“That’s not what Bertram thought.” Perreth countered. “And he’s studied the killer for years. He knows all about Dryden.”
He knows all about Dryden.
The thought hit Bryce with the force of a kick.
Wouldn’t an expert know Dryden had three-year-old twin daughters at the time that he killed his wife? And wasn’t it possible he found out who those daughters were?
Bryce’s heart beat high in his chest. The professor seemed to have pulled himself together at the prison. But just the day before he’d been a mess, upset and on the verge of tears. Could years of obsession with his daughter’s murderer have taken their toll? Was it possible he’d decided to take from Dryden what Dryden had stolen from him?
God knew Dryden had gotten to Bryce. He’d forgotten everything but his hatred. He’d turned his back on his own happiness. He’d walked out on Sylvie when she’d needed him most.
“There’s a letter,” Bryce blurted out. “It was sent to Diana. I smuggled it out of her apartment the day she disappeared.”
A low growl came from Perreth’s throat.
“We assumed it was from Dryden, but…”
Val nodded. “You think it was from… who? Bertram?”
“Where is it?” Perreth barked.
“In her room. In the safe.”
Sylvie
Sylvie’s head throbbed. Her mouth felt dry and gritty as sand. She lay on her back in some sort of bed. A musty pillow supported her head, but she couldn’t move her hands and feet, as if she was tied to the bed by wrists and ankles.
Through her lashes she could see outlines of windows where feeble light leeched around the edges of room-darkening shades. She willed her eyes to open, to adjust to the lack of light. But in the end of the room where she was tied, blackness still surrounded her, smothered her, beat her down.
“Sylvie? Are you awake?”
The voice was weak but familiar. A voice she had dreamed of hearing. A voice she was searching for. “Diana?”
“Sylvie. Over here.”
Slowly she turned her aching head in the direction of Diana’s voice. She couldn’t see her sister’s face. But the white glow of her wedding gown filtered through the dark.
“Diana. Thank God.”
“Oh, Syl. I’m so sorry he got you too. I’m so sorry.”
She tried to shake her head, pain erupting behind her eyes and shooting down the back of her neck. “Why would he do this, Diana?”
“There’s a lot I haven’t told you, Syl. So much you don’t know.”
“I saw Ed Dryden today.”
“Then you do know.” Diana’s voice trembled. With shame. With regret.
Emotions Sylvie knew all too well. Emotions that clung to her skin, flowed through her blood and burrowed into the marrow of her bones. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
A muffled sob rose in the darkness. The rustle of satin. “I didn’t know what you’d do.”
“What do you mean?”
“You were always so guarded. So aloof. Like you didn’t trust me. I thought if I told you before we got to know each other, before we really felt like sisters, you wouldn’t want anything to do with it. With me. That I’d never hear from you again.”
Sylvie wanted to tell Diana she was wrong. That she never would have shied away from her sister no matter how ugly reality was. But the truth was, she didn’t know how she would have reacted.
Sylvie took in a deep breath of musty-smelling air.
She might not know how she would have felt six months ago, but she knew how she felt now. “He’s my father too, Diana. And as much as I want to run from that, I’d never run from you.”
“I’m so sorry, Syl.”
“It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not. I’m weak, Sylvie. I’ve always been weak, and some people… they can just sense it.”
“That’s not your fault.”
“Maybe not at first. But now… Look where I am. The same spot I’ve been trying to escape my whole life. And because of me, now you’re here too.”
Sylvie focused on the glow of her sister’s gown, the gleam of her blond hair. Diana was the strong one as a child, the healthy one. She’d been the one adopted. Raised by a wealthy family. Engaged to marry a man who loved her.
Yet things weren’t always as they seemed. If Sylvie had learned anything in the last few days, that was it. “We aren’t going to be victims, Diana. We’ll find a way out.”
“Professor Bertram has lost his mind. I’ve tried everything I can think of to—”
A metallic rattle cut the darkness. A door creaked open. A shadow loomed against the twilight sky, broad shoulders filling the doorway.
Bryce
You have no idea of the horror I’ve been through. My life is over. Ruined. And he will never pay. Not enough. So you will pay for him.
The contents of the letter scrolled over and over in Bryce’s mind. How could he have been so stupid as to assume the letter was written by Ed Dryden? Had he been that obsessed with the serial killer? Had he been that blind?
Of course, he never guessed Sylvie and Diana were Dryden’s daughters. He still had trouble wrapping his mind around that. It didn’t seem possible that monster was related to Sylvie in any way.
Bryce set the letter on the desk and started paging through the photocopied articles in Diana Gale’s folder, frustration pounding in his ears. When he’d told Val and Perreth his reasons for believing Professor Bertram had been the kidnapper and not a victim, it hadn’t occurred to him that he wouldn’t be going with them, that he wouldn’t be able to personally make sure Sylvie was safe.
He knew that shouldn’t matter, that he should be content that they’d listened to him, that they were checking Bertram’s apartment right now along with his office, his wife’s house, and a vacation home along Lake Wisconsin. That they were using all the resources at law enforcements’ fingertips.
But contentment was far beyond him.
At least they’d allowed him to stay in Sylvie’s hotel room. At least here he could fool himself into thinking he was doing something to help. That in case they failed to find Sylvie at any of the professor’s properties, Bryce could come up with an answer. A place to look that no one had thought of.
He skimmed article after article. Dryden had killed so many women. The blond coeds he’d practiced on before working up his courage to kill his wife. The brunette he’d killed to send a message to Professor Risa Madsen and his failed attempt on Risa herself. Three different locations. All remote. All wooded.
The professor’s cabin was the best bet. He’d probably take them there. But if he hadn’t…
Bryce paged backward, to the deaths of the coeds. A picture of Dawn Bertram smiled up at him, her face in negative, an effect of the microfilm machine.
Tearing his gaze from the girl’s face, he focused on the article. Dawn’s body had been discovered in a gravel quarry west of Eau Claire. The police reported that she hadn’t been killed there, that she had been moved.
He paged on. Through the story of one girl after another. Each leaving family and loved ones looking for answers.
An empty ache hollowed out under his rib cage. Dryden’s depravities had been like a stone thrown into a still pond, the ever-widening ripple caused by each murder ruining so many lives. Those who suffered the death of a daughter, a sister, a mother. Those who weren’t old enough to understand all they’d lost.