Quicksand, p.8
Quicksand, page 8
“His employer?” Joe said. “What work did Kistle do?”
“He was a personal trainer. Pelham owned a gym and Kistle worked for him for over a year. His coworkers said that Kistle was very popular with the ladies. But there was no hint of indiscreet conduct with any of them. Then Pelham decided to cut Kistle’s commission, but he didn’t give him an argument. Two weeks later Kistle said he had another job, resigned, and took off.” He pulled a newspaper clipping out of the pile. “Pelham died in a car accident six weeks later. The brakes on his car failed him. No sign of tampering.” Montalvo shrugged. “But then, the authorities weren’t suspecting that he’d been murdered.”
“How do you know he was?” Eve asked.
“Kistle doesn’t like authority. He tolerates it because a loner is always suspect and it would interfere with his main goal.”
“And what is that?”
Montalvo drew out three pictures and spread them out on the report. “Three children were reported missing in the year Kistle worked for Pelham. He didn’t dirty his own backyard. The kids all lived in surrounding towns.”
“They were killed?”
“They’re still missing. No bodies. Evidently Kistle is clever and very careful. No bodies, no evidence.”
Eve slowly picked up the photo on the top. The little girl was nine or ten, with blond hair in a ponytail. She was laughing into the camera.
Do you know how many pretty little girls I’ve killed since your Bonnie?
“Eve,” Joe said quietly.
“It’s okay.” She dropped the photo back on the coffee table. “Go on, Montalvo.”
“Kistle dropped out of sight for those two years. My bet is that he just settled somewhere else for a while and used fake ID. Only God knows how many killings he committed during those two years. Then, when he thought enough time had passed, he went back to Detroit and used the Henry Kistle name again.”
“And why did he leave Detroit for Bloomburg?”
He threw another photo down. “Kevin Jacobs. He didn’t show up from school one day. He lived in a suburb and again there was no body found. But he was a cute little kid and the media had a circus. Kistle probably felt safer exiting the scene again.”
“God,” Eve whispered.
“He probably gets fake ID every time he’s forced to leave a town,” Joe said.
Montalvo shrugged. “And he’s been doing this for years. He’s probably an expert at forging documents. I told you, he’s very clever.”
“And how do you know that?” Eve asked. “It wasn’t clever of him to call me and run the risk I’d act fast enough to catch him.”
“Maybe he didn’t intend to talk to you until he heard your name. Then he couldn’t resist.” He gazed down at the photo of Kistle. “And he evidently likes to take chances. Not with the child killings. He probably realizes how crimes against children arouse the public and he’s extremely careful with them. It’s part of the joke he has on the world. As long as there are no bodies found, there’s no crime and he can go on doing what he wants to do. But he didn’t have to go back and kill his former boss, Pelham. It was petty. Why take the chance?”
“Revenge,” Joe said. “And it made him feel superior.”
“Good guess.”
“It goes along with the profile on serial killers. In most cases it’s all about power. Even the sexual abuse is a power play.”
“Then Kistle follows the profile,” Montalvo said. “He has to be best.”
“You seem certain,” Eve said. “You can’t know what he thinks from these cases you told me about.”
“No, there’s something else.” Joe’s gaze was narrowed on Montalvo’s face. “What?”
“I had my investigator go back to Murdock, the man who first tipped him that Kistle had told him that he’d killed Bonnie Duncan. He spent three days going over every detail of the time Murdock had spent with Kistle. He came up with a tiny bit of information. Kistle liked to go hunting. He boasted that he’d been dropped into a jungle and survived six months. What does that sound like to you, Quinn?”
“SEALS or Rangers.”
“He was in the Rangers. My investigators spent a week trying to get permission to go through records and ended up using bribery. They had a photograph, or they would never had identified him. He was nineteen when he joined the Army under the name of Tim Hathaway. He later qualified for training to be a Ranger.”
“That requires a hell of a lot of discipline,” Joe said. “And if he made it, then his instability must have occurred later. Acceptance of discipline isn’t in his profile.”
