"He’ll be here by three this afternoon." He checked his watch. "Another thirty minutes. You have time for breakfast or lunch. Which do you want?"
"Just a sandwich." She headed for the refrigerator. "I can’t seem to get warm. I borrowed another one of your flannel shirts."
"I noticed. It looks better on you." He sat down at the bar and watched her build a ham and cheese sandwich. "I don’t mind sharing with you. I’ve become accustomed to it over the years.
It’s kind of comfortable."
She nodded in perfect understanding. Being with Joe was as comfortable as feeling his soft shirt against her body.
"I have something to tell you." Joe shook his head when she looked up in alarm. "It’s not that bad, but you have to know."
"Know what?"
"Mark Grunard’s found out where you are." She frowned. "Mark Grunard?"
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"TV journalist. He must have spent days digging into records to find this cottage. I had to make a deal. You’ve heard of him?"
She nodded slowly. "He’s on Channel Three. Investigative reporting. I remember him from Fraser’s trial." She grimaced. "As well as I can remember anyone or anything except Fraser."
"I told you I had to find a way to draw reporters away from here. I couldn’t do it by myself, so I had to make a deal."
"What kind of deal?"
"Mark Grunard’s spot on the six o’clock news last night was about the search for you. He showed a shot of this cottage and expressed his disappointment that this wasn’t the hideaway.
However, he had been given a tip about a houseboat off the coast of Florida. After the broadcast he hopped on a plane to Jacksonville, and I’d bet half the reporters in the city did too."
"And what did you have to promise him?"
"An exclusive. He keeps quiet until we’re ready to release. But you’ll have to meet with him here a couple times."
"When?"
"The first one fairly soon. He’s already paid his first instalment on the deal. He’ll want something in return. Do you have an objection to Grunard?"
She tried to remember Mark Grunard more clearly. Older, graying at the temples, with Peter Jennings’s warmth. "No, I guess not." She smiled. "What would you have done if I’d told you I couldn’t stand him?"
"Ditched him." He grinned. "But it makes my life easier that I don’t have to go back on my word.
Finish your sandwich."
"I’m eating." She took another bite. "What made you choose Grunard? Do you know him well?"
"Well enough. We have an occasional drink together at Manuel’s. But he really chose me. He was camped out at Georgia State yesterday morning when I went to pick up the skull and made me an offer I couldn’t refuse."
"And you can trust him?"
"We don’t have to trust him. As long as he thinks he’s going to get a payoff, I guarantee he’ll lay those red herrings all over the South."
"I guess we can’t expect more than—"
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A knock on the door.
"Spiro." Joe started across the room. "You should have finished your sandwich, dammit."
"Dictator." She pushed the plate away as Joe let Robert Spiro in. He nodded politely. "Ms.
Duncan." He turned to Joe. "I’ve been fending off the media all morning. They want to know how I knew there were two more skeletons in that gorge."
"And what did you tell them?"
"That it was profiler instinct," he said sourly. "Why not? After all we’ve done to debunk it, they still believe there’s something spooky about our unit anyway." Spiro turned to Eve. "Is there anything you have to add to what Joe told me?"
Eve looked at Joe.
He shook his head. "I told him everything."
"Then there’s nothing else," Eve said. "Except that he’s going to call again.”
“Maybe."
"He’ll call. And I want you to be ready for him. Can you bug the phone?”
“Hasn’t Joe arranged that yet?"
"I was a little busy last night. Besides, getting my department to do the bug will require finesse, because the Atlanta PD is fighting becoming involved."
"Then they’re fighting a losing battle if those two boys are who you think they are."
"Let me find out," Eve said. "Give me a skull." Spiro was silent.
"Give it to me."
"It could be dangerous to involve you any more.”
“I couldn’t be more involved."
"Yes, you could be, if this man who called you is really the murderer of those people at Talladega. Right now he’s looking at you as a passive victim and feeling a wonderful sense of power. That might even be enough for him. But the minute you take aggressive action, he could become angry and desperate to reassert himself."
"It won’t be enough for him." She stared him in the eye. "And I won’t be a passive victim. That son of a bitch has Bonn— that little girl’s bones. He killed her."
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"Possibly."
"Probably. He knew about those boys. Can you get enough DNA for an analysis?”
“We’re trying. The bones are pretty shattered and—"
"And then there will be another delay while the samples are analyzed. Give me a skull."
Spiro raised his brows and glanced at Joe. "Obstinate.”
“You don’t know the half of it. Better give her a skull."
"Are you going to be responsible, Quinn? I’m not kidding about any initiative raising the ante."
"I’m the only one responsible for me," Eve said. "Give me a skull." He smiled faintly. "I’d be tempted to do it if I didn’t know what a—" The phone rang.
Joe started toward the phone by the door.
"Wait." Spiro nodded at Eve. "Pick it up. Is there another extension?" The phone rang again.
"Kitchen," Joe said.
Spiro ran to the kitchen, and Eve picked up the receiver at his signal. "Hello.”
“Listen carefully." The voice was unmistakable. "I know you probably have this phone bugged by now, and I’m not going to stay on the line long. From now on I’ll call you on your digital phone." He chuckled. "Did you enjoy your trip to Talladega? Cold night, wasn’t it?"
He hung up.
She slowly hung up and turned to Spiro.
"He’s using a mechanical voice distorter," Spiro said. "Is that how he sounded before?"
"Yes."
"Interesting."
"He knew about my trip to Talladega. He must have followed us.”
“Or he’s bluffing."
She shivered. "I don’t think he’s bluffing."
"Neither do I." He shrugged. "I’ll give you your skull. It’s not going to make any difference. He’s going to play out his scenario no matter what we do."
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"How can you tell?" Joe asked.
"There are two kinds of serial killers. The disorganized and the organized. A disorganized killer is spontaneous, random, and sloppy. Talladega has some of the marks of an organized killer.
Bodies hidden and transported. Weapon and evidence absent. We’ll probably find other signs as we go along. Your caller’s being very careful not to be recognized. There’s nothing sloppy about this man, which fits the usual pattern."
"What’s the usual pattern?" Eve asked.
"Average to above-average intelligence, aware of police procedures and may even associate with the police. Owns a car in good condition, travels frequently, usually commits crimes out of his area of residence. He’s socially adept, has verbal skills that he uses to—"
"That’s enough."
Eve shook her head. "You argued with me but you believed this man is the Talladega monster all along, didn’t you?"
"My job is to take the supposed truth apart and look at it every way possible." He headed for the door. "When he calls again, write down everything he says the moment you hang up. Digital calls are tough to trace, but I’ll arrange for a bug on the house phone. He might decide to call on that line if he can’t reach you on your digital."