“I understand. Would you mind if I had an officer bring a photo book of registered sex offenders in this region? For Mary to look through?”
“I don’t know if I want to traumatize her like that,” Clark said. “If she sees him in there, she’s going to be scared.”
“That may be the only way to find him.”
Clark sighed. “Okay. I want to be there, though.”
“Of course.” Maggie added, “I’d like to come back and talk to Mary, too, if you don’t mind.”
“She’ll be with Donna. You’ll have to clear it with her. I have to tell you, I’m not too crazy about the idea. You’re not going to get anything from her, and I don’t like her talking to strangers.”
“I promise I won’t get her upset.”
“That’s not a promise you can keep,” Clark said. “She’s a big girl, but she’s a child. She’s scared of things she doesn’t understand.”
“May I see her?” Maggie asked.
“What, now?”
“Not to talk to her. I just want to see what she looks like.”
Clark frowned. “I don’t want to wake her up.”
“I’ll be very quiet. I’d like to see her room, too.”
Clark relented and led her down the hall. For a big man, he walked quietly on the old floorboards. He inched Mary’s door open and peered inside, then let Maggie squeeze into the room in front of him. Mary was asleep and snoring gently. Her father was right-she looked like any other teenage girl that way. Other than Mary being blond, Maggie didn’t see any physical characteristics that she shared with the other victims. She was heavier than most of the other girls. Her hair was the curliest. She was lying on her stomach, with the blankets kicked halfway down her body. Her nightgown had bunched up, and her lower back was exposed. Maggie noticed a tattoo of a butterfly on her spine.
She silently checked out the windows. With the night-light shining, she wasn’t sure if Mary would have been able to see much outside. Maggie didn’t feel confident about getting any results from the photo array of local sex offenders.
She returned with Clark Biggs to the living room.
“I notice your daughter has a tattoo,” Maggie said.
“So?”
“I was just surprised.”
“Mary loves butterflies. Her mother thought she would like having a tattoo of one. They did it without telling me.”
“Would you have objected?”
Clark frowned. “No, I guess not, but I’ve got tattoos, and I know it hurts like hell to get them. Even so, Mary was thrilled with it. She likes showing it off by lifting her shirt, though. She shows it to everyone. I don’t like that.”
“What do you mean, everyone?”
“If someone drives by, and she’s in the yard, she lifts her shirt. If someone comes to the door, same thing. I can’t make her stop.”
“I understand. I think that’s all for now, Mr. Biggs.”
“I hope you nail this bastard. I’m going to sleep on the floor in Mary’s room until you do.”
“There’s really no need for that,” Maggie told him. “I know it was an awful experience for Mary, but it’s over.”
“Until the next time,” Clark said.
“I don’t think you need to worry about a next time. This peeper keeps changing targets. We’re trying to catch up to him by figuring out how he picks his victims.”
“Bullshit,” Clark snapped.
Maggie arched her head in surprise. “Excuse me?”
“I mean, he’s done this to Mary before. What’s to say he won’t come back again?”
“You’re saying this isn’t the first time Mary saw this man?”
Clark shook his head. “I think it happened last week, too.”
“Why didn’t you tell me this before? Why didn’t you report it?”
“I didn’t think there was anything to report,” Clark said. “I thought Mary had a bad dream. I thought she imagined it. But now that I think about it, the way she was shouting, ‘Him! Him!’ I think it was because the guy came back.”
The guy came back.
That was a first, as far as Maggie knew. None of the other victims had suggested that the man might have been watching them before. Of course, maybe he got lucky. Maybe they didn’t notice.
Maggie didn’t think so, though. This was new behavior. New and frightening.
She didn’t like it.
10
Serena drove west along the Point on Wednesday morning. After several days of rain, the clouds had blown out across the lake, leaving the city sunny and warm. In the calm harbor on her left, she spotted the rust-colored superstructure of an ore tanker shouldering through the deep water toward the lift bridge. She swore. She was running late already for her meeting with Peter Stanhope, and she knew that she would have to spend ten minutes now waiting for the boat to clear the canal and make its way to the open water.
As she expected, the bridge was up. Hers was the fourth car in line. She parked, rolled down her window to let in a humid breeze, and picked up a paperback by Louise Penny. When you lived on the Point, you were always prepared for delays at the bridge. Serena read several more pages of Still Life, until she saw the giant ship gliding under the bridge span. The boats always seemed to clear the bridge with only inches to spare, and they were an impressive sight, vast and silent. When the ship and the bridge exchanged farewell blasts of their signal horns, Serena turned her Mustang back on, and a couple of minutes later, she headed through Canal Park toward the city center.
Peter Stanhope’s law firm occupied the top two floors of the Lonsdale Building, in the commercial sector of Superior Street, among the banks, brokers, lawyers, and government workers that made the city tick. The facade was made of elegantly carved, copper-colored brick, with a roof line that resembled a Doric column. The building was smaller than the other high-rises around it and dated back to 1894. Peter could have chosen taller and more modern surroundings in the glass tower of the bank building one block east, but he had explained to Serena that he wanted his office to have a link to a more glamorous past, when the city, like his father, was rich and prosperous.
Serena found a parking meter and hurried across Superior Street between cars. She wore black pinstriped dress pants that emphasized her long legs, pointed-toe heels, and an untucked turquoise silk shirt. Her black hair was loose and fell around her shoulders. She carried a slim burgundy briefcase and felt as if she were dressed to be a ladder-climbing corporate executive. It was a strange feeling. When she was a Vegas cop, she had worn tight jeans and sleeveless T-shirts and hung her shield from her belt.