Читать книгу Trigger Effect - Maggie Price - Страница 11

Barely breathing, her palm sweating against the asp’s handle, Paige positioned herself at one side of the door.

“Who’s there?” Her voice sounded like chipped glass.

“Nate McCall.”

Relief rose in her like a wave. She shoved back the U-shaped safety bar, unlocked the deadbolt, then opened the door.

He wore an unbuttoned black trench coat over his black suit; his hair looked rumpled, a shadow of dark stubble on his jaw gave his olive skin a swarthy look. She wasn’t too proud to acknowledge how glad she was to see him.

“I called the E.R.,” he said. “A nurse said they released you, so I…” His eyes flicked to her right hand and narrowed abruptly. “You planning on trying to take me down with that man-tamer baton, Carmichael?”

Paige realized she must look paranoid standing there gripping the thick, silvery asp that could drop a heavyweight in round one.

“Not you. Someone else.” Stepping back, she pulled the door open wider and gestured him in.

He moved past her, then turned, waiting just behind her as she rebolted the door. “Who?”

“The slime who boosted my briefcase.” She twisted the asp’s spring then shoved the telescoping chrome shaft back into the black handle. “He paid me a return visit.”

“He came here?”

“When I was at the E.R. He left me a present.” Stepping to the bed, she motioned toward the facedown mug shot. “That typed note is on the back of a mug shot of Edwin Isaac. It was in my briefcase.”

“‘We’ll be together soon,’” McCall read. “‘I promise. Gentleman Jim.’” He looked up. “Is that a nickname the Dallas cops gave the shrink?”

“The media. When Isaac was in disguise trolling for hookers, he acted meek. Mild. Like there wasn’t a threatening bone in his body.”

“Let me guess. After Isaac got a hooker alone, he turned into Jack the Ripper.”

“Worse. The Ripper killed his victims within hours of their initial contact. Isaac kept each one alive at least a week.”

“For sex?”

“No. To destroy them psychologically while convincing them they were useless sluts and unworthy of living. He brainwashed them. Coerced each victim to perform self-mutilation by slicing her own flesh with a scalpel. Then he used a hot knife to cauterize the wounds to prevent them from bleeding to death.”

“Christ.” McCall shoved a hand through his hair. “How’d the bastard get so twisted?”

“His stepmother, mostly,” Paige answered. “She was an actress who played roles in dinner theater productions. The woman was superdomineering. From what we could find out, she had numerous affairs with various actors, stagehands, theater owners. Even after she married Isaac’s father, the affairs didn’t stop.”

“What happened to his real mother?”

“She died when he was a baby. The stepmom craved the spotlight. Having a child around took some of the attention away from her, and she resented him. Isaac did enough hanging around the theater to learn about costuming and how to use makeup as a disguise.”

“So, little Eddie grows up into Edwin the killer who knows how to camouflage himself. To hide in plain sight.”

“Exactly. It took us nearly a year to get him because each time he trolled for hookers his appearance changed. But we knew it was the same guy because of witnesses who overheard his unique voice. And the real Isaac is polite. Almost genteel. Even in interrogation when he threatened he’d someday get out and we would meet again on his terms, he was polite about it.”

“What kind of guy was the father?”

“He was a genius computer geek who spent his life walking three steps behind his wife, saying, ‘Yes, dear.’ If he even noticed her affairs he didn’t do anything to stop them.”

“Two less-than-stellar role models for a kid.”

“That about sums it up.”

McCall pulled a pen out of his coat pocket, used its tip to flip the mug shot over. “Not bad-looking for a perverted serial killer.”

Paige stared into the face of the man who, with one squeeze of a trigger, spun her life onto a path she never would have imagined for herself. Isaac was in his early forties, his thick blond hair carefully styled and feathered back. His forehead was broad and unlined, his eyes deep-set and startlingly blue. His nose was narrow, his chin square, his complexion pale but healthy. His mind was anything but.

“Did you touch the mug shot?” McCall asked.

“Just the envelope it came in.”

“Yours are probably the only prints that will show up, but I’ll have the lab check.” He dipped a hand into another pocket and pulled out a small plastic evidence bag.

She’d done that, too, when she worked Homicide, Paige thought. Constantly carried around evidence bags in her purse and car. There’d been no way to predict from one minute to the next when she’d wind up working a crime scene.

“Let’s go with the assumption it was Isaac who slipped this mug shot under your door,” McCall said. “How would he know you’re in Oklahoma City?”

“My employer, the Lassiter Group, maintains a Web site. The dates and locations for my workshops are listed so students can enroll online.”

“To do that, Isaac would have to know you’re working for Lassiter. He’s been in prison, so how would he find out?”

