Читать книгу Serial Bride - Ann Voss Peterson - Страница 12

Bryce pulled an extra chair up to the tiny desk in Sylvie’s hotel room and set his briefcase on the dark cherrywood surface. Since he’d made his vow of justice at his brother’s grave, every small thing he’d discovered about Ty’s death had brought nothing but more questions, more hurdles between him and proving Kane was responsible. Now, for the first time, he had something tangible at his fingertips. Now, he was finally getting somewhere.

He lowered himself into the chair next to Sylvie. Her scent teased at him, flowers with some sort of spicy edge that made him want to inhale more deeply. The jeans and sweater she’d changed into did nothing to diminish her attractiveness. She might look like the photo he had of her sister, yet Sylvie had a freshness in the pink of her cheeks and the light sweep of her lashes that he’d never noticed in another woman. Even her pierced eyebrow suggested the spunky rebellion of a teenager. Yet at the same time she seemed so guarded and distrustful, he couldn’t help but wonder why. He couldn’t help but want to know more.

Shaking his head, he unlocked the briefcase. He couldn’t afford to notice the way she smelled, the way she looked. He couldn’t let her contradictions conjure questions in his mind. The last thing he needed was another hurdle between him and winning justice for Ty. He couldn’t risk her becoming even a minor distraction. Forcing his attention where it belonged, he dropped the folder on the desk and flipped open the cover.

Dryden Kane stared at them from the five-by-seven photograph.

Sylvie shivered. “Those eyes are so inhuman, so cold. I don’t know how Diana could have stood being in the same room with him.” She flipped Kane face down on the desk.

As someone who had been in Kane’s presence, Bryce couldn’t help but wonder the same thing. But there were women who were drawn to serial killers. Titillated by danger, infamy. Why not Diana Gale? Kane had certainly attracted more than his share of female fascination in the past. Hell, years ago he’d convinced a woman to marry him in prison.

Sylvie plucked the envelope from the pile of photocopies and clippings. “It’s addressed to Diana. But there’s no return address.” She slipped the letter out and unfolded it. Reaching to the lamp, she canted the shade to shed more light.

The lamplight slanted toward him, glared off the white paper, making it impossible to decipher the handwriting. But from the abrupt shape of the letters, it appeared to be written by a male hand. He waited for her to read it out loud.

“‘You have no idea of the horror I’ve been through. Weeks of not knowing. Months of asking why. Years of grief. My life is over. Ruined. And he will never pay. Not enough. But you will pay for him.’” Sylvie looked up from the page, eyes stricken. “Oh, my God, Dryden Kane threatened her.”

A din of questions swirled in Bryce’s head. “Is it signed?”

“No. But it has to be from Kane. Why would she keep it in this folder if it wasn’t?”

Maybe it did appear to be from Kane. But why would Kane threaten to make Diana pay? And who was she paying for?

He blew out a frustrated breath. This hurdle was larger than most. This hurdle threatened to destroy his entire theory of Diana Gale’s role in Ty’s death. “May I see it?”

Sylvie handed it to him.

It was just a single sheet of typing paper with the words she’d read scrawled across the white surface. He read it over again to himself. “He will never pay. Who is he?”

She lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “Whoever he is, Kane hates him.”

“Kane hates a lot of people.” Including Bryce. He picked up the envelope and looked at the postmark again just to make sure. Almost exactly a month ago. After Ty’s death. After Kane had sent his message to Bryce by having his younger brother killed.

Pain hit him hard. Ty’s death was so fresh, so raw. He shook his head, trying to clear it, to concentrate.

“What is it?”

“Nothing.” He handed the paper back to her. Was he wrong about Diana Gale? Was she merely another victim of Kane’s charm and brutality? Or had she merely outlived her usefulness? After Ty’s death, had she ceased being a conspirator and become a target? And if so, why? “Did your sister give any indication she was being threatened?”

Sylvie frowned, her eyebrow ring dipping low. “She’s been upset the last several months. Anxious. I asked her about it, but she blamed it on problems with wedding plans. Do you think she reported Kane’s threat?”

“Maybe.”

“Perreth didn’t say anything.”

“Maybe she didn’t report it to the police.”

“The university.”

He nodded.

