Blind Alley - Iris Johansen [33]
Bitch. Whore. She was probably laughing at him.
Not for long, Cira. I almost had you. You're not such a difficult target.
Next time.
Move!” Trevor said to Bartlett as he jumped into the car. “Get out of here.”
“I take it we're being chased?” Bartlett stomped on the accelerator as he moved onto the freeway. “Aldo?”
“Quinn and the ATLPD.” Trevor glanced at the side mirror. “No one yet,” he murmured. “Maybe she did toss him a red herring.”
“The girl?”
Trevor nodded. “I wasn't sure. She's not predictable. She could just as well have told me to go this way and then had a covey of police cars waiting for me.”
“Maybe she's grateful to you for saving the pooch.”
He grinned. “And maybe she's mad as hell and not going to take Aldo's crap anymore. That's more likely.”
“Is that what she told you?”
“More or less.”
No, that was exactly what she had told him. Every glance, every angry word had been layered with determination. “She was a little pissed about her dog.”
“I can't blame her,” Bartlett said. “Dreadful fellow, Aldo.”
“You're a master of understatement.”
“And apparently considerably more competent than you. You were so sure you'd get him this time.” He gave him a sly glance. “But don't be upset. Every man meets his Waterloo.”
“Shut up.” He closed his eyes. “Just get me out of here. I need to sleep and then do some thinking. One step forward, two steps back. It's been a hell of a night.”
“All may not be lost. Quinn may have caught Aldo.”
“Then we'll know about it when we see the news tomorrow. Until then we'll assume the bastard got away.”
“We're going to the lodge?”
“It's as safe as anywhere. Safer than staying here in town. Quinn is bound to have put out an APB on me.”
“No doubt. It would be much smarter to move on.”
“I can't move on. Aldo isn't going to budge from the area as long as Jane MacGuire is here.” His lips tightened grimly. “And that means I have to dig in, too.”
No sign of either of them,” Christy said. “We've scoured every acre of your property and the APB is coming up zero so far.”
“Dammit.”
“It's only been two days. How's Jane doing?”
“Cool as a cucumber.”
“Toby?”
“He had to have stitches, but he'll be fine. He's fine now. He's lying on his dog bed in Jane's room getting belly rubs and eating turkey.”
“Has Jane finished the sketch of Aldo yet?”
“I'll go in and ask her. She's been working on it long enough.”
“If she only saw him in poor light, it must be difficult to remember every feature.”
“Everything about this is difficult. Jane has a memory that would make an elephant look bad.”
“You think she's stalling?”
“I can't figure out why she'd stall. But what do I know? She's done some things lately that have boggled my mind. And don't tell me about teenagers again. 'Bye, Christy.” He pressed the disconnect.
“I'm not stalling,” Jane said from behind him.
He turned to see her standing in the doorway with the sketchbook in her hand. “It took you a hell of a long time,” he said curtly.
She crossed the porch and sat down beside him on the top step. “I had to be careful. It was funny. . . . When I was drawing him, it was too clear. I saw every feature as if he were standing before me. But I'd only seen him for a few seconds and I didn't see how I could be that sure.” She shrugged. “Anyway, I was afraid that I could get it wrong. So I let myself have plenty of time for second guesses.”
“And you're sure now?”
She flipped open the sketchbook. “Aldo.”
A square face, high forehead and a roman nose. His hair was long but slightly receding. His eyes were deep-set and dark and were glaring out of the sketch with an expression of boundless animosity.
“I know you prefer for the portrayals to be expressionless because no one goes around looking like Jack the Ripper. I tried. I really tried. I redid the sketch three times, but it kept coming out the same. I think it's because I know that whenever we're together, he's going to look like this.”
He kept his eyes on the sketch.