Point Blank
Page 51
Dix said, “Savich, what are the chances of your profilers at Quantico taking a shot at this?”
“I’ll call Steve in the morning.”
After Savich and Sherlock left, Dix walked Ruth to Rob’s bedroom. He paused by the closed door of Rafe’s room to listen. “It’s too quiet,” he said. “Usually I can hear at least one of them snoring.”
She lightly laid her hand on his arm. “I am very, very sorry about Christie. You believe she’s dead, don’t you?”
He nodded. “Yes, I know she is. There is no way Christie would leave me and the boys. Not willingly. Someone took her, someone killed her. I just don’t know who.”
There was nothing she could say, and so Ruth simply pressed against him, held him for a very long time.
When she finally stepped back, she kept her hand on his arm for a moment. “You don’t think there’s any danger from me staying here tonight, do you?”
He heard the hint of fear in her voice and shook his head. “I’m thinking you could kick your way out of a bar fight, Special Agent. But I’m not about to take any more chances with you or the boys. I’ve got my deputies on a rotating schedule. They’ll be checking the house every hour, not to worry.”
She nodded. “I need to pick up some clothes tomorrow, Dix. Rob needs his stuff back.”
“No problem,” Dix said, and turned away. He paused, turned back. “You okay, Ruth?”
“Sure, I’m fine. Are you okay, Dix?”
He said nothing, merely nodded.
When he lay in his bed, Dix listened to the familiar sounds of the night and wondered what was happening to his peaceful town. And he thought of Christie. He’d never before spoken of her as he had tonight. Somehow he felt comforted, a bit freer of the numbing pain, a bit more open to life again. He still had Christie’s photo on his desk at work, taken with his boys only a month before she vanished. He looked at her every day, and every day he wondered what had happened to her.
CHAPTER 16
MAESTRO, VIRGINIA
TUESDAY MORNING
IT WAS TEN-THIRTY Tuesday morning before the four of them met for a late breakfast at Maurie’s Diner on Main Street. Savich sipped tea, set down his cup. “MAX found us instances of stabbing and gassing, of course, even embalming, by a parade of psychopaths you don’t want to know about, but never all together, at least that we know about. I make that caveat because if not for Ruth, we might never have found Erin Bushnell.”
“You don’t sound surprised,” Dix said as he spread butter on wheat toast.
Savich shook his head. “I’ve learned that the killers among us have limitless imagination.”
Ruth laid down her fork, leaned her chin on her laced fingers. “And that’s the whole point. It’s his own special deal, his way of making himself unique, his own creation.”
Savich said, “I agree, Ruth. It’s usually a script the killer must follow to the letter if he’s to consider his act a success. He didn’t want his handiwork discovered, that isn’t what he’s about, what he’s after. It’s the process—that’s what’s important to him.”
“More tea, Special Agent?”
Savich smiled up at Glenna, the waitress. “Yes, thank you.” When she’d left, looking over her shoulder at him several times, Savich asked Dix, “Did you meet with the techs at the morgue this morning?”
“Yep. I threatened them with whatever I could think of.” He shrugged. “They all agreed, but who knows? None of my deputies know a thing about it, either. Only the four of us, Dr. Himple, and the three techs. I also called Dr. Crocker at Loudoun County Community Hospital.” Dix’s cell phone rang. He pulled it out of his pocket, said, “Sheriff Noble here.”
His expression lightened as he listened, and then darkened, and his hand fisted on the tabletop. He looked very angry. “Is this your idea of good news, bad news, Emory?” He listened for quite a while, the three agents sensing the deputy calling was trying to calm his boss. He looked ready to eat nails when he flipped off his cell phone.
Ruth said, “Well?”
“My deputies found your Beemer in the shed behind Walt McGuffey’s house, Ruth. Remember the house we passed on the way to Lone Tree Hill? And I saw that the snow didn’t look like it had been disturbed at all, and called to have my people check on Walt?” He paused, and there was such a look of helpless rage on his face that Ruth laid her hand on his arm.
