3rd Degree - James Patterson [48]
Not a word on him for the past two years.
About five, Claire knocked at my office. “I’m going crazy, Lindsay. C’mon, get a cup of coffee with me.”
“I’m going crazy, too,” I said, and grabbed my purse. “Maybe we should call Cindy over,” I said.
“Don’t bother,” she said, and pointed down the hall. “She’s already here.”
The three of us went down to a cafeteria on the second floor. At first we just sat around stirring our drinks, the silence as thick as June fog.
Finally I just sucked in a breath. “I think we all agree, Jill’s not out there, pining away on some rock. Something’s happened. The sooner we admit that, the sooner we can find out what it is.”
“I keep thinking there has to be some explanation,” Claire said. “I mean, I know Steve. We all do. He wouldn’t be my ideal partner, but I can’t believe he’s capable of anything like this.”
“Well, keep believing,” Cindy said, frowning, “it’s been two days.”
Claire looked at me. “You remember that time Jill had to go through Salt Lake City on her way back from Atlanta, and while they were just waiting there at the gate, she took one look at all the snow in the mountains and said, ‘Screw it, I’m outta here!’ She hopped off the plane, rented a car, and skied Snowbird for the day.”
“Yeah, I remember,” I said, the thought bringing a smile to my face. “Steve had some client thing he wanted to drag her to, the office was trying to locate her, and where was Jill? Up at eleven thousand feet, in a rented suit and skis, in powder heaven. Having the best day of her life.”
The image brought a smile to all our faces, a tearful one.
“So that’s what I think.” Claire took a napkin and dabbed her eyes. “I think she’s skiing powder. I have to believe she’s skiing powder, Lindsay.”
Chapter 65
CINDY STAYED AT HER DESK late that night, when only a handful of Metro stringers trolling the police wires were still around. The truth was, where else could she go?
This thing with Jill was killing her; it was killing all of them.
Word had leaked out. A missing A.D.A. was news. Her city editor asked if she wanted to write it. He knew they were friends. “It’s not news yet,” she had snapped. Writing it made it news. Made it real.
This time it wasn’t happening to someone else.
She stared at a photo of them she kept taped to her cubicle. The four of them, in their old haunt, Susie’s, their corner booth, after they solved the bride and groom case. A few margaritas had left their brains leaking like a wetlands preserve. Jill had seemed so invincible. The power job, the power husband. Never once had she let on….
“C’mon, Jill,” Cindy whispered, feeling her eyes glistening over. Come through this. Walk through that door. Show your pretty face, smiling. I’m praying, Jill. Walk through that fucking door.
It was after eleven. Nothing was happening here. It was just her way of keeping the vigil, keeping up hope. Go home, Cindy. Call it a night. Nothing you can do now.
A maintenance man vacuuming the stall winked at her. “Working late, Ms. Thomas?”
“Yeah,” she sighed, “burning the midnight oil.”
She finally threw a few things in her purse and checked her computer one last time before she logged off. Maybe she’d call Lindsay. Just to talk.
A new e-mail flashed on her screen.
Cindy knew without even opening it who it was from. Toobad@hotmail.com.
She knew the timing. She knew they warned her of a new victim every three days. It was Sunday. August Spies were due.
“You were warned,” the message began. “But you were arrogant and didn’t listen.”
Oh God. A tiny cry escaped from Cindy’s throat.
She flashed down the screen, reading the terrifying message, the chilling signature at the end.
August Spies had struck again.
Chapter 66
I GOT HOME THAT NIGHT at eleven, exhausted and empty-handed. For a few moments I stood thinking at the bottom of the outside