“Vashon?” Quinn asked.
“The first victim was kidnapped and killed on Vashon. We think it might have been spontaneous.” Olivia walked over to the map. “See how both Michelle and Jennifer were dumped more than twenty miles from where they were abducted? Not Jillian. Two miles. And we mapped out the other crimes-the first victim was always found in a secluded area within five miles of where she was last seen. The other bodies were dumped ten to fifty miles away, in a more public place.”
“He could live or work on the island,” Zack said.
“Exactly.”
“Let’s split this up,” Zack said. “Quinn, you handle the federal channels. I’ll have my chief deal with the media. Boyd and O’Neal can take the car dealerships. Liv, you and I will head out to Vashon as soon as we talk to Ms. Markow.” He glanced at his watch. “She should have been here by now.”
“Let me jump on this.” Quinn scribbled some numbers down and handed them to Zack. “Here are my contact numbers. Call me, day or night. I already have your info from Pierson.”
“Thanks.”
Quinn looked at Olivia. “Miranda says hello. You should call her.”
Olivia’s heart sank. “I will. I meant to.”
Quinn didn’t say anything to that, but walked out.
“What was that about?”
“Quinn’s wife is a good friend of mine. We were in the Academy together. I didn’t call her when I came to town. I should have.”
“We haven’t had much down time since you got here. She’ll understand.”
“Yeah. I’m sure she will.” Except that she’d lied to Miranda on the phone the other day. I hope you understand, Miranda. I really do.
Zack left the room to get enough copies of the sketch and send teams to different parts of the city. Olivia stared at the detailed drawing in front of her.
Chris Driscoll looked so normal. Almost kind. Perhaps it was because none of the witnesses had seen his eyes. They looked bland, almost blank. Emotionless. Hollow. His face was lean, with mildly chiseled features and a slight cleft chin.
She compared the sketch with the Army photo of Driscoll, taken when he enlisted at the age of nineteen. Except for the same general appearance-close-cropped hair, pale blue eyes, height-he didn’t really look like Hall. But when she was five, that was all she’d had-a general impression of the person. It was the tattoo that stuck out, and it was the tattoo that was identical.
And what did she really remember then? Ever since, she’d seen Hall as he appeared when she faced him at parole hearings. Photographs from the press. Not as the young man who’d killed Missy.
Chris Driscoll had had a miserable childhood. Mother murdered, her killer taking him and his half-sister all over the country to avoid detection. She could have some sympathy with the boy. She could see how he’d snap.
But she didn’t understand how he could hurt and kill so many innocent girls. Not all kids raised by abusive fathers turned into killing machines. She imagined that it was something in his internal makeup, something that turned him into a killer when exposed to the rage of another.
Whatever or whoever created this monster, he had to be stopped. Before Nina Markow died.
A knock on the door, then Jan O’Neal popped her head in, saw Olivia, and entered. Quietly she said, “I have Lydia Markow here. I put her in the other conference room, gave her some water. Where’s Travis?”
“With Chief Pierson. I’ll sit with her if you want to go get him.”
“Thanks. I don’t want to leave her alone for too long. She seems to be doing okay, but you never know.”
Jan held up a photograph. “We swung by her house to pick up a recent picture of the victim.”
Nina Markow was a beautiful girl, small-boned and delicate-looking, with a wide, engaging grin. Her white-blonde hair was pulled into a bun that rested tight on her head, glimmering as if reflecting all the light in the room. It was a full-body shot of Nina in a red, white, and blue body suit, barefoot, in a complicated pose. So much life and energy radiated from the still shot. It overwhelmed Olivia; she found her hand rubbing her eyes, as if willing Nina to walk into the room right now.
“I’m going to take the photo to be copied and distributed,” Jan said. She looked at the sketch in front of Olivia. “Is that Driscoll?”
Olivia nodded.
“Damn bastard.”
Jan escorted Olivia to where Nina’s mother waited.
Olivia looked through the glass window in the door. Lydia Markow looked just like her daughter, with the same blonde hair, pulled back; she was attractive, wearing a simple and inexpensive navy business suit. She was playing with two thin gold bands on her left hand.
Olivia took a deep breath and hoped Zack came quickly. She didn’t know what to say to the mother, but she did know if she were in Lydia Markow’s shoes, she’d want someone to simply be there with her.
Lydia looked up when she entered the room. Her eyes were red, but dry. She gave Olivia an awkward smile. “Have you found her?”
Olivia shook her head and sat down. Lydia closed her eyes and crossed herself.
“We’re doing everything possible.”
“Do you know who did it?”
Olivia hesitated. She didn’t know what to tell her. “We have a suspect,” she finally said. She wouldn’t lie to this woman.
“It’s the same man who killed those other girls, isn’t it?”
Olivia didn’t answer. Maybe she shouldn’t have said anything. She’d never worked with survivors before. What was she supposed to say? How much was she supposed to reveal?
“I thought so.” Silent tears streamed down Lydia’s cheeks. “I can’t lose her. My husband-he died when Nina was two. She was the light of his life. She’s mine, too. I don’t know how-no, God won’t take her from me. He’ll protect her.”
Lydia tugged on a necklace that was buried under her blouse. It was a small, gold crucifix. Her lips moved in silent prayer, her eyes downcast.
Zack came into the room and Olivia turned to him, tears in her own eyes. He rested a hand on her shoulder and squeezed.
He said, “Mrs. Markow, I want you to know that we are doing everything to find Nina. Everything. Every officer in Seattle is looking for her. We have a sketch of the man who took her. Would you mind looking at it?”
She held out her hand for the paper.
She stared at the sketch for a long minute. “I’ve never seen him,” she said. “I’m sorry.”
“That’s not a problem. Abby Vail and Henry Jorge both gave good descriptions. We have several leads.”
Zack told her what they believed happened that afternoon.
“Do you have any questions?”
“How-how long-I mean, I read in the newspaper that he doesn’t kill them right away. So we have time, right? We have time to find her, right?”
Zack swallowed and Olivia could feel the frustration and tension radiating from his body.
“We believe we have some time. We also have a lot of information we never had before. We have a partial license plate and right now six pairs of police officers are working through the list, talking to all twenty-two owners of late-model white trucks with that partial plate in King County. We’ll expand to the surrounding counties next. We have a sketch of the suspect we’re distributing in key locations, and the media has agreed to run the picture on the news. An Amber Alert has been issued. The FBI is involved. I promise, we will do everything in our power to find Nina and bring her home safe.”
Lydia squeezed her eyes shut, tears leaking. “Thank you,” she managed.
“Your neighbor, Mr. Jorge, is still here. He wanted to wait for you to see if you needed a ride home,” Zack said.
“Henry is a kind man. I’ll have him take me to church. If you hear anything, you’ll find me at St. Stephen’s.”
Normally, Zack enjoyed riding the ferry from Flauteroy to Vashon Island. Tonight, the twenty-minute ride seemed ten times as long, and he paced the observation deck as he and Olivia planned out their time.