“No, he was as sick then as he is now. He was just able to become what his officers wanted him to become. He showed that same talent later. He wanted that training and he would have done anything to get it.”
“You mean he wanted to learn how to kill in the most efficient way possible,” Eve said.
“And he liked proving he could survive when no one else could. He was superb during the survival tests in the jungle. He was strong and smart and never quit. His reports were glowing when he went on missions. He was polite and obedient and lethal. What else could the Army want?”
“He made it through his hitch?” Joe asked.
Montalvo nodded. “Honorably discharged.” His lips twisted. “But curiously enough, three weeks later an Apache helicopter blew up carrying his commanding officer and two of the men Kistle served with. No evidence of anything but an accident, of course. Kistle was an expert by that time. I’d judge that he was releasing some pent-up malice. Maybe one of them was a little too good. As I said, Kistle had to be best.”
“No other killings during that period?” Eve asked.
“Not at or near the base. Perhaps he was getting enough killing on his missions.”
“Where did he go from there?”
“He disappeared from view again for a few years.” He paused. “The next time he surfaced he was running drugs in Atlanta. He was on drugs himself for a while and I doubt if he would have boasted about killing Bonnie if he’d been clean. At first, Murdock thought he was just fascinated by the case. He read everything he could, talked about it a lot. His attitude was … weird. Feverish, bitter, obsessed. Bonnie was such an appealing little girl that the media wouldn’t drop the story. Every time a mention came up, Kistle was glued to the TV set. He kept telling Murdock that everyone in the country knew about the man who killed Bonnie Duncan, recognized his power, and they’d made him a superstar. Then one night when he was stoned, he told Murdock he’d been the one who’d killed her.”
Eve moistened her lips. “How? Where?”
Montalvo shook his head. “Do you think I wouldn’t have told you? Murdock said he didn’t tell him any more, and after he came down from the drugs he never mentioned it again. He might not even remember he told him.”
“Murdock probably wouldn’t be alive if he had,” Joe said.
“I agree,” Montalvo said. “Unless Kistle wanted Murdock to tell someone about Bonnie. Murdock said Kistle was totally fascinated by the case. Maybe he wanted to go back in time and revisit it.”
“He said Bonnie was his inspiration,” Eve said numbly. “A burning arrow in the dark.”
“Anything else?” Joe asked Montalvo curtly. “She’s been through enough.”
Montalvo shook his head. “She can take it.” He rose to his feet. “But that’s it. I’ll leave the reports and photos here with you, Eve.”
“No bodies,” she said slowly. “All those years and no bodies. And no hint of a crime except those officers here in Bloomburg. It seems incredible.”
“He may not have been as tidy about cleaning up in other parts of the country,” Joe said. “But we can concentrate on that later. Now we’ve got him in our sights.”
“Not yet,” Montalvo said. “And considering his experience, it won’t be easy.” He turned to Eve and said quietly, “But we’ll get him this time.” He didn’t wait for an answer but headed for the door. “I’ll be in touch.”
Joe turned to her when the door shut behind him. “Don’t get your hopes up. It still might not be Kistle, Eve.”
“Don’t tell me that,” she said with sudden fierceness. “I’m going to keep on hoping. I have to hope.” She sat down on the couch. “And right now I’m going through these reports and see if I can find anything to use against the bastard. All we know is that he has to be the best and he was some kind of Rambo.” She looked down at the picture of Kistle. “And that he’s been alive and laughing and killing all these years my Bonnie’s been dead.” She tried to steady her voice. “Can you get that FBI agent to check under the Hathaway name and see if he can come up with anything else? He might have used that name again later.”
“Cassidy’s bowing out of the case.” He lifted his hand as he saw her open her lips. “It’s okay. We don’t need him. He could get in the way. I can still request the information from the national database at Quantico.” He moved toward the door. “I’ll get right on it.” He paused to look back at her. “How are you? Should I stay?”
