“Please…oh God…please…I don’t want to die…”
Alex frowns, only half of her face responding to the command her brain sends to her mouth.
“Cynthia, we’re having a nice conversation here. Don’t ruin it.”
“Gina…G-Gina doesn’t matter. None of it matters. Nothing matters. It’s all…all bullshit. I still want to get married, have kids. I don’t wanna-”
Alex sighs, stuffs the napkin back into Cynthia’s mouth. She wonders if Jack’s ex-husband is in his room yet, and uses the phone to try him. It rings and rings. Earlier, Alex had called from the lobby phone and let it ring, so she should have gotten a busy signal. Does that mean Alan is in his room and answered the phone earlier? Or that someone in the lobby found a phone off the hook and hung up?
After five more rings, Alex hangs up. She yawns, exhaustion washing over her. A few hours of sleep would be a smart idea. Especially since she wants to tune in and watch Lance during his last moments, which will happen in less than five hours.
Alex looks at Cynthia.
“I’m bushed. How about you, Cyn? Must have been a long day for you. Want to get some shut-eye?”
Cyn looks uncertain, but she nods.
“You should probably go to the bathroom first. If I untie your legs will you walk to the bathroom without giving me trouble?”
A nod. Alex uses the steak knife to cut the nylons binding Cyn’s legs. Cynthia stumbles when she tries to stand, but Alex catches her under the arm and helps her keep her footing.
Cyn looks at the toilet, then looks at Alex. Alex laughs.
“No, I don’t want to watch, Cyn. I’m not a pervert. Let me help you with your pants.”
Alex reaches down and shoves Cyn backward, into the shower. Less mess there.
With her hands tied Cyn lands hard on her butt. As she starts to scream Alex forces the steak knife between her ribs, the blade twitching in her grip as Cyn’s heart tries to keep beating.
Alex checks her uniform, happy that she managed to keep it blood-free. As Cyn dies, feebly trying to remove the knife-impossible because suction is keeping it in-Alex drops her pants and urinates in the toilet.
“Now who’s the pervert?” she says, closing the shower curtain to block Cynthia’s staring. Then she wanders back to bed, undresses, orders a wake-up call for five a.m., and sends Jack the latest picture of Lance, along with another text message. She falls asleep to a pay-per-view slasher movie, amused because the writer got the violence all wrong.
CHAPTER 25
THE PHONE WOKE ME UP. In the darkness of the Bronco’s front seat, I fumbled around for my purse and located it by my feet. On the third ring I fished it out and flipped the top open, hearing several beeps.
Alex. Sending me another picture. Phin glanced over at me while I accessed it.
Lance appeared even worse than before, his face contorted with pain and blurred by motion. The lighting was a little better this time, the burn marks on his chest darker and more pronounced. I held it up for Phin, who divided his attention between the photo and the road.
“Are those letters?”
“Where?”
“His wounds,” Phin said. “Connect the dots.”
I traced my fingernail over the burns, and the letters seemed to pop out at me.
There was also a text message.
FOUR HOURS LEFT.
“What the hell is Zd?” I asked.
“One of the elements? Zirconium?”
“That’s Zr.”
“Maybe an abbreviation. Or initials.”
I closed my eyes, tried to think. Zd meant absolutely nothing to me. Maybe something in connection with Lance? Bomb squads? Some kind of explosives or equipment? Or something to do with Milwaukee?
“Where are we?” I asked.
“Just across the Wisconsin border. Got about forty minutes left.”
I wanted to call Herb, but I promised myself I wouldn’t bother him again. Harry was probably still occupied with the Feds. Hajek was almost certainly occupied with the authorities as well, and I had no delusions that a few strands of hair turned him from adversary into ally. That left Detective Tom Mankowski, still in Indiana. I fished out my personal cell and found his number.
“Lieutenant? I haven’t been able to get in my car yet. Did you talk to Hajek?”
“Yeah. Cop’s name is David Strang, out of Milwaukee. Look, Tom, things have gotten complicated, and I’m persona non grata with both the CPD and the Feds. Alex just sent me another picture. It’s Lance again, but this time the burns on his chest look like letters. Capital Z, small d. Mean anything to you?”
“Not a thing. You sure it’s a Z and not the number 2?”
“Could be a 2. Does 2d mean anything to you?”
“Two-dimensional, obviously, but I don’t see how that’s a clue. Alex did this as some kind of hint, right?”
“Probably.”
“I read her shrink report. She has a genius IQ.”
I sighed. Why did all the serial killers I chased have to be brilliant criminal masterminds? Where were all the psychos with average intelligence?
“I’m forwarding the photo and a text message to you. Pass it along. If the Milwaukee PD finds Lance, let us know. We’re going to keep searching until we hear news.”
Hopefully the news would be “he’s safe” instead of “he’s dead.”
“Happy hunting, Lieut.”
Mankowski hung up. I spent a few minutes fiddling with the cell phone, sending him the info.
“We’re also low on gas.”
I nodded, my mind attacking the Zd problem. What the hell was Alex trying to tell me? Zee dee. Two dee. Zee dee. Two dee…
“Wasn’t she one of the girls on The Facts of Life?” Phin said. “Tootie?”
“Did I say that out loud?”
“Six or ten times.”
I rubbed my eyes. “I’m pretty sure Alex isn’t pointing us to an old sitcom.”
“Apartment number?”
“Two dee. That works.”
“Something to do with the Marines? Squad 2d?”
“I’m drawing blanks.”
Alex’s phone rang. I steeled myself, answered.
“What do you want, Alex?”
“Not Alex. It’s Harry. I called on that phone because they’re tracing and tracking your other one. Stay off of it.”
Stupid. Now they knew Mankowski was helping me. How was I supposed to catch Alex when I was making rookie mistakes?
“Aren’t you in federal custody, McGlade?”
“Hell, no. I cut a deal.”
I didn’t like the sound of that. “What kind of deal?”
“Jesus, Jack. Don’t be so paranoid. I’m not going to betray my own flesh and blood.”
“It’s Phin?” I asked. “I thought you two were friends.”
“It’s not like he’s an innocent bystander, Jackie. He robbed a bank. You do the crime, you do the time. Point is, now I’ve got some breathing room, and I’ve been looking at that photo of Lance.”
“His name is David Strang.” I gave Harry the blow-by-blow.
“Good. Send me the new pic and text. And don’t bother with residential. He’s in a hotel or motel, maybe a bed and breakfast.”
“How do you know?”
“In the upper right-hand corner of the picture, on the nightstand, under the pigstick. Looks like the edge a red piece of paper. I enhanced the detail.”
“What is it?”
“It’s when I use a computer program to tighten the pixel pattern by adjusting contrast and color.”
He did that on purpose. I kept my voice even.
“What did the enhancement show you, McGlade?”
“It’s part of a Do Not Disturb sign. So she’s holding him in a room somewhere.”
“How many hotels in Milwaukee?”