“It’s pretty vague.” Eve’s hands clenched. “You didn’t get anything from any other Web sites?”
“Only a Paul Walsh who was located in San Antonio, Texas. But he’s been serving time in Huntsville Prison for the last three years. And the FBI came up with Ronald Samuel Walsh who looked promising until I realized he had no history of violence. So were back to James Walsh.”
“Damn. Photo?”
He punched a button and pushed the phone toward her. “Looks pretty ordinary.”
“So did Ted Bundy.” She looked down at the photo. Thin, brown hair, high forehead, full lips. Deep-set, dark eyes. As Joe said, ordinary.
Or was he? There was something about the set of those lips … His eyes were so without expression they had a kind of blankness, but those lips were …
She knew from her sculpting experience how they could change, betray, transform. Sometimes she had to struggle to give the lips no expression in her reconstructions. An indentation at the corners, the faintest curl could change everything.
And Walsh had made no effort to keep his lips from betraying what was beneath his impassiveness.
Ugliness.
Which didn’t mean he was a child murderer.
And that didn’t mean he wasn’t.
“Eve.”
She looked up and pushed the phone back to him. “I don’t believe he’s ordinary. I think he may be the one. I want to know more about him. What made him such a great enforcer?”
“Total ruthlessness and he trained himself into a top-notch executioner. Guns, knives, explosives; he was an expert with all of them. And he had no trouble with decapitation. Every week or so, one of Castino’s enemies would be seen hanging headless on one of the local bridges.”
“You say he lived in Sacramento for a while. Can we find out anything from the police department or maybe his former neighbors?”
“I’m already on it. I called the Sacramento PD after I landed at San Francisco.”
“I should have known.”
“May I see?” Margaret asked as she took the phone. “Walsh…” She gave the phone back to him. “I can’t tell anything. Human killers are much more difficult to judge than animals. There are all kinds of signals broadcast by the big cats or rattlesnakes.” She looked at Eve. “Is it okay if I go to the grave site now that Joe is here? I’m not accomplishing anything here.”
“And we’re boring you?” Eve said. “By all means, I’ll call Nalchek, and we’ll all go.”
“I’ve already called him,” Margaret said as she got to her feet. She checked her wristwatch. “I told him I’d meet him at the grave site at one thirty.” She smiled. “And you can introduce him to Joe and get them on the same page. That will give me the chance to look around without Nalchek hovering.”
“You have it all planned.”
“Not really. I just want to know who was guarding your Jenny and why. It’s been nagging me since last night. May we go?”
Eve nodded. “I admit I’m curious.”
“So is Nalchek.” She zipped up her hoodie and started across the terrace. “He was entirely too willing to let me go into his woods again today. I thought I’d have a battle…”
*
Nalchek was standing by the grave, and he only nodded curtly to Margaret. His gaze went beyond her to Joe. “You’re Joe Quinn. I’ve heard about you. I’m John Nalchek.”
Joe nodded. “I’ve heard about you, too.” He glanced at the grave site. “Eve says you’re obsessed.”
Nalchek stiffened. “Does she?”
“Yeah.” He looked back at him. “But that doesn’t mean anything. She’s obsessed, too. It won’t bother me unless you start causing her problems.”
“Joe,” Eve said.