Sylvie pushed her chair back and shot to her feet. “What was the name of that professor? The one who arranged for her to visit Kane?”

“Vincent Bertram.”

She circled the bed. Perching on the mattress edge, she pulled the telephone directory from the bedside table and started flipping pages.

“What are you looking for?”

“A residential listing for Bertram. I’m going to find out why Diana got involved with Dryden Kane in the first place. And whether or not she told him Kane was threatening her.”

Bryce tore his gaze from Sylvie and focused on the folder. If Diana Gale had conspired to kill Ty, understanding her motive might be useful. But if she hadn’t, he couldn’t afford to go off on another tangent.

Eager to see if the folder yielded any more information, he paged through the photocopies chronicling Kane’s sordid history. His murder of blond college coeds. His capture twenty years ago at the hands of the FBI. At that point, other than an article here and there, the news coverage skipped about four years to a flurry of stories about Kane’s prison marriage and subsequent escape. The stories highlighted the way Kane had focused on his new intended victim, Risa Madsen, a mentor of Vincent Bertram’s. The stories continued with the trail of death Kane had left until Professor Madsen and the FBI profiler who’d originally caught Kane had joined forces to subdue him again.

The next articles were more recent, clipped from their original newsprint. The headlines Bryce knew all too well. Headlines he’d thought he’d wanted. They blared from the clippings, stinging his eyes. He’d been so stupid, so wrong, so naive. And he’d payed with more than his life. He’d paid with his brother’s life.

He sucked in a breath, trying to control the rush of grief, of rage, as he paged through the articles. The stories outlined Kane’s lawsuit against the Supermax prison, how attorney Bryce Walker had taken the killer’s case, how he’d alleged mistreatment, how he’d won a transfer to another facility. He turned to the last article. A black-and-white picture stared from the newsprint, Ty in the black suit that made him look like an innocent milk-fed farm boy planning to hunt aliens with Tommy Lee Jones.

Bryce’s throat closed. He’d been willing to sell his soul to get good press for the law firm, for himself. He’d never guessed Ty’s life was part of the deal.

He glanced up at Sylvie. She sat with her back to him, the phone book spread open on her lap. Hunching forward, she copied something on a scrap of paper.

What if her sister didn’t have anything to do with Ty’s murder? What if she was merely a misguided woman? A woman who never would have been able to worm her way into visiting Kane if he was still housed in the ultrasecurity of the Supermax where he belonged? What if Bryce’s representation of Kane had not only led to Ty’s death, but indirectly to Diana Gale’s abduction, as well?

Weight bore down on his shoulders like a yoke of stone. If he really wanted justice, if he really wanted to set things right, maybe he shouldn’t be asking himself if he could afford to help Sylvie Hayes. Maybe he should be asking if he could afford not to.

WITH THE SLIP OF PAPER with Professor Bertram’s address stuffed in her jeans pocket, Sylvie crossed the hotel lobby with Bryce by her side and stepped through the revolving door and onto the sidewalk. Saturday night had fully fallen. The neon glow of nearby shops and restaurants and the jangle of people walking down State Street turned the city into a confusion of sights and sounds.

Stepping to the curb, Sylvie glanced at the rush of headlights flowing down the one-way street, searching for a cab. “Thanks for your help. When I find Diana, I’ll let her know you want to get in touch with her.”

Bryce looked at her as if she were speaking in tongues. “What are you talking about? I’m going with you.”

“Not necessary.” All she had to do was to flag down a cab and find the nearest car rental office. Once she had her own car, she’d be able to track down Professor Bertram and hopefully get some answers.

“You need someone to drive.”

“That’s okay. I need to rent a car anyway.”

“Rent a car? Why? I have a car right here.” He pointed to his car parked fifty feet away as if she’d forgotten what it looked like.

“Really, I’m used to doing things on my own.” It had been disconcerting enough to be forced to rely on Bryce to get out of Diana’s apartment with the folder, to drive her to a hotel. Having him in her hotel room, bouncing ideas off him, had only made her feel more jangled.

“How are you planning to find a car rental office? There aren’t too many of them around here.”

“I’ll take a cab.”

He arched his brows. “And how are you going to find a cab?”

What, was he playing games with her? “I’ll hail one. It’s not hard.”

“You might find it hard in Madison.”

