedy lowered his head, touched a nipple with his tongue, and Jason gasped and jumped, his head hitting the door with a noisy thump.

�Easy,� Kennedy murmured. His voice was unfamiliar in its huskiness, even sexy. �Don�t knock yourself out.� He sounded amused.

Just as well Kennedy hadn�t turned on the light. The darkness was a lot of what made this possible. Jason was uncomfortable with his own intense response to this man. Not like he didn�t have any experience with casual sex, but for some reason the fact it was Kennedy touching him, rasping his hot wet tongue against Jason�s nipple, was exciting almost beyond belief.

There was a little moan trapped deep in his throat, a naked sound he�d have died rather than release, and it was nearly strangling him as Kennedy turned his attention to Jason�s other nipple. He reached out blindly for Kennedy�s belt buckle, and Kennedy leaned into him, offering easier access.

�Yeah, whatever you want,� Kennedy whispered before his lips closed on the sensitive point of Jason�s nipple. Kennedy sucked, and Jason�s entire body seemed to throb with pleasure. It was crazy what this was doing to him. Had anyone touched him like this before? He couldn�t remember another guy spending this much time on his breast�not something Jason would have ever asked for or imagined enjoying�but thrills of sensation shuddered up and down his spine as Kennedy licked and nibbled.

Jason�s cock was straining painfully at his trousers, so it was a desperate relief when Kennedy�s hands dropped to his fly, eased his zipper down, mindful of all that fragile skin and blindly thrusting muscle. His own hands rested motionless on Kennedy�s lean hips�he kept getting distracted by Kennedy�s relentlessly pleasurable assault�but he made the effort now, fingers fumbling with the buckle tongue, yanking the trousers open with no regard for tailoring. He wanted more of everything. Of that weight and warmth�and wholeness. And he wanted it now.

Kennedy�s dick sprang free, crowding Jason in the darkness that pressed closer, smelling of faded aftershave, musk, and imminent sex.

�Beautiful,� Kennedy said, reaching for him, and Jason�s cock nestled into his curled palm. �This is beautiful.�

Yes, it was. After a day devoted to death and dying, sex was a beautiful, life-affirming thing. An art form all its own.

Kennedy�s thumb stroked along Jason�s achingly hard length in a sensual brailing, and the moan Jason had tried to swallow tore out of his throat. Raw and honest with need.

Kennedy�s laugh was quiet, knowing. He slid an arm around Jason�s waist, hitching him up against the door�one hell of a lot of upper body strength there�and Jason grabbed for Kennedy�s shoulders, instinctively wrapping his legs around Kennedy�s hips�also no small effort. Kennedy�s hold slipped, and they half fell against the door.

Jason swallowed a half-yelp half-laugh, but Kennedy stayed on his feet. Jason wriggled for leverage against the slick surface, hiking himself up again, and with that gyration initiating more pleasurable motion. Yes to naked friction from any angle.

�Yeah. There. That�s��

�Good,� Kennedy urged. �That�s so��

Jason ground his hips against Kennedy�s, and Kennedy thrust back hard. Push and pull rapidly shifting into pound and pummel.

Jason arched, and Kennedy�s arms tightened around his waist. The door handle lever hit Jason in the back, but he barely noticed. Even if they fell over, he wasn�t sure it would make a difference. They were locked in a kind of sexual mortal combat now, hips rocking, cocks plunging against each other, awkward and occasionally painful, but mostly, crazily good.

This is Kennedy. This is Kennedy�s dick shoving into my groin. That is Kennedy�s dick leaking slickness�

Kennedy�s mouth was against Jason�s ear, and he was grunting with each thrust, a rough, aggressive sound that was unbearably exciting.

They were both breathing hard, sweat breaking over their bodies as they struggled and strained their way to the prize�and Jesus, this looked easier on television than it was in practice. Jason slid down a couple of centimeters, and he swore in frustration. Kennedy�s arms refastened around his back, keeping him pinned, and Jason clamped his thighs, rocking against that eager pulsing hardness.

�Christ, yes,� Jason urged. �Yes. YES.�

�Shhh. God.� Kennedy was laughing unsteadily.

They bumped and banged their way into a semblance of rhythm. The door rattled alarmingly in its frame beneath their onslaught. It didn�t matter.

