Quinn - Iris Johansen [38]
Cool down. Panic wouldn’t get him anywhere. He had to find her, talk to her, persuade her to step back and away from acting as bait for McVey.
Find her.
She wasn’t in the house. Her mother didn’t know where she’d gone. But she was working with Brian McVey. He might have thought he was using her, but he’d soon find out differently. Eve would be in control.
He called the Atlanta Constitution.
Brian McVey had taken an indefinite leave of absence and could not be contacted.
Strike one.
The hell he couldn’t be contacted. He called the ATLPD and had a clerk pull out all the profile information they could gather on McVey.
“What are you doing?” Slindak came on the line. “What does Duncan say?”
“I’d know if I could get hold of her,” Joe said. “She’s not home. I think that McVey has her stashed somewhere while he runs these stories. Get off the line and let me get the info I need.”
“I’ve got it here. McVey has an apartment in Dunwoody—1321 Ashford.”
“That would be too easy. Anything else?”
“Let me see … He inherited a house from his mother two years ago. It doesn’t say whether he sold it or still has possession.”
“Address.”
“It’s 4961 Rosecreek Drive. It’s near Lake Allatoona.” He paused. “McVey’s story has caused a buzz with the rest of the media. There was lot of talk on the local TV news this evening. Including Eve Duncan’s quotes.”
“That doesn’t surprise me. McVey might have even given them a call.”
“And shared his story? Not likely.”
“To stir the pot. To add the final irritant that would make an explosion certain. Anything else you can tell me about McVey?”
“I can tell you he’s a member of the press, and you should be careful what you do to him. I know you’re pissed at the hot spot he’s put Eve Duncan on, but he can cause us big-time trouble.”
“Ask me if I care.” He hung up.
The apartment in Dunwoody or the house near Lake Allatoona?
The Dunwoody apartment was closer, and he didn’t know whether McVey still owned the house he’d inherited.
But his instincts were leaning toward Lake Allatoona. He called the telephone company, identified himself, and asked if there was still a telephone connection at 4961 Rosecreek Drive.
Yes.
Private number.
Joe waited for the operator to call Washington on another line and check his authority. Five minutes later he had the number.
Name of party holding the service?
Edna McVey.
Brian McVey had never changed the name and evidently occasionally still used the house.
Okay, phone the number he’d been given?
If Eve was there, then she’d be given time to leave before he could get there.
He strode out of the house and jumped in his car.
* * *
THE MCVEY PLACE ON ROSECREEK Drive was a pleasant two-story cottage only a few hundred yards from the edge of Lake Allatoona. Its gray sideboard needed painting, but there was a cane rocking chair on the wide porch that gave the place a comfortable ambience.
There was light gleaming from windows on the first floor.
Joe cursed softly. Nothing like leaving a welcoming beacon.
He parked his car a good distance away from the house and moved silently into the woods.
He was a hundred yards to the rear of the cottage when he knew someone was following him.
He paused, listening.
To the left, in the brush.
He faded into the stand of trees to the right.
A sudden crashing of shrubs to the left.
Definitely following him.
He circled swiftly, silently, to the left to get behind the pursuer.
A male figure in a black Windbreaker was now moving ahead of him.
Now.
He covered the distance between them in seconds and brought him down.
The man started to struggle frantically.
Joe’s hand tangled in his hair and jerked back hard as the edge of his knife was pressed to the man’s throat. “Don’t move, or I’ll cut your throat.”
The man froze. “For God’s sake, Quinn. What are you doing? Let me go.”
McVey.
“Why should I, you son of a bitch?” He deliberately pressed the edge of the knife a little harder so that it broke the skin. “I’m a little angry with you. Maybe you can tell.”
McVey went rigid. “I can tell.