Killing Hour - Lisa Gardner [146]
The man woke up harshly. His breathing was ragged, his eyes were wild. Where was he? What had happened? For a moment, he thought the black void had taken over completely. Then he got his bearings.
He was standing in the middle of a room. And in his hands, he held a box of matches, the first match already clutched between his fingers . . .
The man gently laid the matches back on the table. Then he quickly stepped away, grabbing at his head and trying to tell himself he wasn’t yet insane.
He needed aspirin. He needed water, he needed something far more potent than that. Not yet, not yet, no time. His fingers clawed his rough-shaven cheeks, sinking into his temples as if through sheer force of will he could keep his skull from shattering apart.
He had to hold it together. Not much longer. Not much more time.
Helplessly, he found himself staring at the matches again. And then he knew what he must do. He retrieved the box from the table. He held the precious sticks in the palm of his hand, and he thought of things he had not thought of in a long, long time.
He thought of fire. He thought that all things of beauty must die. And then he allowed himself to remember that day in the cabin, and what had happened next.
CHAPTER 43
Lee County, Virginia
1:24 A.M.
Temperature: 94 degrees
“THIS IS THE MOST IRRESPONSIBLE HANDLING OF A CASE I’ve ever seen in my life. It’s inappropriate and, frankly, it’s goddamn criminal! We lose this man, Quincy, and I swear to God I will spend the next two years making your life a living hell. I want you off this property as fast as you can drive. And don’t bother heading back to Quantico. I know about your little chats with Special Agents Kaplan and Ennunzio. So much as step one foot onto Academy grounds, and I’ll have you arrested at the gate. Your work on this case is over. As far as I’m concerned, your whole fucking career is over. Now get out of my sight.”
Special Agent Harkoos finally wrapped up his tirade and stormed away. His navy-blue blazer hung limply in the heavy heat. His face, covered in sweat before he’d started yelling, was dripping. In other words, he looked about the same as the other FBI agents now swarming the abandoned sawmill.
“I don’t think he likes you much,” Rainie said to Quincy.
He turned toward her. “Be honest with me. Do I look that ridiculous in a navy blue suit?”
“Most of the time.”
“Huh. The things you learn thirty years too late.”
They started walking toward their car. Their light tones fooled neither of them. Harkoos’s dressing-down had been thorough and honest. They were fired from the case, banned from the Academy, and once word of this disaster spread, probably finished as consultants in the tight, incestuous world of high-profile law enforcement investigations. Reputations were built in a lifetime, but ruined in only a matter of minutes.
Quincy had a hollow, sick feeling in his stomach, one he hadn’t had in ages.
“When we catch the Eco-Killer, they’ll quickly forget about this,” Rainie offered.
“Perhaps.”
“Irresponsible is only irresponsible if you fail. Succeed, however, and irresponsible quickly becomes merely unorthodox.”
“True.”
“Quincy, those guys had the same body and same evidence we did last night, and they weren’t even in the area when you gave them a call. Frankly, if we hadn’t gone off the deep end, that girl would still be floating in a cavern, and the fourth victim would be no closer to discovery. Harkoos is just mad because you beat him to the punch. There’s nothing more embarrassing than being upstaged, especially by a bunch of outsiders.”
Quincy stopped walking. “I’m sick of this,” he said abruptly.
“Politics is never fun.”
“No! I don’t mean this damn case. Fuck this case. You’re absolutely right. Failure today, hero tomorrow. It’s always changing and none of it means a thing.”
Rainie had stopped moving completely. He could see her pale face in the thin moonlight. He rarely swore, and the fact that he was driven to it now had her both fascinated and frightened.
“I don’t