You didn�t have to be in sync to make this work, and they were making it work.

Anything that felt this good would work. Jason let his head fall back again�ouch�this time Kennedy didn�t laugh at the thump, he probably didn�t hear it�Jason barely felt it as he launched himself into Kennedy�s thrusts which were coming now in short, fast bursts.

So good. So sweet. Yes. Yes. Good. I can�t believe this is Kennedy�no, don�t think about that�

Jason�s balls drew tight. Little lights danced behind his eyes. He surged up against the door one final time and went barreling down a luminous blue-green tunnel until he felt orgasm lift him like a wave scooping up his surfboard and casting him into sunlight and spray.

Brilliant�sparkling�blinding�delight. He was transported, flying high as shafts of bright and secret pleasure lanced through him, transfixing him�oh, don�t let it stop. Carried along on that sweet, sweet ride�

He had the presence of mind to shout his reaction into Kennedy�s broad and powerful shoulder�it had been way too fucking long since he�d had this relief.

He landed on the shore, wet, weak-kneed, and shaking�and didn�t object when he was gathered to his feet and guided to the bed. He didn�t recall undressing, only tumbling into cool cotton and warm arms. A sheet drifted down as light as a summer breeze and conscious thought scattered like grains of sand.

* * * * *

�You don�t look any the worse for wear, Agent West,� Chief Gervase greeted Jason. �Glad to see you back on the job.�

�That�s youth for you,� Kennedy said.

Gervase grinned. �That�s exactly what I used to think about you, Agent Kennedy.�

Kennedy snorted.

�It�s been an interesting twenty-four hours,� Gervase said, leading the way back to his office. �We�ve had some developments you�ll want to hear about.� He called toward the direction of the front desk, �Could we get coffee, Officer Courtney?�

�Coming, Chief!�

Boxner was already in Gervase�s office going through his file cabinet. He jumped guiltily at their arrival, and Gervase said, �How many times have I told you to ask before you start pawing through my files? This isn�t your office yet, Boyd.� He sounded more resigned than annoyed.

Boxner, face red, leaned against the wall and folded his arms. �I just wanted to double-check something.�

�What?�

�It�ll keep.�

Gervase sighed and shook his head. He took the chair behind his desk. �First things first. Tony McEnroe has no alibi for the night Candy Davies was abducted.� He directed a challenging look at Kennedy.

�McEnroe is not our unsub.� Kennedy was uncompromising as usual.

Gervase�s face tightened, his eyes hardened. Jason sighed inwardly. He agreed with Kennedy, but would it kill him to occasionally soften his delivery, at least pretend he didn�t think he had all the answers?

Gervase leaned back in his chair. �Then do enlighten us, Special Agent Kennedy.� He nodded in curt thanks to Officer Courtney who had appeared with a tray of steaming coffee mugs.

Kennedy said, �West has developed a promising lead on the artist who carved the original mermaid charms. It turns out he lives locally.�

Gervase took a cup from the tray and threw Jason a startled look. �Is that so?�

Jason said, �Yes. Dr. Jeremy Kyser is one of Pink�s two permitted outside contacts. He�s supposed to be working on a book about serial killers. But as it happens, he�s also a talented amateur artist. We�I believe�we�ve got verification that he carved the mermaid charms.�

�That�s what I call a big coincidence,� Gervase said.

�What are we waiting for?� Boxner stepped away from the wall. �I�ll go talk to him right now.�

Jason opened his mouth to object. He had uncovered this lead, and this was by rights his line of inquiry.

Except�the FBI was there at the invitation of Kingsfield PD. They couldn�t take over the investigation, couldn�t even insist on conducting interviews of suspects without the permission of local law enforcement. Technically, they were there to advise and assist.

�Okay, slow down,� Gervase said. �We need to understand what we�re dealing with. Kyser�s name never came up in the original investigation.�

�But that�s it; that�s what this is about,� Boxner said, and as much as Jason disliked Boxner, he couldn�t help sounding his agreement and approval.

�Now hold on, you two,� Gervase said. �If these charms had been produced by Acme Corporation, we wouldn�t be considering Acme Corporation a suspect. Let�s not confuse cause and effect. The Corrigan girl had that mermaid for months before her death. Pink didn�t plant it on her.�

�I don�t see what you�re getting at,� Boxner said, and once again Jason was in agreement. The charms were not mass produced. They were the work of a local artist. That personal connection could not be ignored.

