The rule of thumb among knowledgeable people in law enforcement is that under no circumstances do you allow an assailant to transport you to a second location, one of his choosing. Rule of thumb called this assisting the assailant in putting him into a comfort zone, one in which he might exercise any fantasy he has ever held, including but not limited to the power over life-the abductee's life. At the second location, the assailant held absolute sway over his victim without threat of discovery or interruption, and 90 percent of the time, this ended in the death of the victim. If Judge DeCampe were conscious, she'd have fought extremely hard before she would allow anyone to abduct her. In addition, Judge DeCampe had a reputation for taking care of herself-Tae Kwon Do, stiletto heels, and, 45s-and everyone in and around the courthouse knew her well enough to agree with Jessica on this score. She would never assist in her own abduction.
Everyone from the governor of the state, the mayor, the DA's office, the PD's office, the entire police force, the press, the public-everyone would have a personal and/or powerful interest in the case; she was, in a sense, one of D.C.'s finest. There was no keeping this high-profile case out of the headlines. By the time Jessica got home in nearby Quantico, Virginia, and crawled into bed tonight, Jay Leno would be cracking wise about the case.
Judge DeCampe as celebrity. Weird-assed world we live in with this perversion of what stood for celebrity-victims and celebrity killers, Jessica thought. Maureen DeCampe's disappearance already deeply disturbed Jessica, and it would insinuate itself on any sleep she might hope to get until they arrived at an outcome. Her case would be blazoned across every U.S. newspaper, and blazoned across Jessica's forehead. She imagined the effect of it all while trying to make love to Richard, or while simply trying to find any peace of mind until the judge was located and hopefully returned to her family unharmed. The chances of that appeared slim to none at the moment.
Despite their run-ins and problems-and perhaps due to them-Judge DeCampe had helped Jessica out on more than one occasion. Regardless of where the judge's political and personal leanings were, she remained a stalwart ally to those she befriended. In fact, among the law enforcement community in D.C., few people commanded as much respect as she. Well liked, she had hundreds of admirers and friends. Some said she “owned” Washington-meaning it in a political sense and not always in a nice way. Others called her the city's finest and fairest appellate judge, some saying she earned every accolade, and that nothing was ever handed to her. Jessica respected her because she could easily have simply become another Washington debutante and social butterfly.
“ Funny how she had the money and position to do nothing with her life, but she chose to do something with it instead,” said J. T. in Jessica's ear.
“ Yeah, so I've heard.”
“ Nothing would've been enough for her parents and immediate circle, but she took the far more difficult road, carving out a real life for herself in a profession for which she harbored great passion.”
“ Are you writing her eulogy already, John? You're speaking of her in the past tense.”
“ Jeeze, I didn't mean to… I mean, imply that…”
“ Cool it. We're all thinking it, and besides, you're right about her. You gotta admire her gumption. I think that's what they call it in Texas.”
DeCampe had been born and raised on a Texas ranch near Houston. She had risen in the legal system in Texas through several administrations, and she had taken a position in Washington only a few months before, ostensibly to be close to her adopted son, Michael, and her grandchildren as both her daughters worked in politics and had married politicians. “She is a woman of substance and conviction. Can't fault her for being without courage.”
“ I admire you for the same qualities, Jess,” he confided.
Her eyes had closed in thoughtful response; she knew that despite all their ups and downs, despite the squabbles and the tension that came whenever people worked or lived in close proximity, and despite the caustic humor that had taken on the nature of a hallmark between them, J. T. greatly respected her and her abilities-as she respected him. “Thank you, J. T., but never forget that people do not condemn us for our frailties and faults but ultimately for our qualities.”
“ What's that supposed to mean?” J. T.'s gaze gave away his complete confusion.
“ An old truth I once read tells me now that she was abducted because of her fine qualities, not despite them, and not because of her flaws. Whoever took her likely is punishing her for her finest traits, not her weakest.”
“ That's… that's deep,” J. T. muttered.
“ Well… we see it every time someone is murdered. The stalking male who can't function and who has to continue to harass his former lover or wife until someone is dead. He goes after her because he can't have her ideal-the best that she once was in his mind-which no longer exists. He kills her for her finest qualities, not for her worst. Someone who can't leave a celebrity alone does it for the same reason. And Judge DeCampe was, in her way, a celebrity.”
Her eyes closed, nearing a comforting moment of pure instinct as her mind played over the chess board of the crime scene. Twenty-four hours an investigator, her subconscious scolded, but now is the time it really counts. She recalled how often her shrink had told her she must find ways to relax and get away from her work. But even when she did so, her work wouldn't get away from her, as evidenced this night.
When the soft-spoken but firm judge had gone missing, reported by her daughters, it was taken seriously from the get-go. No one working in law enforcement at any level remained far removed from the threat of violence, especially not in a major American city; D.C.'s spiraling skyscrapers and gorgeous skyline might be seen by some as monuments to a civilized camp, but Jessica Coran knew better. She knew from hard-won experience that human beings, whatever the size of their monuments and accomplishments, remained as savage and bestial as the day they were deposited on Earth by whatever powers governed the void. Whether you subscribed to Cherokee creation myths or to Hindu or Christian creation tales, you had to know that the human creature was the most complex and dangerous animal on the planet, given as much to creating art and philosophy and religion as to creating fear and hatred and monsters of their offspring.
Both as a woman and as a detective, Jessica had long understood, even appreciated, how the animal brain of the first men to walk upright operated-fight or flee was not far from that of the bear, the first man in Native American theology, or any other predator. Regardless of add-ons, the late improvements and refinements to the predatory man-brain, there was no denying that the original bear-brain remained intact and working. The refinements had come in layers, creating an onion of the cerebral cortex, layer upon layer masking the primitive brain: a core center for growing fur and fangs and claws, but also a center for spawning ignorance and fear, giving rise to bigoted hatred and irrational violence.
And so, Jessica's fevered brain played tennis with the ideas that went back and forth across the net of her consciousness. Something disturbing in the clean crime scene; something speaking to her of how easy it had been for DeCampe's abductor. Too damned easy. No blood spilled. No scuff marks. No car door swinging open. No lock with a key left hanging in it. Jessica knew of cases in which killers had taken their prey with the help of a fake cast on what appeared a broken arm, with trained dogs who faked being hit by a hasty exit from a parking space, a pair of fake “blind man's” eyes and a tin cup, or even a helpful wife with a baby on her arm. This was the con game that asked the victim to become a willing participant, a perfect victim. But Judge Maureen DeCampe knew all this as well. She ought to have been in a unique position to see it coming, yet she had put up no struggle whatsoever. It could mean only one thing: She knew her assailant and she felt no fear of him whatsoever.