“My partner and I suspected Isaac had an accomplice working with him during his killing spree. We could never find enough evidence to prove it. But if we’re right, that person could have been feeding him information the past three years. I suspect that’s how Isaac got my cell phone number.”

“He called you?”

“Yes, hours after he escaped. I was on another call so he left a message on my voice mail.”

“What did he say?”

“That we’ll be together soon.”

McCall looked at the mug shot. “Same message he sent tonight. Anybody check to see who visited Isaac in prison?”

“I checked. During the entire time he was locked up, his attorney was his only visitor. The accomplice could have sent information through him.”

“You told me on the phone your instincts tell you Isaac isn’t who mugged you. Maybe he hooked back up with the unknown accomplice after he escaped? That could be the guy who snatched your briefcase.”

“That theory feels more right.”

McCall’s gaze settled on her cheek. “I take it you got that in the mugging?”

“Yes.” She fingered the edges of the bruise. With all that had happened since then, she’d forgotten about it. She glanced up, noting he continued to inspect her intensely. “What?”

“I’m thinking what the mugger gained was minimal compared to the effort he put out, especially since he didn’t try for your purse. If he had, he would have at least gotten some cash, credit cards. Is there anyone other than Isaac who’d have reason to come after you like that? Rough you up a little? Then drop off Isaac’s mug shot, just to mess with your head?”

“I’ve been asking myself those same questions. There’s no one.” She shifted her gaze back to the bed. “When you knocked on my door I was just about to call dispatch and leave you a message.”

“About the mug shot?”

“That’s one thing.” She watched him use the pen to nudge the photo and envelope into the plastic bag. “I need a favor.”

He slid the bag into his coat pocket. “What?”

She gave him a rundown on her allergy to peanuts, the E.R. doctor’s theory that she could suddenly be allergic to bananas, the information she’d found out about the fruit bowl from the hotel desk clerk and the contents of her briefcase. Then she added that the meds pumped into her at the E.R. prevented her from being tested for two weeks. While she talked, she watched McCall work the information, taking it in.

“You can’t be tested, but the fruit can,” he said. “You want me to submit it to the cop lab.”

“Yes.” Paige eased out a breath. “After this morning, I’m not in the best position to ask you for a favor.”

“Submitting evidence of a possible crime isn’t a favor. It’s my job.” Moving around the bed, he grabbed a pillow, pulled off its case, then walked to the sitting area where the fruit bowl sat. “I’ll write a supplement to the mugging report that Vawter wrote. That’ll help push the testing on the fruit.”

Paige watched as he eased the bowl and fruit into the pillowcase. It hit her then, how close she’d come to dying only hours before. Her legs went unsteady as the enormity of that sank in.

She lowered onto the edge of the bed, fisted her hands that had suddenly begun to shake. “I had one more reason for leaving you a message.”

He flicked her a look as he knotted the ends of the pillowcase. “Was it to admit your theory about lights and sex is a load of crap?”

Paige’s mouth twitched. The humor was unexpected, and welcome. “The theory’s solid, McCall.” She shoved a hand through her hair. “I wanted to thank you for getting help here when I had the reaction. And for staying on the phone.” Though her voice had taken on a barely perceptible quake, she continued. “One second my throat was fine, the next it had nearly swelled shut. I thought…” I might die. She took a deep breath. “Just your telling me the ambulance was on the way, that I was going to be fine, helped me focus. So, thanks.”

Leaving the pillowcase on the table, he strode across the suite to stand in front of her. “I was scared, too,” he said quietly.

She saw sympathy, concern and something more in his expression. She saw a cop’s perception of how hard it was for her to think of herself as a victim. “The doctor said you came by the E.R.”

“To find out for sure what had happened to you. And check your condition.”

“I hate being scared. It pisses me off. I felt the same way when I read the label on the back of Isaac’s mug shot. Spooked as hell.”

“He’s a scary guy.”

“At least I can do something about getting myself off his radar screen.” She rose, moved to the closet, grabbed her suitcase and plopped it on the bed. “I’m getting out of here tonight.”

“And going where?”

“To some hotel where I can check in under an alias and pay with cash.” She scooped up everything out of a bureau drawer, dumped it into the suitcase. “Can you recommend a place?”

He nodded. “It’s a little less plush than this, but still on the five-star scale. The manager is a pal of mine. If I give him a call, he can have you registered and a room ready by the time you get there.”

She glanced at her watch. “He must be a good pal if you can call him this late at night.”