Kennedy said, �The Corrigan girl was the first victim. Everything that happened in her case set the pattern for the subsequent killings. It�s very possible Pink bought the other charms to match Honey�s.�

�So what?� Boxner said. �We�ve got the man who made the charms. That�s a lead.�

�Yes, it is, and I think you and West should follow it up together,� Kennedy said. He ignored Jason�s startled look. �I�m not arguing with you. I agree that this is a line of inquiry that needs to be pursued. Before you pursue it, though, we need to keep in mind a couple of facts. The first one being, that as sinister as his emergence in this case might look, so far Kyser�s involvement is tangential. Assuming he is the artist�and we�ve yet to confirm that�� He shot Jason a cool look. �He may have become interested in Pink�s case partly because Pink used Kyser�s own creations in his crimes. That is certainly going to get someone�s attention.�

�Yes, but how would Kyser know that when it wasn�t publicized in the media?� Jason objected.

�It�s possible Pink contacted him after the fact with that information. Actually, for all we know, Pink may have chosen those charms for that very reason: he wanted Kyser�s attention. We don�t yet know the extent of, or his history with, Kyser.�

�Wait a minute,� Jason said. �So you�re suggesting that Pink may have hit on the mermaid theme because Kyser carved some mermaid charms? And if Kyser had carved rabbit charms or leprechaun charms, Pink would have gone with that?�

Kennedy sighed. �I�m suggesting that we don�t know. I�m suggesting that we don�t assume. Let�s keep an open mind.�

�We do know that the mermaid theme is central to this case. Aside from the fact that mermaid charms were found at nearly all the crime scenes�in the victims� mouths�the victims themselves could be viewed as mermaids. They were all taken from aquatic venues, most of them were in bathing suits, and they were all females of a certain physical type and age. So I�m not sure what you�re getting at.�

Gervase answered before Kennedy could respond. �If the suggestion is that Kyser is still providing someone with mermaid charms, that�s not going to work. There was no charm found with Candy.�

�Yes, there was,� Jason said. �I picked it up and put it in my pocket, but I guess it fell out when the floor gave way. Anyway, somehow I lost it.�

�You lost it?� Kennedy, Gervase, and Boxner all repeated at the same time.

Jason said with asperity, �Yes. I lost it. While I was plunging fifty feet to the flooded room below.�

�Maybe twenty,� Kennedy said. �Still. Fair enough.�

Gervase sighed. �That�s too damn bad. We�ll never find it now. That place is a deathtrap. I guess one mermaid more or less doesn�t really make a difference.�

Jason grimaced. He already felt bad enough about dropping the charm without them trying to be understanding.

Abruptly he remembered that sense of recognition when he�d picked up the charm. The certainty that he knew it.

Well, that he recognized a copy of an original he knew well.

Except�no. For one strange moment, he had believed he was holding the original.

Yes. That was it. He�d felt the shock of recognition. Then the next instant, Candy had opened her eyes, and he�d forgotten all about the charm until he�d searched his pockets for it when he was receiving medical attention some hours later. That had been a sickening moment.

The phone on Gervase�s desk suddenly rang, buzzing loudly in the small office, and Jason jumped.

Kennedy threw him a curious look.

Gervase�s face changed as he listened to the voice on the other end of the phone. �Is she?� he said. �Well, thank God for that. When can we talk to her?�

More silent listening from the chief. More frowning.

Kennedy continued to study Jason. Jason met his gaze. Kennedy smiled faintly. Was something funny? Jason didn�t get the joke.

He glanced at Boxner who was watching him and Kennedy with narrow-eyed suspicion.

Great.

�We�re not going to interrogate her,� Gervase said into the phone. �We just want to ask her a few questions. We�ll be just as quick and careful as we can. It might end up saving someone else�s life.�

Buzzing on the other end.

�Well��

�But��

The chief�s eyes lightened. He looked at Kennedy and nodded. �So you think today for sure?�

A few more words were exchanged, and Gervase hung up the phone.