She shook her head. “This is no real surprise. I knew he was a monster. I just didn’t know he was such a clever one.” She looked back down at the report. “Go on. Talk to Quantico.”
Chapter SIX
JANE CAME OUT OF THE bedroom ten minutes later. “How did it go?” she asked as she saw the reports and photos spread out on the coffee table. “I gather Montalvo came through for you?”
“Yes.” She couldn’t look at these reports and newspapers stories anymore right now. They hurt too much. “He did what he promised. Joe’s going to see if he can use them to get any more information.”
“Cooperation between them?” Jane raised her brows. “Really?
“Really.” Eve began to stack the information and put it back in the portfolio. “What did your agent want?”
“Nothing much.”
“Jane.”
She made a face. “He wanted me to go to Paris. A gallery there wants to exhibit the six paintings that didn’t sell from the last show. He thinks it would open doors. I told him that a U.S. audience is just fine.”
“Bullshit,” Eve said. “Go. You don’t have to sit here and hold my hand.”
“I want to do it.”
“Too bad. I’m feeling bad enough without guilt thrown into the mix. All I’m doing is sitting here while everyone else is trying to catch that bastard. You don’t have to sit with me. One of us should do something productive.” She got to her feet. “In fact, I’m going to start working on Carrie right now. You pack your bag and get out of here.”
“No.”
“Yes.” Eve stared her in the eye. “I won’t have Kistle spoil one more moment of my life. Everything around me is dirty and sad right now. You and your paintings are bright and full of beauty. I want to think of you in Paris. I want you to call and tell me what’s happening in that world.”
Jane gazed at her searchingly. “You mean it.” She hesitated. “Will you call me when they catch Kistle? I’ll fly back to be with you.”
“The minute I hear.” Eve gave her a quick hug. “Now get out of here so I can concentrate on Carrie.” She moved toward the table. “Call and get me another pot of coffee before you leave, will you?”
Jane was still standing there. “I don’t give a damn about Paris or the show, Eve. You’re the only one who’s important to me.”
“The coffee,” Eve said as she took off the drop cloth. “And Paris is important to me. Get out of here, Jane.”
“Okay, I’m on my way.” Jane went into the bedroom and closed the door.
Damn, she was going to miss her, Eve thought. But it was better for Jane to leave. She wouldn’t have let her come with her to Bloomburg if she hadn’t been so shaken. As she’d told Jane, it was ugly here and it was going to get uglier. After what Montalvo had told her about Kistle, it was clear that his behavior in contacting her was unusual for him. And those two poor deputies he had killed in her name were a message sent to frighten her. Kistle wasn’t going to be content to keep his distance. He wanted to touch her, scare her, hurt her.
And Jane mustn’t be here and get in his way.
She began to check the clay tissue depth beneath Carrie’s cheekbone. “It’s just you and me, Carrie,” she whispered. “I have to work fast and finish you as quickly as possible. I don’t think he’s going to give me much time …”
“YOU HAVE TO BE KIDDING, Venable,” Montalvo said. “If you think I’m going to give you any information for a harebrained scheme like that, you’re mistaken.”
“It’s my best bet.” Venable said. “I can’t keep Cassidy on the hook for more than another day. Hell, I know it’s a long shot. But I’m going with it. I’ve called that Sheriff Dodsworth and asked for his permission and cooperation and he gave it reluctantly.”
“He didn’t laugh in your face?”
“He’s too polite. But he was damn skeptical.”
“Amazing,” Montalvo murmured.
“Be quiet, Montalvo. I’m doing the best I can. I have to keep this low-key. You don’t have to pay me until we locate Bobby Joe. But I’d appreciate it if you’d give this option the benefit of the doubt.” He paused. “Or else you might end up with egg on your face.”
Montalvo hadn’t expected that last remark. He’d thought it had been desperation that had led Venable to come up with this bizarre scheme, but he knew few men more clever or practical. “You actually believe this is a solution?”
“Hell, yes, I’ve seen it happen.”
