Sense of Evil - Kay Hooper [108]
“And why?” Isabel mused, frowning. “The only reason I can think of is that someone must have told her she could help by coming out here so late. That there was something out here she needed to see, and after dark. If that's true, I can't see any possible answer as to who called her out here except—”
“—a cop,” Mallory said. “Has to be.”
Hollis looked around at the police technicians and the dozen or so uniformed officers searching the area surrounding the crime scene and in various positions between this clearing and the rest stop at the highway, which had also been roped off, and sighed. “Great. That's just great.”
“We still can't rule out some other authority figure,” Isabel reminded them. “For that matter, we can't rule out a member of the media. Who's to say some reporter didn't offer Emily a nice big chunk of cash to meet out here where her sister was killed? And being here well after dark was the only real guarantee a passing patrol wouldn't see them, since we've had all these areas under watch. Her car was well off the road and behind that thicket, so either the killer moved it there afterward or told Emily to park there to avoid being seen by a passing patrol.”
“But a reporter? For a story?” Hollis said. “That's sick. Would Emily have gone for something like that?”
“To step out of Jamie's shadow? I'm thinking yes.”
“That might explain this,” Mallory said, “but what about the other victims? Could a reporter have lured them out of their cars and into the woods?”
Hollis said, “You know, maybe we're making a giant assumption that he does it the same way every time. He could be gearing his approach to each woman individually. Isabel, you and Bishop both believe he has to get to know his victims. Maybe this is why. To find the right bait for each catch.”
Isabel looked at her for a moment, then said, “If you ever feel useless in an investigation, remember this moment. Damn. Why didn't I see that?”
Hollis was pleased, but nevertheless said, “You've had a lot on your plate.”
“Still.” Isabel took a step toward the body, then stopped and turned back. The other two women also turned to watch as Rafe approached them from the highway. He looked grim, and on a face as rugged as his, grim was an expression to make even the bravest soul take a step back.
Isabel met him halfway.
“Sorry I'm late,” he said. “I got held up at the station.”
“What else has happened?” she demanded, reaching out without thinking to touch his hand.
His fingers immediately twined with hers. “The accident that pulled the patrol away from the Brower house,” he said. “There were two fatalities.”
“I'd heard that much.” She waited, knowing there was more.
“Hank McBrayer was one of them,” Rafe said flatly. “He was driving too fast, drunk, and apparently crossed over the center line. Hit the oncoming car head-on. The other victim was a sixty-five-year-old grandmother.”
“Jesus,” Isabel said. “Poor Ginny. This is going to eat her alive.”
“I know. I've got the department counselor with her and her mother now.” He glanced past her at the taped-off crime-scene area.
“He was incredibly vicious this time,” Isabel warned. “He cut her throat, probably first, and with enough force to nearly sever her head. And then he started to enjoy himself.”
Without releasing her hand, Rafe continued toward the crime scene. “Has the doc offered his preliminary report yet?”
“No, but I think he's about to.”
They ducked under the tape that Mallory and Hollis automatically held up for them.
“If nobody minds,” Hollis said, “I think I'll stand right here. I've seen all I want to.”
Nobody objected, and as they walked toward the body, Isabel murmured, “Hollis is dealing with her own guilt. She saw Jamie again, last night in the conference room, obviously desperately trying to say something.”
“And Hollis couldn't hear her.”
“No. At the end, Jamie was so frustrated she apparently focused enough energy to scare the hell out of Hollis by scattering half the paperwork on the table across the room.”
Rafe looked at her,