�Candy Davies regained consciousness about half an hour ago. She�s pretty groggy, but the doctor thinks she might be able to give her statement as early as this afternoon.�

�That�s good,� Kennedy said. �That�s very good news.�

Gervase nodded in grim agreement. �What do you think about heading out to Boston now? I don�t want to waste any time. That girl won�t be really safe until she gives her statement.�

�I agree,� Kennedy said. �And I�m all for driving to Boston immediately.�

Gervase rose. �Boyd, you take West with you and interview this Dr. Kyser. But go easy, for God�s sake. We don�t need someone else threatening us with a lawsuit.�

�Who else is threatening legal action?� Kennedy asked.

�The Madigans. They believe releasing McEnroe was an act of criminal stupidity. They think we�re deliberately dragging our feet bringing their daughter�s killer to justice.�

Kennedy shrugged. �It takes how long it takes.�

�It�s nice you can get some emotional distance,� Gervase said sourly. �Boyd and I don�t have that luxury. We have to live with these folks. They�re frightened and angry, and they want answers.�

�Maybe after we talk to the Davies girl we�ll have some for them.�

When Kennedy and Jason were alone in their office, Kennedy said, �Watch yourself.� His eyes were grave.

�I plan on it.� Jason checked his weapon. He popped the magazine, reaffirmed he had plenty of ammo. Which�since he had not fired a single shot since his last session on the target range should not be a surprise. He replaced the magazine.

When he looked at Kennedy, Kennedy was still regarding him intently. There was something odd about his expression. As though he wanted to say more but couldn�t decide whether to speak.

�Do you think the unsub is going to go after Candy?� Jason asked.

Kennedy said. �Desperate people are dangerous.�

Jason�s shoulder twinged at the reminder. �No kidding,� he said.

Dr. Jeremy Kyser lived in a renovated nineteenth century stone farmhouse in the middle of nowhere. The two-story structure sat in a green field surrounded by four acres of neatly trimmed grass. And only grass. Not a tree or a shrub or so much as a wild flower was in sight. A pristine black Porsche was parked in the drive behind the house.

�There�s a guy with bucks,� Boxner commented. �You have to be rich to be able to afford this much nothing.�

They got out of the cruiser and walked up to the front door. Boxner buzzed the doorbell and then thumped on the door.

Jason took a step back to examine the front of the house. The curtains were open, but there was not another sign of life. Not a sound came from inside the house. No dog, no TV, no radio.

�Maybe they�re out,� Boxner said.

�There�s a car parked out back.�

Boxner rapped on the door again. Jason was turning to go scope out the back of the house when the front door suddenly, soundlessly swung open.

�May I help you, Officer?� the man in the doorway inquired.

�Dr. Kyser?�

�Yes. That�s right.� Kyser looked from Boxner to Jason. He was tall�very tall�and rawboned. Despite the warmth of the day he wore jeans and a sweater, but maybe the sweater was due to an air conditioner working overtime. Frigid air wafted out of the house as though a secret door to Antarctica had just popped open.

�I�m Officer Boxner with Kingsfield PD. This is Special Agent West with the FBI. We�d like to ask you a few questions.�

�FBI?� Kyser stared at Jason.

Jason held up his ID, staring back. Kyser was not a handsome guy. If anything, he seemed to be rocking the mad-scientist look. His salt-and-pepper hair frizzed out around a long, gaunt face dominated by heavy-lidded eyes with dark circles.

�May we come in, Dr. Kyser?� Jason asked.

After a moment, Kyser stepped back. Boxner and Jason entered the house and, still not speaking, Kyser led them down a dark hallway to a large living room.

�Do you live here on your own, sir?� Jason asked.

�Yes. I live alone. I work from home.�

At first glance the room was ordinary enough. A long rectangle lined with walnut bookcases and crowded with antique furniture. The bookcases were crammed with old books. Red and orange objets d�art packed the tops of the shelves like an overstocked grocery store.

�Why would the FBI have questions for me?� Kyser asked. He frowned, cracked his knuckles.

Jason kept an eye on those large, bony hands. �We w��

�Happy Halloween!� Boxner interrupted. He was staring up at the shelves, and following his astonished gaze, Jason realized the spherical autumn-colored objects filling every conceivable inch of flat space were carved jack-o�-lanterns. Not real ones. Wooden ones in all shapes and sizes.

