Another uncomfortable silent moment passed, and then the Art Director chose to speak.
‘Your children are just fine. That’s all I’ll tell you,’ he said. ‘You should eat.’
‘How could you know my children are all right?’ she sniffed. ‘You can’t.’
‘Audrey, you’re in no position to make demands. Not anymore. That life is behind you.’
He was tall, maybe six feet two and well-built, with a thick, bushy black beard and flashing blue eyes that seemed intelligent to her. She guessed that he was around fifty. He’d told her to call him Art Director. No rhyme or reason for the name, not yet anyway, nor any other explanation for what had happened so far.
‘I was concerned myself, so I called your house. The children are there with your nanny and husband. I promise. I wouldn’t lie to you, Audrey. I’m different from you in that respect.’
Audrey shook her head. ‘I’m supposed to trust you? Your word?’
‘I think it would be a good idea, yes. Why not? Who else can you trust out here? Yourself of course. And me. That’s all there is. You’re miles and miles away from anybody else. It’s just us two. Please get used to it. You like your scrambled eggs a little soft, right? Fluffy? Isn’t that the word you use?’
‘Why are you doing this?’ Audrey asked, getting braver since he hadn’t actually threatened her yet. ‘What are the two of us doing here?’
He sighed. ‘All in due time, Audrey. For now, let’s just say it’s an unhealthy obsession. It’s more complicated, actually, but let’s leave it at that for now.’ She was surprised by the answer – he knew he was a freaking nutcase, didn’t he? Was that good or bad, though, that he knew exactly what he was doing?
‘I’d like to keep you free like this as much as possible. I don’t want you kept in bondage, for God’s sake. Not even the ropes. Please don’t try to run away, or it won’t be possible. Okay?’
He seemed so reasonable at times. Seemed. Christ! Wasn’t this the most insane thing? Of course it was. But insane things happened all the time to people.
‘I want to be your friend,’ he said as he served her breakfast – the eggs cooked just so, twelve-grain toast, herbal tea, boysenberry jam. ‘I’ve cooked all the things you like. I want to treat you like you deserve. You can trust me, Audrey. Start by trusting me just a little bit… Try your eggs. Fluffy. They’re delish.’
Chapter Thirty-Three
I was marking time at Quantico and I didn’t like it much. I attended my classes the next morning, then an hour of fitness training. At noon, I went to the Dining Hall Building to see what Monnie Donnelley had collected so far on White Girl. She had a small, cramped cubicle on the third floor. On one wall was a collage of photos and photocopies of bits of evidence from brutally violent crimes arranged in an eye-catching cubist’s fantasy.
I rapped my knuckles against her metal nameplate before entering the cube.
Monnie turned and smiled when she saw me standing there. I noticed glossy photos of her sons and a funny portrait of Monnie, the sons, and also one of Pierce Brosnan as debonair, sexy James Bond. ‘Hey, look who’s back for more punishment. You can tell by the size of my digs that the Bureau doesn’t yet realize that this is the Information Age, what Bill Clinton used to call The Third Way. You know the joke – the Bureau supports yesterday’s technology tomorrow.’
‘Any information for me?’
Monnie swiveled back to her computer, an IBM. ‘Let me print up a few of these choice pieces for your burgeoning collection. I know you like hard copies. Dinosaur.’
‘It’s just the way I work.’
I had asked around about Monnie and heard the same thing everywhere: she was bright, an incredibly hard worker, woefully under-appreciated by the powers at Quantico. I’d also found out that Monnie was a single mother of two, and struggling to make ends meet. The only ‘complaint’ against her was that she worked too hard, brought stuff home just about every night and weekends.
Monnie shuffled together a thick batch of pages for me. I could tell she was obsessive by the way she evened out all the pages. They had to be just so.
‘Anything pop out at you?’ I asked.
She shrugged. ‘I’m just a researcher, right? More corroboration. Upscale, white women who’ve been reported missing in the last year or so. The numbers are out of whack, way too high. A lot of them are attractive blondes. Blondes do not have more fun in these instances. No particular regional skew, which I want to look into more. Geographic profiling? Sometimes it can pinpoint the exact locus of criminal activity.’
‘No obvious regional discrepancies so far. That’s too bad. Anything in terms of the victims’ appearances? Any patterns at all?’
Monnie clucked her tongue, shook her head. ‘Nothing sticks out. There are women missing in New England, the South, Far West. I’ll check into it more. The women are described as very attractive for the most part. And none of them have been found. They go missing, they stay missing.’
She looked at me for a few uncomfortable seconds. There was sadness in her eyes. I sensed that she wanted out of this cubicle.
I reached down for the pages. ‘We’re trying. I made a promise to the Connelly family.’
There was a flicker of humor in her light green eyes. ‘You keep your promises?’
‘Try,’ I said. ‘Thanks for the pages. Don’t work too hard. Go home and see your kids.’
‘You too, Alex. See your kids. You’re working too hard already.’
Chapter Thirty-Four
Nana and the kids, not to mention Rosie the cat, were lying in wait for me on the front porch when I got home that night. Their cranky body language and the sullen looks on their faces weren’t good signs. I figured I knew why everybody was so happy to see me. You always keep your promises?
‘Seven-thirty. It’s getting later and later,’ Nana said and shook her head. ‘You mentioned we might go see Drumline at the movies. Damon was excited.’
‘It’s orientation,’ I told her.
‘Exactly,’ Nana said and the frown on her face deepened. ‘Wait until the real stuff starts up. You’ll be coming home at midnight again. If at all. You have no life. You have no love life. All those women who like you, Alex – though God knows why. Let one of them catch you. Let somebody in. Before it’s too late.’
‘Maybe it’s too late already.’
‘Wouldn’t surprise me.’
‘You’re tough,’ I said and plopped down on the porch steps next to the kids. ‘Your Nana is tough as nails. Still light out,’ I said to them. ‘Anybody want to play hoops?’
Damon frowned and shook his head. ‘Not with Jannie. No way that’s gonna happen.’
‘Not with the big superstar Damon!’ Jannie smirked. ‘Even though Diana Taurasi could kick his butt at O-U-T.’
I got up and headed inside. ‘I’ll get the ball. We’ll play O-U-T.’
When we returned from the park, Nana had already put little Alex to bed. She was back sitting on the porch. I’d brought a pint of Pralines and Cream and a pint of Oreos and Cream. We ate, then the kids wandered up to their rooms to sleep, or study, or mess around on the Internet.
‘You’re becoming hopeless, Alex,’ Nana pronounced as she sucked the last ice cream off her spoon. ‘That’s all I can say to you.’