She scanned the street. Not one cab spotted in the flood of personal vehicles. He might have a point. “Okay, I’ll ask the hotel to call me one.”

“What are you trying to prove, Sylvie? It’s been a tough day for you already. You’re dead tired and worried about your sister. Driving you around is the least I can do. Besides, you need to find your sister, and I need to talk to her. We have shared goals here.”

Of course, he was right about that, too. But even though she could get to Professor Bertram’s house faster if she didn’t first have to call for a cab and then rent a car, she’d rather have her own wheels. She didn’t want to have to rely on Bryce only to have him leave her the moment she needed him most. It would be far easier to rent her own car from the outset than to struggle to pull things together once he cut out on her. “Listen, it’s not that I’m not grateful. But I like to do things on my own.”

“What, you don’t like me?”

“I like you fine.” Maybe too much. She doubted she’d ever been around a man this attractive before in her life. A man whose every expression she noticed. A man who made her feel out of control just by looking in her direction.

“You don’t trust me?”

He wasn’t too far off there. “I don’t want to be left in the lurch.”

“Why would I do that?”

“In my experience, a more realistic question would be why you wouldn’t.”

“Listen, you might have had bad luck with people in the past, but when I give my word, I keep it. No matter what.” He gestured to the BMW. “Now are you going to get in, or do you want me to throw you in?”

She shot him a look she hoped conveyed all the annoyance she felt. He wouldn’t dare throw her in the car. If he did, he’d get far more than he bargained for, starting with two black eyes.

“Listen, Sylvie, we made a deal. You help me with my case, I help you find your sister.”

They had made a deal. A deal she wasn’t comfortable with. Not in the least.

He glanced at his watch. “It’s already pushing eight. Do you really want to stand around here and argue about this, or do you want to find your sister? It’s up to you.”

Her heart clutched. Diana had been missing for four hours. Four hours and the clock was ticking. “Okay. For now.”

He nodded, as if it was all settled. “Get in the car.”

SYLVIE GRIPPED the leather armrest and scanned the beautiful homes scrolling by, trying to spot the house numbers. When she’d first visited Diana in Madison, she remembered thinking the way the downtown funneled into an isthmus between two large lakes was charming. But after more than half an hour with Bryce negotiating hilly, winding one-way streets in the dark, the charm had worn off. “There it is.” She pointed to the beautiful stone Tudor lit with artfully arranged spotlights and covered in ivy.

Bryce piloted the car into the home’s narrow drive. “Ready?”

As if he had to ask. She was itching to talk to Professor Bertram. To find out what in the world he’d been thinking when he’d arranged for Diana to talk to Kane. And if he’d known about the threats, why hadn’t he reported it to the police? Why he hadn’t sounded the alarms? But most importantly, she needed to know if he knew anything that could help find her sister.

Sylvie swung her door open and climbed out just as Bryce circled the car. They walked up the cobblestone sidewalk to a front door half shrouded with wide, red-edged leaves of ivy. Bryce stabbed the doorbell button.

Chimes echoed through the house. A moment later footsteps tapped across a wood floor inside and an eye peered through the peephole. “Yes?” A woman’s voice.

“My name is Sylvie Hayes and this is Bryce Walker.” She projected her voice, hoping the woman could hear her through the door. “We’d like a word with Professor Bertram. Is he home?”

“No.”

“Do you know when he will be home?” Bryce asked.

“No.”

“Is this Mrs. Bertram?”

Silence.

Strange. Wisconsin Heights was not a neighborhood that seemed to call for a lot of security. Mostly home to university professors and well-to-do business leaders in Madison, it was a safe neighborhood in an area overflowing with safe neighborhoods. Except for the nighttime visit, which would make anyone wary, there didn’t seem to be a reason for Mrs. Bertram’s apparent paranoia.

Sylvie couldn’t help thinking about the night before when Bryce had knocked on the door of Diana’s apartment. She had answered, yet had been careful to keep the door chain secured. She’d known at the time that if Bryce had wanted, he could have easily kicked in the door and broken the chain. But even though the chain offered little real protection, after the shock she’d suffered at the church finding Reed injured and Diana gone, she hadn’t wanted to expose herself to a stranger.

Judging by Mrs. Bertram’s reluctance to open the door, or even to answer, she was even more frightened. Sylvie couldn’t help but wonder what or who had spooked her.

