Marcie’s eyes found me. Searched me. “Do you have any children?”
A rush of emotion overwhelmed me. “Yes. I do,” I said. “A daughter. She’s seventeen.”
The woman nodded, smiled. “My daughter was seven. I loved her.” She looked directly at me. “I killed her,” she said, her voice as fragile as glass, “because I loved her.”
Fear and love, the two missing motives that drive all the others. Set free in some hearts. Twisted in others.
Then Marcie began to weep, and Lien-hua reached out for her, cut off her restraints, took her in her arms. Ralph’s cell phone sprang to life and he flipped it open. “It’s the CDC,” he said. He told them about Marcie and then grudgingly he handed the phone to her. “They want to know what you know.” Then he glowered at her. “No games, you understand?”
She nodded and stepped aside with him to a quieter corner of the courtyard.
Just then Margaret came hurrying over to us. I didn’t even know she was here. Probably just came when she heard about all the media people present. “Sit down, Pat.” It didn’t sound like anger in her voice. Something else. Fear? Concern?
“What is it?”
“Sit down.”
“Tell me.”
“A few minutes ago there was a 911 call from the safe house.” “What?”
“Listen, Tessa’s OK. An officer was shot, though. Officer Muncey.”
“Where’s Tessa?”
“She’s still there. Don’t worry-”
“Jason Stilton has always been a good friend,” Trembley said. “Do anything for a buck.”
“Where’s Stilton?”
“Officer Stilton?” She looked at me curiously. “He’s there, Pat. They called an ambulance. Brent Tucker’s there too. I just talked to him. He told me he’s with Tessa. He wanted you to know.”
Oh no.
Suddenly, everything began to spin and click. The pieces of the puzzle slid together with grim accuracy, shattering my mind, my world. “He knew we were leaving for Denver,” I muttered. “That’s why he called me this morning. He wanted me here. That’s why he gave me Kincaid…”
“What?” said Margaret.
“The first murder,” I whispered, “was two days after Grolin’s girlfriend moved out, after he beat her up… Right?”
Lien-hua nodded but looked confused.
“She was treated for her injuries, wasn’t she?”
“Yes,” she said. “What are you thinking? What is it?”
“He knew,” I said. The world was getting bleary. Whatever was in that capsule was starting to affect me. How does the killer get away? He always slips away. At the mall… at the golf course… Alice’s house…
“He knows how to cut them…” I said, “to keep them alive.. ” “What are you talking about?” asked Margaret.
“It’s the drugs,” said Lien-hua, eyeing the half-dissolved capsule on the floor. “Get a doctor over here!” And then to me, “Take it easy, Pat. Sit down.”
Only the most foolish of mice would hide in a cat’s ear, but only the wisest of cats would look there. I felt weak. “The Illusionist,” I whispered. “He’s been hiding in my ear the whole time.”
And that’s when I saw that Kincaid, before he died, had pulled something out of his pocket. It lay hidden in the grip of his left hand.
“I have something to give you,” he’d said to Taylor and me.
He had something to give me.
And I knew who it was from.
82
Tessa was on the couch, trying to relax, trying to catch her breath. Agent Tucker sat beside her. The house was a little quieter; a bunch of the cops had left when they wheeled that woman away.
Agent Tucker placed his hand on her shoulder. “You OK?”
She nodded. “I’m shaking, though.”
“It’s shock,” he said. “We need to get you out of here.”
“Is she dead?” asked Tessa softly. “That police officer?”
Agent Tucker nodded slowly. “I’m afraid so.”
A paramedic appeared in the doorway. “Is everyone in here OK?”
Agent Tucker slipped his hand around Tessa’s shoulder. “I’m taking her with me.”
“The CDC team is on its way,” announced Ralph. He had left Marcie with Mr. Williamson’s security personnel.
“Good,” I mumbled. I was walking over to Kincaid’s body.
Ralph pointed to Marcie. “They think they can control this thing with her help. Treat it.” He looked at the gruesome scene around us. The bodies of Kincaid’s group lay scattered around the courtyard. Only the big guy and Marcie had survived. “With a little luck, no one else is going to die today.”
I heard his words but only faintly. They were fading into the distance of space and time.
It couldn’t really be what I thought it was in his hand. It couldn’t be.
Showing us the board… he’s been showing us the board…
I reached Kincaid’s body.
The paramedic looked confused. “The guys outside told me to come in and take a look at her.”
Agent Tucker stood up. Stood toe to toe with the paramedic. “C’mere for a second,” he said.
Then Tessa watched him lead the paramedic into the hallway and around the corner out of sight.
Brent Tucker is with Tessa…
I knelt down, noticed a ragged scar across the inside of Kincaid’s wrist, probably from a suicide attempt a long time ago.
He shot the man in the neck but didn’t kill him… made sure he didn’t kill him… he knew where to shoot them…
I reached out to open Kincaid’s hand. My heart was screaming. No, no, no!
My fingers began to tremble.
He reaches across the board, touches a piece, then he takes her.
Tessa heard a muffled gasp and a soft thud.
I uncurled Kincaid’s fingers.
Saw the item.
Tessa’s necklace.
“Agent Tucker?” called Tessa.
I spun around, yelled to Margaret. “Get Tucker on the phone! Now!”
Tessa strained to see around the corner. “Are you OK, Agent Tucker?” Her heart began to slam against the inside of her chest.
A voice inside of her told her to get up. To get out. Something was wrong.
She tried to stand but was still dizzy from shock.
Her legs felt wobbly.
“Agent Tucker?”
Margaret put her hand on my elbow to calm me down. “Don’t worry, Pat, Tessa’s all ri-”
“I know who it is!” I yelled.
“Hello, Tessa,” said the killer, the Illusionist, the boy who had snuggled up to the corpse of his mother, the man who was at home in the dark. He stepped around the corner, holding a dripping blade, and grabbed Tessa, shoving a cloth over her mouth, quickly, so quickly that it swallowed her scream and sent her reeling into a terrible, terrible sleep. Terrible and dark.
But before the shadows closed around her she saw one last thing-one last grisly thing-a man trying to crawl around the corner of the hallway, trying to get to her. To help her. Failing. Falling. Collapsing onto the carpet, his throat slashed.
A man.
A dead man.
Special Agent Brent Tucker.
83
“Don’t worry, Pat,” said Margaret. “She’s OK. The paramedics are looking after her.” But her words were barely audible, floating somewhere beside me. They meant nothing. Because I was holding Tessa’s necklace in my hand, and nothing else mattered.
He leaves an item from the next victim.
My daughter is next.
“Phone!” I yelled, pocketing the necklace. “Give me a phone!” Lien-hua handed me hers. I dialed Tessa’s cell phone number. Please answer. Please, please. The room was twirling; I was about to collapse, dizzy from the drugs.
It rang.
Someone answered. “Hello, Patrick.” I knew that voice: it was the paramedic who’d treated my shoulder. The paramedic who’d waited patiently for us to finish examining Mindy’s body, the one who helped the injured officer to the ambulance outside of Alice’s house last night. But no one noticed him because he was supposed to be there. Because paramedics are always supposed to be there. Even in Charlotte, in another city, he could blend in and disappear in the chaos following the shooting in the parking garage by just wearing his uniform. It was the perfect disguise because it wasn’t a disguise at all. He became invisible by the cleverest misdirection of all-by fitting in.