Kyser said stiffly, �I�m not interested in Halloween. I�m interested in jack-o�-lanterns.�

That was putting it mildly. This was closer to compulsion than interest. Besides which�

These jack-o�-lanterns were not the typical smiling or scary Halloween fare. Their expressions were tortured, menacing, sinister, agonized�and all too lifelike. Jason liked to think he was capable of evaluating art without interpreting it through the subjective lens of his own background and biases, but the word that formed in his mind was�troubling.

He said, �You mean you�re interested in jack-o�-lanterns as an art form? Or their significance in folktales and mythology?�

Kyser�s black eyes refocused on Jason�s face. �I didn�t catch your name.�

�I�m Special Agent West. This is Officer Boxner with the Kingsfield Police Department. Dr. Kyser, we wanted to ask you about some netsuke-style carvings you did several years ago for the Ort & Rossington Primitive Art Gallery in New York.�

Kyser�s gaze seemed to sharpen. �You�re familiar with the art of netsuke?�

�I wouldn�t say familiar. I know maybe the rudiments.�

Kyser�s eyes finally moved from Jason�s. He glanced at the towering army of wooden jack-o�-lanterns. �I�ve moved on from miniature sculptures, as you can see.�

�Can you tell us about those early sculptures?� Jason asked. �The mermaids?�

�What is there to tell? I no longer work with the Ort & Rossington.�

Jason said, �You sold several of those miniature sculptures to the owner of a Worcester County gift shop as well. Can you tell us about your relationship with George Simpson?�

�Who?� Kyser looked confused.

�The owner of the gift shop.�

�No. I don�t know any Simpson. I sold those miniatures to several gift stores. Only one shop was in Worcester County, and that was owned by a woman. I forget her name. It wasn�t Simpson. I suppose I could look it up if it really matters.�

�That would be helpful.�

Kyser�s frown deepened. �That would be inconvenient.�

�But helpful,� Jason repeated.

�Very well.�

Boxner said, �You�re in contact with Martin Pink, aren�t you? You�re one of the only two people approved to phone him up in prison.�

Kyser cracked his knuckles again. �I was writing a book on Pink,� he said. �I�ve written several books on the topic of aberrant psychology and crime. I�ve interviewed any number of convicted killers in their place of incarceration�as I�m sure you�re aware, Officers.�

�You were writing a book?� Jason asked. �Does that mean the book is finished?�

�No. I decided Pink was not a suitable subject for my work. Can we get to the point of your visit? I�m very busy.� He started to pop his knuckles, caught Jason�s glance, and stopped himself.

Jason said, �Regarding those miniature carvings��

Kyser burst out, �Agent West, I�m not a fool! It�s obvious that someone�presumably you�has finally made the connection between me and the carvings that Pink planted on the bodies of his victims. Ask me what it is you wish to know. I have nothing to hide.�

�You have nothing to hide?� Boxner said. �How about the fact that you never came forward to admit you were the one who carved those mermaids?�

�As far as I�m aware,� Kyser said, �no effort to find the creator of the mermaids was ever mounted. No such search was advertised in the press. And why would it be of interest or importance? I had nothing to do with those murders, was not aware that my work was used in such an obscene way by Pink until I interviewed him years later.�

�You could have come forward then,� Jason said. He was considering the use of the word creator. It struck him as off. Kennedy would probably have some theories on that.

�No. That would have solved nothing. I would have lost Pink�s trust, which I needed for my book. And it would have directed unwelcome publicity and attention my way. Only a fool or a madman would willingly put himself in that spotlight.�

Boxner said, �That wasn�t your call. You should have��

�Incorrect and inaccurate,� Kyser said flatly. �Pink is already serving several life sentences with no possibility of parole. There was nothing you could have gained, but there was�and is�a great deal I could lose.�

Everything Kyser said made a certain amount of sense, and yet Jason had the feeling that they were missing something.

�That�s a pretty weird attitude to take, sir,� Boxner said. �If you don�t mind my saying so.�

Kyser glared at him. �As a matter of fact, I do mind you saying so. Who are you to judge me?�

Boxner bristled. �I�ll tell you who I��

�Why mermaids?� Jason raised his voice, talking right over Boxner who just wasn�t going to let it go even if he antagonized Kyser into lawyering up.

