He had wanted to dispose of the body last night, but it hadn't worked out. It wasn't until he had driven all the way to the dump site that he developed a keen suspicion that police were staking out the public park he had selected. It wasn't anything obvious, just a sixth sense that more patrol cars were in the area than usual. He trusted his instincts on such things. Just to be safe, he had decided to hold the body till tonight and dump it well outside Seattle.
It was over an hour's drive, but he didn't mind it. He often took long drives. It was curious, in a way. He'd read a book by a former FBI profiler who said geographically transient serial killers often took long drives. Only after reading it did he develop the urge. The power of suggestion. Or maybe he really did fit the profile.
No way.
The road turned more desolate as the van headed west, mile after mile. Somewhere above the thick blanket of clouds was a beaming full moon, but the misty night was black, especially this far into the wilderness. It would have been easy to get lost had he not known the way. The dilapidated old barn at the base of the hill marked his turn. He steered off the highway and onto a gravel road. The talisman hanging from the rearview mirror swung sharply with the turn, nearly hitting him in the face.
It was a gold ring on a long chain.
Muddy water splashed up from a puddle and onto the windshield. He switched on the wipers and cleared the mess away. The van slowed to a crawl. He switched off the headlights. Just ahead was the park entrance. He hit one last pothole. The van rocked. Flowers fell behind him. The gold ring and chain slipped off the rearview mirror. He tried to catch it in midair but missed. It fell to the floor, rolling like a lost penny. He hit the brakes in a panic, slammed the van into Park. He was on his knees searching for the ring, groping beneath the seat.
"Damn it--shit!"
It was futile in the darkness, but he didn't dare switch on a light this close to the dump site. Blindly, he reached beneath the passenger seat, searching frantically. A pen and a coin he tossed aside furiously. Then he stopped. And smiled. He had it. Relieved, he clutched the ring tightly. He drew a deep breath, as if drawing on its power. To him it was more than just a piece of jewelry. The engraving inside
said it all: IN APPRECIATION -T. V. I.
It was his father's ring--commemorating his many years of service at the Torture Victims' Institute.
He slipped the ring into his pocket and zipped it closed, now ready for the task at hand.
A shrill scream woke him.
Gus jackknifed in bed. The master bedroom was quiet and dimly lit. Another rainy night had turned into a gray Thursday morning. He had tossed and turned most of the night, wondering if the police were doing enough to find Beth, wondering if Morgan would ever trust him again. By dawn he had finally reached a deep sleep. The sudden noise had him awake but disoriented. His heart pumped with adrenaline. He couldn't remember what he was dreaming, or if he had been dreaming at all, but he was sure he must have dreamed the scream.
Until he heard it again. Louder. He jumped out of bed. It was no dream. It had come from Morgan's room.
"Morgan!" He sprinted down the hall to her room. The door was open a crack. It slammed against the wall as he burst inside.
He stopped cold. Morgan was kneeling atop the mattress, hunched over her pillow. Crimson droplets stained the pink pillow case. She looked up with terror in her eyes. Her mouth was bloodied.
"Oh, my God!" He rushed to the bed and held her. "My toot'," she mumbled.
He pried her mouth open. One of her incisors was dangling by the roots, horribly twisted. She had apparently worked it free in her sleep. It was painful just to look at it, yet he was somewhat relieved. In his sprint of panic down the hall, he had feared much more than the loss of a baby tooth.
"It hurts!"
"I know it does, sweetheart." He touched it gently, testing the exposed root.
"Ow!"
"Sorry. It doesn't seem ready to come out yet. At least not the rest of the way out."
"Take it out!"
He raised his hand to her mouth, then pulled away tentatively. The gum was red and raw, ripe for infection. "I don't want to make it worse."
"Get Mommy. I want Mommy to do it."
He wasn't sure what to say. "Let's go see your dentist." "I hate the dentist."
"So do I. But she's the best person to do this."
She started to cry. "Mommy's the best person. Mommy wiggled my other teeth out."
"Mommy's not here."
"Call her. Tell her she needs to come home."
The piercing eyes made him shiver. He saw total distrust, as if she knew he had the power to bring her mommy home but for some reason he wouldn't. She'd nearly ripped a tooth from her mouth to force his hand. It was a savvy six-year-old's power play: either call Mommy home, or prove it wasn't you who made her go away.
"Let's go see the dentist, okay?" He held her tight, brushing the hair from her face. "Then you and I should have a talk."
The alarm sounded, and then the phone rang. It was a double-whammy, like rolling out of bed and stepping on a land mine. Andie oriented herself, cut off the screaming alarm and answered the phone.
"Hello."
"Henning. Dick Kessler here. Got another body."