“His name’s Burke Youngblood and he won’t mind.” McCall’s mouth quirked as he pulled his cell phone off his belt. “Burke lives on-site and he likes to play cop. He’s cut me a good rate in the past just so I would house a couple of witnesses under protection there. Burke keeps a good eye on things.” He angled his chin. “What alias do you want to use?”

“You pick,” Paige said as she emptied another drawer. “That way, it won’t tie to me.”

“Will do.” While McCall punched buttons on his cell, she stepped into the bathroom and gathered her toiletries.

“Burke will have everything taken care of by the time you get there,” McCall said when she carried her tote into the room. “Your alias is Fiona Shepherd.”

“Fiona?”

His mouth curved. “It’s a family name. The place you’re staying is the Ambassador Arms, about a five-minute drive from here. You can follow me there. That way I can make sure you don’t pick up a tail.”

“All right.”

“I’m sure this has occurred to you, Carmichael, but I’m going to point it out anyway. If someone’s looking to find you, all they have to do is wait for you to show up at the training center tomorrow.”

“I know. If I pick up a tail when I leave there, I’ll make sure I lose it.”

“The homicide I snagged today is political, so there’s a lot of pressure to get the case wrapped up fast. That means I won’t be back at your workshop. I’ll call Steve Kidd, brief him on what’s happened tonight. He and Henderson can back you up when you leave the training center. If you do get tailed, they can close in and grab him.”

“Thanks.” Paige checked all the drawers to make sure she hadn’t left any belongings behind.

McCall gave her a scrutinizing look. “It hasn’t been that long since you were a cop, so I figure you’ve still got federal contacts. Are you getting flagged for NCIC off-line searches on Isaac?”

“Yes.” As a high-profile escapee, Isaac was listed with the National Crime Information Center, the national database operated by the FBI that was the world’s largest collection of information on known criminals. If someone thought they recognized Isaac in Des Moines, Iowa, and contacted NCIC, Paige would receive a message on her cell phone.

“The note on the back of his mug shot is enough reason for me to issue a ‘be on the lookout’ to local cops,” McCall said. “If Isaac is here, he’ll need a place to lie low. Food and transportation. For all that, he needs money.”

“We never found all his money. He had tons of it, not just from his psychiatric practice, but an inheritance from his grandmother.” Paige pulled her cleaned coat out of the closet and stripped off the plastic bag. “My partner and I always suspected he’d stashed funds in numbered accounts in various locations. In and out of the country. If that’s the case, he will have made sure he can get that money easily and safely.”

“That’s going to make him a lot harder to find.”

“If he’s found at all. Right now he could be overseas while his pal performs the dirty work here.” Paige slid her laptop into its leather case. She didn’t want to think about the prospect of having to watch her back for all eternity.

“Ready to get out of here?” McCall asked after she shut the lid on her suitcase and set the locks.

“Yes.” She shrugged on her coat, then reached for her purse. A thought had her hesitating.

“Something wrong?”

“It just hit me. I didn’t ask why you showed up at my door. Why are you here?”

“I wanted to see how you’re doing.”

“You’re under pressure to solve a homicide. You could have just called instead.”

“Could have.” Gripping the pillowcase holding the fruit bowl, he moved back across the suite. “Look, Carmichael, here’s the deal. I’ve got three younger sisters who are all OCPD cops. It would take a hell of a lot for any of them to admit they have a problem dealing on their own with whatever comes their way.”

Her chin angled, she said, “Maybe that’s because they can deal with it.”

“Female cops,” he muttered. “Even former ones work hard to act tough.”

“It’s no act, McCall. We are tough. And proving it is the only way to get macho male cops to take us seriously.”

“Trust me, Grace, Carrie and Morgan have delivered that message loud and clear.”

“Good for them.”

“Here’s a news flash from a brother’s perspective. If one of my sisters was out of town and had some escaped psycho killer after her, not to mention getting mugged, then almost checking out while having an allergic reaction, I’d hope to hell some local cop would care enough to lend her a hand.”

Paige stared at him while something warm raced through her blood. Every gesture he made brought the layers of the man beneath that pretty face and cocky grin a little closer to the surface. He wasn’t just a cop who cared about what happened on his turf, he was a man with a soft spot in his heart for his three sisters.

The realization seemed to have too much influence on her pulse. His dark eyes locked on hers. “You going to go all tough on me now, Carmichael? Tell me you’ve got a problem with me helping you out?”

“No, I appreciate everything you’ve done.” Easing out a breath, she slid the strap of her computer case over one shoulder. “Greatly.”

Before he could make a move for her suitcase, she hefted it off the bed and rolled it toward the door.

She glanced at him over her shoulder. “Just don’t be too nice, McCall. You do, you’ll mess up my image of you as a slimeball.”