Bryce raised his eyebrows at Sylvie. Apparently he had a few questions about Mrs. Bertram, too. “We need to talk to Professor Bertram about a graduate student who is working with him on one of his research projects.”

“My sister, Diana Gale,” Sylvie added.

“I wouldn’t know anything about that. He doesn’t live here anymore. He hasn’t for many years.”

But he’d been listed in the phone book. “You’re divorced?”

“That’s what I’m saying.”

Disappointment seeped into Sylvie’s bones like the chill of approaching winter. “Do you have his address?”

“Of course I have it. That doesn’t mean I’m going to give it to you.”

“We really need to talk to him. My sister has disappeared.”

“And you think Vincent can help you?”

“We hope so,” Bryce answered.

“What project was your sister working on for Vincent?”

Sylvie hesitated. Not only did she hate saying the name out loud, she doubted dropping Kane’s name would do anything to make this obviously frightened woman more open or responsive. But then, not telling her the name wasn’t going to get them anywhere, either. “Diana interviewed Dryden Kane.”

She could hear Mrs. Bertram’s sharp intake of breath even through the door. Silence followed that was so complete Sylvie thought the woman might have walked away.

Suddenly the clack of two dead bolts sliding open cut the quiet. The door inched open and Mrs. Bertram peered out. Skin nearly as white as her hair, she blinked even in the darkness, like a mouse venturing out of a safe, dark hole. “Stop by Vincent’s office. He’ll be happy to help all he can.”

Sylvie let out a heavy breath. “I was really hoping to talk to him before Monday.”

The woman glanced at her watch. “He’s probably there now.”

“On a Saturday night?”

“He usually stops back after dinner, says it’s quieter then, better for concentrating on his book. But if your sister’s disappearance has something to do with that monster, he won’t mind the interruption. He’ll do everything he can to help.”

Sylvie wished she could shake the woman’s hand, something to let her know her appreciation. But despite the way the woman had opened the door to talk to them, Sylvie still got the feeling that a touch from a stranger wouldn’t be welcomed. She settled on a smile. “Thank you so much.”

The woman gave her a nod and retreated, closing the door behind her.

Sylvie glanced up at Bryce, eager to get his impression of what had happened.

He was looking past her, in the direction of the street.

She followed his line of sight. The one-way street was quiet. Except for an older man walking a dog and a blue service van pulling into a side street, it looked as though the entire neighborhood was spending Saturday night snuggled in their living rooms. “What do you see?”

Cupping her elbow, he steered her down the walk and driveway, toward his BMW. “I’ll tell you in the car.”

As he circled the car, she jumped into the passenger seat. She had just enough time to secure her seat belt before Bryce pulled away from the curb. “Okay, out with it. What’s going on?”

Eyes flitting to the rearview mirror, he slowly wound through the quiet neighborhood and headed west on University Avenue. “Did you notice the van?”

“The blue one?”

He nodded.

“Are you thinking it’s strange for a service van to be driving around on a Saturday night?”

“Yes, but that’s not all.”

“I hate playing guessing games. Will you just tell me?”

“It belongs to a food service. The type of business that provides produce, meat and canned goods to institutional settings like nursing homes.”

That was about as straightforward as another riddle. “Okay, I’ll bite. You’re wondering what it was doing in that neighborhood?”

He nodded. “On a Saturday night.”

Okay, so that did seem odd. But there could be a perfectly innocent explanation. “Maybe the owner of the company lives there. Or an executive.”

“Did you see the driver?”

“No.”

“Remember the redheaded guy who was listening in on our conversation in the hallway of your sister’s building? Diana’s neighbor?”

She hadn’t paid much attention to him, not enough to pick him out in a crowd. “He’s driving the van?”

“It’s dark, but yeah, I’m pretty sure it’s him.”

“Why would he be in this neighborhood?”

“The real question is, why is he following us? Look out the back window.”

Sylvie twisted sideways in her seat as if she was talking to Bryce. Covertly she glanced out the back window. Sure enough. Several car lengths back, she saw the hulking shape of a panel van. “You’re right. Why on earth would Diana’s neighbor be following us?”

Bryce veered right on an exit lane that crossed under the street. “I don’t know. But I aim to find out.”