“What happened, Dix? What’s the bad news?”
“I’ll call Steve in the morning.”
After Savich and Sherlock left, Dix walked Ruth to Rob’s bedroom. He paused by the closed door of Rafe’s room to listen. “It’s too quiet,” he said. “Usually I can hear at least one of them snoring.”
She lightly laid her hand on his arm. “I am very, very sorry about Christie. You believe she’s dead, don’t you?”
He nodded. “Yes, I know she is. There is no way Christie would leave me and the boys. Not willingly. Someone took her, someone killed her. I just don’t know who.”
There was nothing she could say, and so Ruth simply pressed against him, held him for a very long time.
When she finally stepped back, she kept her hand on his arm for a moment. “You don’t think there’s any danger from me staying here tonight, do you?”
He heard the hint of fear in her voice and shook his head. “I’m thinking you could kick your way out of a bar fight, Special Agent. But I’m not about to take any more chances with you or the boys. I’ve got my deputies on a rotating schedule. They’ll be checking the house every hour, not to worry.”
She nodded. “I need to pick up some clothes tomorrow, Dix. Rob needs his stuff back.”
“No problem,” Dix said, and turned away. He paused, turned back. “You okay, Ruth?”
“Sure, I’m fine. Are you okay, Dix?”
He said nothing, merely nodded.
When he lay in his bed, Dix listened to the familiar sounds of the night and wondered what was happening to his peaceful town. And he thought of Christie. He’d never before spoken of her as he had tonight. Somehow he felt comforted, a bit freer of the numbing pain, a bit more open to life again. He still had Christie’s photo on his desk at work, taken with his boys only a month before she vanished. He looked at her every day, and every day he wondered what had happened to her.
CHAPTER 16
MAESTRO, VIRGINIA
TUESDAY MORNING
IT WAS TEN-THIRTY Tuesday morning before the four of them met for a late breakfast at Maurie’s Diner on Main Street. Savich sipped tea, set down his cup. “MAX found us instances of stabbing and gassing, of course, even embalming, by a parade of psychopaths you don’t want to know about, but never all together, at least that we know about. I make that caveat because if not for Ruth, we might never have found Erin Bushnell.”
“You don’t sound surprised,” Dix said as he spread butter on wheat toast.
Savich shook his head. “I’ve learned that the killers among us have limitless imagination.”
Ruth laid down her fork, leaned her chin on her laced fingers. “And that’s the whole point. It’s his own special deal, his way of making himself unique, his own creation.”
Savich said, “I agree, Ruth. It’s usually a script the killer must follow to the letter if he’s to consider his act a success. He didn’t want his handiwork discovered, that isn’t what he’s about, what he’s after. It’s the process—that’s what’s important to him.”
“More tea, Special Agent?”
Savich smiled up at Glenna, the waitress. “Yes, thank you.” When she’d left, looking over her shoulder at him several times, Savich asked Dix, “Did you meet with the techs at the morgue this morning?”
“Yep. I threatened them with whatever I could think of.” He shrugged. “They all agreed, but who knows? None of my deputies know a thing about it, either. Only the four of us, Dr. Himple, and the three techs. I also called Dr. Crocker at Loudoun County Community Hospital.” Dix’s cell phone rang. He pulled it out of his pocket, said, “Sheriff Noble here.”
His expression lightened as he listened, and then darkened, and his hand fisted on the tabletop. He looked very angry. “Is this your idea of good news, bad news, Emory?” He listened for quite a while, the three agents sensing the deputy calling was trying to calm his boss. He looked ready to eat nails when he flipped off his cell phone.
Ruth said, “Well?”
“My deputies found your Beemer in the shed behind Walt McGuffey’s house, Ruth. Remember the house we passed on the way to Lone Tree Hill? And I saw that the snow didn’t look like it had been disturbed at all, and called to have my people check on Walt?” He paused, and there was such a look of helpless rage on his face that Ruth laid her hand on his arm.
“What happened, Dix? What’s the bad news?”