What the hell? At least, it would be interesting and he might be able to use it. “I’ll go along with you for a while. What do you want me to do?”
“I can’t be a party to this and, under the circumstances, I doubt if Quinn would want to stand in. Will you be out there at six in the morning to guide the process and bolster up the sheriff?”
“Very well, but if the place is teeming with media, I’m out of there.”
“Don’t worry, I was very solemn and impressive with our sheriff. He’s not going to leak anything.”
“He wasn’t the one I’m worried about.” He took out his notebook and pencil. “Okay, give me the details.”
Five minutes later Montalvo hung up the phone and thoughtfully studied his notes. Incredible. Even more incredible that Venable believed it to be a true and valid solution.
But the premise definitely had possibilities. This morning he’d been able to see that Eve was on edge and frustrated that she was unable to actively participate in the hunt for Kistle. Even if this scheme didn’t pan out, it gave him an opportunity to involve Eve in a way that would be safe for her. They’d be working together as they had in Colombia.
Yes, it was definitely worthwhile.
He began to dial Eve’s number.
EVE THREW OPEN THE DOOR to Montalvo’s knock. “Okay, what is it? You said Venable had a plan to help catch Kistle.”
“In a way. Actually, it’s to keep the FBI on the job. We do want to have all the help we can get, don’t we?”
“Of course we do. Though Joe says they may get in the way.”
“I’m willing to risk it.” He came into the room and closed the door. “But the FBI doesn’t believe their expertise is needed to catch Kistle and the cop killings appear to be open-and-shut cases. But there may be a way to keep them involved. You knew about Bobby Joe Windlaw.”
She nodded. “But he may not have been killed by Kistle.”
“And he might have. I think there’s a good chance. All we have to do is find the body.”
“How does Venable think he’s going to find this body when it’s not been found by the local police?”
He grimaced. “There’s the rub.”
“What?”
“Venable is sending a psychic to that riverbank where the child’s belongings were found. He asked me to be there at six tomorrow morning to meet with her. I thought you might want to go along in case they found something.”
Eve stared at him in disbelief. “You have to be crazy.”
“My reaction exactly.”
“I can’t understand how you could even consider this,” Eve said curtly. “It’s all bullshit and I won’t be a party to it.”
“I understand your attitude. But Venable seems to be convinced that she’s authentic. I thought you might be interested in checking it out.”
“A psychic?” she repeated harshly. “Crooks. Charlatans.”
“You seem to be very adamant about it.” He paused, studying her expression. “Experience?”
Oh, yes, she’d had experience. It had been part of that nightmare. “They flocked like vultures around me after Bonnie was taken. At least once a week I’d have a phone call or a letter offering to help me find her, saying they knew where she was. Some of them said she was alive and happy, others said she was dead and buried. I was so desperate I even answered a couple of them. Joe tried to keep me from doing it, but I would have tried anything.” Her lips curled bitterly. “They always had some reason why Bonnie wasn’t coming through to them. But they gave a lot of interviews afterward claiming they’d given the police valuable leads.”
“Venable assured me there would be no media. He says this woman wouldn’t participate if there was any chance of that.”
“Sure,” Eve said. “And pigs can fly.”
“He also said that he was having a hell of a time persuading her to come and do the job. She wanted no part of it.”
“Good. Then there’s one less con artist to stir up mud.”
“I take it that you’re not going with me tomorrow morning.”
“For heavens sake, are you deaf? Of course, I’m not going.”
“I just want to be certain. Since you’re so familiar with this kind of con game, you could be a big help in debunking.”
“There’s nothing to debunk. No wires. No ghostly figures. They just ‘feel’ things. They ‘sense’ a presence or ‘see’ a vision. All very safe. They rely on some poor fool to want it to be true so badly that she’ll accept anything they say.” She still remembered standing in a forest in south Georgia and being torn by agony so intense she had felt ripped apart when she’d realized that the faint hope given by that psychic who had said Bonnie was alive was bogus. “And, dammit, I did. I did.”
