Dead Even - Mariah Stewart [60]
“So the answer would have to be yes, I think he remembered her.”
“We know he held a grudge against Unger for thirty years, but that was pretty personal. I mean, Unger was a part of his daily life; they lived together. They shared a defining moment in Channing’s life.” Will rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “But would his feeling toward Miranda have been that strong? Would he have held on to those feelings for six years? Would he have wanted to destroy her as he did Unger, as he might want to do to Landry?”
“Depends on how cozy he felt where he was, when she brought an end to it. Have you reviewed all of the identified cases?”
“Most of them, not all.”
“I’m familiar with the ones Miranda had been investigating in Rockledge. All young women in their late teens, early twenties. All from roughly the same area in southern Ohio. All raped, strangled in their homes. All were left with one of their own scarves over their faces.”
“Same as the ones we’re looking at now, the murders he committed after he left Rockledge.”
“But they didn’t start up for two, three months after he left Rockledge,” Will pointed out.
“Two or three months when he would have been stewing, wanting to kill but afraid of being caught.” Annie thought it over, then nodded. “As Landry said, Miranda stopped his forward motion for a time. A time he probably spent quite frustrated. Angry, no doubt, because of it.”
“Then you think there’s a chance Miranda might be the third victim?”
“I think you should keep an open mind, keep scanning those files. See if you can identify a more likely candidate. But until you do, I’d say proceed as if Miranda’s name is the third on that list.”
“I guess I need to talk to John.”
“The sooner, the better,” Annie agreed. “Right now your focus is on Landry. Can we take the chance that Lowell’s focus isn’t on Miranda?”
CHAPTER
TWELVE
Burt lowered himself slowly into the lone chair in his motel room and rubbed his temples, trying to ease away the pain caused by forty minutes in the company of Archer Lowell, whom Burt had found to be one big fat pain in the ass. If Vince Giordano had simply asked him to do all this as a favor, Burt wouldn’t have given it a second thought. But Giordano had thrown a whole shitload of money his way—more money than he’d ever seen in one place before—so what else could he do but take this all the way to the end?
He only wished he didn’t have to take Lowell along in order to see it through.
Archer Lowell was a dangerous man, in Burt’s opinion. Dangerous because he was so stupid. Burt had been really careful not to let Lowell see anything with his full name on it. He wore a hat and dark glasses that covered much of his face when he was in Lowell’s company, and he made sure he wore gloves when he was in Lowell’s room. He wanted to leave nothing behind that could tie him to Lowell once the shit hit the fan. He’d even muddied up some of his license plate so that Lowell couldn’t give it up, should it ever occur to the twerp to turn on him.
He rubbed the back of his neck with his big, beefy right hand. That was something that had to be considered. What were the chances Lowell would just do what he had to do, then go quietly about his business? Would there come a time when, overcome with remorse, Lowell might go to the cops and spill the whole thing? The fact that, up to this point, he had gone along with the deal was no real guarantee that he might not someday regret what he’d done.
Burt was going to have to think long and hard about this. How to keep Lowell on track so that he could see this through and collect the rest of the money, and keep his head out of a noose at the same time.
It had been no surprise that he’d arrived at the motel to find Lowell had absolutely no plan for going after his next victim. The guy was totally clueless.
“I don’t know,” Lowell had whined when Burt had asked him what his next move was going to be.
“You got your vic picked out?” Burt had asked, trying to keep a rein on his temper, lest he belt Lowell in the head.
“Yes.”
“So you know where you’re going? How you