Marshall Beck sat in his SUV waiting for Number IV. He had parked between a couple of bail-bond outfits and had a clear view of the Hall of Justice, which was home to the superior court, the DA’s office, and the SFPD, to name just three. He had no idea if she was inside there, but there was a good chance she was, since the Hall of Justice was home to the SFPD’s major-crimes division. She was no longer at the crime scene. He’d checked. The cops were there, doing their cop thing, but Number IV wasn’t. The police might have sent her on her way, but he didn’t think so. They would want to question her, even if it was to dismiss her as a nut.
Since seeing Number IV on the news broadcast, he’d been scouring his brain to remember her name. Snatching her and Number III had been a spontaneous thing, so he hadn’t done his usual due diligence. He hadn’t thought it was necessary at the time. The two of them were just passing through town. They were strangers with no ties. That had been his foolproof thinking, until Number IV escaped. He’d gotten a look at their IDs only once before he’d disposed of them. He remembered Number III. Her name was Holli Buckner, but Number IV was just out of his memory’s reach. He closed his eyes and pictured himself reading her ID. A name came into focus.
“Zo? Sutton,” he said. “How nice to renew our acquaintance.”
He wasn’t concerned that Zo? would be spilling her guts to the cops. She didn’t know anything that would send them to his door. If she did, she would have told them after her escape. The only damage she could do to him was to provide the police with a second data point. Then they’d realize they weren’t dealing with a single case, but two and possibly more. Even that second data point didn’t help the investigators much. You needed three or four to yield direction, and that wasn’t anything Zo? could provide.
No, his interest in Zo? was one of personal pride. She was unfinished business. He’d been lax, and she’d gotten away because of it. She hadn’t paid her dues. She’d gotten only a taste of what was coming to her. It was high time he made her endure her full comeuppance.
But he couldn’t rush things and let his emotions rule over good judgment. He’d taken all precautions with Laurie Hernandez, and something had still gone wrong. He needed to use stealth and cunning if he was to close his account with Zo?. He had to track her and observe her. But for that, he needed his own data points, and at the moment, he had none. He knew only her name and that she lived in this area. A quick Internet and phone-book search had failed to reveal a home address or any active social-media links. If she’d gotten married, she might be going under a new last name, but he didn’t think that was the case here. That dress wasn’t the dress of a married woman. No, Zo? Sutton was single. And that told him something. She was living as far off the grid as someone could these days. Who avoided Facebook and Twitter and didn’t have a listed phone number? Unabomber-style technophobes? Yes, for sure. People hiding from the world? Most definitely. Zo? was hiding, and hiding from him. He could have tracked her down right after she had busted out, but he’d had other things on his mind. He’d accepted her escape and moved on. It looked as if Zo? hadn’t. He had to give her props for that. She’d learned from their previous encounter.
He eyed the dashboard clock. He’d been here two hours already. Had he missed her? He hoped not. He pieced together a timeline. Working from the time of the news report, he estimated Zo? had engaged the cops approximately three-and-a-half hours ago. To hustle her from Pier 25 to this office wouldn’t have taken long, but they would have most likely put her on ice for a while so they could run a background check. Maybe he was being optimistic, but he could see them grilling her for a couple of hours if she’d told them something worthwhile. It was still in the realm of possibility that she was in there. The thought buoyed him. He decided he’d give it another two hours before he called it quits for the night.
But he didn’t have to wait that long. Forty minutes later, Zo? emerged from the slab-sided building. A man in his thirties, wearing a suit, escorted her down the steps to the sidewalk. Beck guessed he was either a plainclothes cop or a district attorney. Zo? and the man were talking, but he was too far away to catch any of the conversation.
A car that appeared to be an unmarked police vehicle drew to a stop in front of them. The man held the door open for Zo?, and she climbed into the back of the car.