Kyser�s strange dark gaze fastened once more on Jason�s. �What do you know about mermaids, Agent West?�

�Not a lot,� Jason admitted. �Mythological creatures, half-woman and half-fish, that appear in most of the folktales and legends of the world. They�re water spirits, right?�

�Mythological.� Kyser laughed. �No. The mermaid is as real as you or I. She is an Assyrian demon. There are numerous historical accounts of these creatures. Christopher Columbus reported seeing mermaids during his exploration of the Caribbean. Sightings continue to this day in Scotland, Ireland, Canada, Israel, and Zimbabwe. To encounter one is to encounter disaster.�

�An Assyrian demon.� Boxner was looking at Jason.

Kyser glared at him. �Yes, Officer Box. And I know what you�re thinking. To believe in an angel is perfectly normal. To believe in the Christian devil is reasonable. Yet to believe in an Assyrian demon, the oldest by far of all of these, is to be crazy.�

Okaaaaaay.

�Dr. Kyser, did you know Martin Pink previous to interviewing him for your book?� Jason inquired.

For the first time Kyser hesitated. His licked his lips. �I wouldn�t say that I knew him. I ran into him on occasion. I�m something of an amateur naturalist, and I used to spend a good deal of time in the woods around Kingsfield. As did Pink, though our objectives were very different.�

�I see. Are you familiar with Rexford?�

Kyser stared. �Rexford. What is that?�

�It�s a ghost town. On the edge of the Quabbin Reservoir. One of the villages that were flooded during the thirties.�

If Kyser was an amateur naturalist spending a good deal of time flitting around the woods of Kingsfield, he had to be aware of Rexford. It was the first time during their interview Jason was sure he was being lied to. Lied to in spirit if not in letter.

Kyser frowned at Jason. He cracked his knuckles twice in quick succession.

�Dr. Kyser?� Jason prodded.

Kyser seemed to snap out of whatever preoccupied him. �Excuse me a moment,� he said. �I believe my lunch is burning.� He turned and left the room.

Boxner, staring up at the rows of grimacing, contorted jack-o�-lanterns, softly whistled the theme to the Twilight Zone.

�Shut up,� Jason muttered.

�Are you afraid the Assyrian demons will hear me?�

Kyser�s footsteps faded away. Jason took a closer look at the some of the books on the shelves. Art books�medical books�Russian Folk Belief; The Encyclopedia of Spirits: the Ultimate Guide to the Magic of Fairies, Genies, Demons, Ghosts, Gods, and Goddesses; The Mermaid and the Minotaur�Principles of Deformity Correction� Disability, Deformity, and Disease in the Grimms� Fairy Tales�

�Look at this.� Boxner lifted one of the elongated jack-o�-lanterns. �Look at the hole in the bottom. You could wear this. It�s like a-a��

�Headdress,� Jason said.

From the rear of the house he heard a car�s engine roar into life.

�Oh, hell no.�

Boxner looked at him in surprise and then belatedly registered the engine sound too. �Shit!� He set the jack-o�-lantern on the floor, following Jason as he dived out of the room.

They ran through the house, feet pounding the wooden floorboards until they reached the kitchen.

White cupboards, quartz counters, and stainless-steel appliances. Nothing strange. Nothing sinister. Aside from the fact that no one was in there.

Nothing sat on the stove. There was no aroma of cooking food, let alone burning food.

The unlatched back screen banged gently in the summer breeze. The black Porsche parked behind the house was gone. Dust seemed to sparkle golden in the sunlight as it drifted down on the wide, empty dirt road.

�You could have told me to drop it,� Gervase muttered as he was lifted onto the stretcher that would carry him to the waiting helicopter.

�I could have blown your head off too,� Kennedy said. �I didn�t.�

�You should have.�

�I probably should have,� Kennedy agreed. Always there with the warm and fuzzy.

Or maybe he was doing Gervase the courtesy of being honest with him. Since he had not obliged him by helping him commit suicide.

While they had waited for the state trooper and the med chopper, Gervase had talked. He said it was to keep his mind off the pain of his gunshot wound. Jason believed he had been longing to get the story off his chest since the homicide had happened.

Except it wasn�t homicide. Manslaughter at most. And if Gervase had just owned up to it at the start�

�I should have taken early retirement,� Gervase said as Kennedy shoved his own jacket against the wound in Gervase�s shoulder.

