Hall didn’t have any other information about Bruce or Driscoll’s activities. He’d never heard from Driscoll while he was in prison, or since he’d been released.
As Hall was getting ready to go, Zack asked one last question. “Does ‘angel’ mean anything to you?”
“Angel? You mean Driscoll’s sister? Shit, man, we just didn’t talk about her. When one of the guys in the unit found a picture under his pillow, we all thought it was weird. The kid was like nine or ten, you know? Driscoll went off about Angel this, Angel that, and we figured out she was his sister. We asked what happened and all he said was she was dead and to fuck off.” Hall rolled his eyes.
“And he has a tattoo like yours, correct?”
“Exactly like mine. I should know-he took me to the same guy who did his over in Saigon.”
Chris Driscoll was The Slayer. No doubt in Zack’s mind.
“When was the last time you saw him?”
Hall paused, thinking. “That day at the bar. He came in, had a beer with us, left. I never saw him again after that.” Hall stared at Zack. “You’re going to find him, right? He’ll go to prison for framing me, right?”
“He’ll go to prison for killing thirty children,” Zack said, his voice surprisingly calm.
“Right.” Hall nodded. “I got it.”
CHAPTER 21
Zack used Perdue’s office to call Chief Pierson and tell him everything they’d learned. “We need an APB out on Chris Driscoll. We need his military records, his last known address, any living relatives. Maybe the Feds can help us out getting his juvie records. I’m thinking California. His stepfather is in prison in California for murder; Hall thinks he killed Driscoll’s mother. And I need to have a face-to-face with his stepfather, Bruce. His last name might be Driscoll, but we can’t count on it. He was probably arrested in the late sixties.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Pierson said. “He could be dead, he’d probably be in his seventies by now. Are you going to stay down there tonight?”
“Not if I can help it. I have a feeling Driscoll is going to act. From the patterns Doug, Olivia, and I identified, he moves quickly at the end of his killing spree.” Zack glanced at his watch. “It’s eleven o’clock. San Quentin is only an hour or so away, just north of San Francisco. We’ll drive, then head back down to the airport. Our flight leaves at three-fifteen, I should be back there two hours later.”
“I’ll call the prison and set up visitation for you.”
“If the guy is dead, I want to talk to anyone who knew him-the warden, any guard he might have talked to, a prisoner who buddied up with him.”
“I’ll call you within the hour.”
Zack hung up and looked around for Olivia. They were outside the San Mateo County Courthouse in Redwood City. Olivia stood under an oak and stared at a line of rose trees off to the side of the main steps. He didn’t think she was seeing anything; she appeared lost in her own thoughts.
He hadn’t had a chance to talk to her after interviewing Hall. He walked up, touched her shoulders. “Liv? How are you holding up?”
“I’m okay.”
He didn’t doubt she would be, but this experience was still painful for her. “I’m waiting for Pierson to call back and see if we can get into San Quentin and talk to Driscoll’s stepfather. They might have had contact over the years.”
When Olivia didn’t say anything, Zack continued. “We have an APB on Driscoll and Pierson is getting the Feds to jump on any military benefits this guy has. He probably has a pension, or medical benefits at the minimum. Even killers need a doctor once in a while.”
“I don’t think he cares. He’s too methodical to get trapped in the system. He’s probably not using his own name. And you know as well as I do how easy it is to establish a new identity, if you know what you’re doing.”
“Pierson is trying to track down a photo. It’ll be old, but we can get a forensic artist to extrapolate what he might look like today.”
“Good. I want to see the pictures. Before and after.”
“Are you sure?”
She turned to face him, her face a mask but her voice tinged with emotion. “Of course I’m sure. I need to see it. Do you think I can’t handle it? I’m not going to fall apart here.”
“I didn’t think you would. I just want to spare you.”
She looked like she wanted to argue with him; her jaw worked, then she closed her eyes. “I have to see his face,” she whispered. “Maybe that’s why I came to Seattle in the first place. For thirty-four years I pictured Brian Hall as the man who destroyed my family. I want to see who was really responsible.”
He pulled her to him, holding her close. She tensed, then relaxed in his embrace. Would she ever be comfortable with his touch? Then her arms wrapped around his back and she held him tightly, a wealth of trust in that one small gesture. Not something she gave lightly, he realized, as he kissed the top of her head.
Then she stepped back. “Thank you, Zack. For understanding. And for letting me do what I have to do.”
Furious, Brian stormed out of the courthouse. His damn attorney said it would be at least another month before his restitution came through. Probably three. But “definitely by January.”
January! He had no money, his job paid next to nothing, and he had to get out of town. Just in case someone figured out he’d whacked the cop and the attorney.
He thought if he came down here today, did his fucking civic duty, they’d at least give him a friggin’ reward.
Chris Driscoll had set him up. Motherfucking asshole let him rot in prison while he walked away free.
It was the cops’ fault. They should have asked those questions before. No one ever asked him if anyone had a reason to set him up. No, they just assumed he was guilty and wanted to know where he was, who he was with, and didn’t buy that he was sleeping off a drinking binge. Who cares if he lied about where he was? Everyone knows the cops are lazy S.O.B.’s who don’t care if you’re innocent.
As he left the courthouse, he saw his half-broke pickup truck in front of the building. A yellow ticket flapped from his windshield.
Well, fuck.
He pulled off the ticket and tore it in two. No way he was going to pay it.
That’s when he saw her.
She was standing under a tree, dressed impeccably, the cop who’d asked him about Driscoll holding her by the shoulders. Looking at her. Then he leaned over and kissed her, wrapped his arm around her, and they walked away, toward the parking garage across the street.
There she was. He didn’t have his gun; he didn’t dare bring it to the courthouse. He could have shot her right here, right now.
Seattle. She was in Seattle with the cop? Brian scratched his head. He’d gone through the cop’s desk and found an address for Olivia St. Martin in Fairfax, Virginia. He’d planned on going on to Virginia, whack her, then maybe up to Canada and just hang low for a while. But maybe seeing her was a sign. She wasn’t in Virginia; she was working with the cop from Seattle.
Maybe he should head up to Seattle. It wouldn’t take him more than two days’ driving. He’d swing by his rat-hole apartment and grab his stuff and go. He had enough money for gas.
But how would he find her in Seattle? He had her home address. Eventually, she had to go home, right? And he could be waiting for her. Blow her brains out as soon as she walked through the door.
But Seattle was closer. Eenie-meenie-miney-moe.
Virginia?
Or Seattle?
“Where did you grow up?” Zack asked when they were back in the car and heading toward the freeway.
Olivia waved vaguely to the west. “Not far.”
“Your sister was kidnapped from your neighborhood park?”
“Yes.”
“Do you want to go back?”