�You should have taken something,� Kennedy said.

Gervase winced as Kennedy applied pressure to the wound. �I didn�t have the patience to deal with the bullshit anymore.�

�What happened that night?� Jason asked.

�It was an accident. I went out there to tell the Madigan kid to turn the goddamned music down or else. She told me to fuck off. Right to my face. Like I was her peer, like I was her servant. She told me her parents paid my salary. Paid the salary of all my officers. Spoiled, mouthy little bitch. I slapped her. Which I shouldn�t have. I know that. I knew it as it was happening. Big mistake. And then it got worse. She fell and hit her head on a rock.�

Gervase stared at them in disbelief. �Just like that. Boom. Lights out. I couldn�t believe it. She was dead.�

�Why the hell did you try to conceal it?� Kennedy asked.

Gervase�s eyes were still dark with horror. �My God. What was I supposed to do? You�ve seen her parents in action. I wouldn�t just have lost my job. They�d have taken me for everything I own. And I don�t own that much, not after a lifetime of public service. They would have destroyed my family. And it wouldn�t have stopped there. I�d have gone to jail. They�d have seen to that. A cop in jail. You know what happens to cops in jail? But they wouldn�t have cared. They could afford the best lawyers. I�d have lost everything because of a mouthy little brat.�

�Because you struck and killed her,� Kennedy said.

Awareness seemed to come back to Gervase�s face. He looked away. �Yeah,� he said thickly.

Jason said, �Why the hell did you drag Kennedy into this? Why involve the Bureau? You�d probably have got away with making it look like a sex crime or something if you hadn�t tried to make it look like the Huntsman was back.�

Gervase gave a strange laugh. �I know! I think I lost my mind there for a while. I�d seen you on the news the night before.� He was staring at Kennedy. �And I thought what a lucky sonofabitch you were. Everybody else does your grunt work, and you get to be the big hero who saves the day.�

�You don�t know what you�re talking about,� Kennedy said.

�A governor called you out right there on TV, and you still walked away with your job. Anybody else would have been fired. Hell, you were getting credit for solving that case too!�

Jason repeated, �Why did you bring him in?�

�Because I couldn�t see how not to. I knew how to stage Rebecca�s body, make it look like maybe the Huntsman had a copycat, but then if we really did have a copycat, we�d bring in Kennedy. So how could I not bring him in? What would be my excuse?�

Maybe it was true. Jason thought there was more to the story. Resentment? Jealousy? Hatred? On the surface Gervase seemed like a decent, well-balanced guy. As sane as they came. But to harbor such bitter feelings for so many years? Was this because of how good Kennedy was at his job? Or because he didn�t bother to pretend he wasn�t that good?

Maybe Kennedy felt the same thing, because he rose and walked away from the little ring of light created by their flashlights.

�How did it happen that nobody saw you with Rebecca?� Jason asked, watching Kennedy�s straight, motionless silhouette.

�She was on her way into the house when I pulled up. She walked out to meet me. It took�no more than a couple of minutes.�

�You goddamned fool.� Kennedy�s voice was a growl from the darkness. �You should have reported it immediately.�

�That�s easy to say. You weren�t there. You�ll never be there because you don�t have anything to lose. This is your life.�

Kennedy didn�t answer.

Jason said, �What about the mermaid charm found with Rebecca? Where did that one come from?�

Gervase groaned. �I found it years ago where Ginny�s body was discovered. I go out there sometimes, into the woods where we found each of the girls. And one day I spotted it lying there in the grass. Right where we�d searched a dozen times. I carried it on my own keychain ever since because I never wanted to forget.�

The low and distant thwack-thwack-thwack of an approaching helicopter reached their ears then. Jason had spotted lights skimming the black tree tops, heading their way.

Chief Gervase�s light, pain-filled eyes followed Kennedy. �You don�t know what those murders did to us. We�re haunted to this day. Those ghosts will follow us until Kingsfield crumbles away like this town. It was just another case for you. Another big career triumph. Not for me. I knew those girls. Every one of them. I had to face their parents. I don�t ever get to forget. To walk away.�

Kennedy turned. His eyes glittered in the glare of the high beams. �You�re not walking away from this, that�s for sure.�

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