The Next Accident - Lisa Gardner [37]
“We got another strategy,” Montgomery spoke up. He threw out baldly, “Monitor the grave.”
“No!” Immediately, Quincy was out of his chair.
“It’s standard procedure—” Montgomery began.
“Fuck procedure!” Quincy told him coldly, the second time in as many days he’d been driven to swear. “It’s my daughter. You are not using my daughter!”
Montgomery lumbered to his feet. His eyes were small and dark in the folds of his face. They reminded Quincy of the eyes of a bird, and he suddenly wondered if this was how he, too, appeared to victims’ families. Not as a man, but as some bird of prey, swooping down after the kill.
“You said Sanchez implied he knew where your daughter was buried,” Montgomery said flatly.
“I was wrong.”
“Wrong my ass. He knew. Which means the UNSUB thought to look up where your daughter was buried, which means he’s been considering her grave for quite some time. Guy’s gotta know by now we’ll be watching your house. So if he wants to feel close to you . . . have a private little laugh . . .”
“I do not want cameras at my daughter’s grave. I do not give permission!”
But Glenda was nodding now, Jackson, as well. Quincy turned slowly toward Everett. The SAC’s face was kind, sympathetic. But he was nodding, too.
Time spun away from Quincy. He was remembering an afternoon he hadn’t thought of in years. At the state fair, Mandy and Kimberly in tow. Father-daughter day, he’d promised them, and taken them on as many rides as their young stomachs could handle. Then, right after buying them cotton candy, he’d turned and seen a man snapping photo after photo of children on the kiddy rides.
He remembered the smile fading from his face, a chill seeping into his body. He watched a pedophile capture rolls of film of laughing little children and all he could think was that his girls were only a few feet away. His sweet, beautiful, healthy little girls with their mother’s striking dark blond hair.
He had spoken to them urgently, angrily. Look at that man, he had instructed them, his heart hammering wildly in his chest. Know what he is, he had told them. And don’t be afraid to run.
Kimberly had nodded solemnly, absorbing his words with fierce concentration. Mandy, however, had started to cry. Weeks later, she still had nightmares about a man in a smelly overcoat who came with a camera to take her away.
“No,” he said hoarsely now. “I won’t allow cameras. Try and I swear I’ll move Mandy’s grave.”
The other agents were looking at him curiously. Everett said, “Maybe it’s time to think about taking a few sick days. . . .”
“I’m fine!” Quincy tried again, but his voice still sounded odd, not like him. He sounded desperate, he realized. He sounded like a desperate father. And then he had a strange thought. It came to him as instinct, something he understood better than truth. This is what the stalker wanted. The UNSUB had set up this first wave of attack not just to make his identity harder to pinpoint, but to have some fun. To identify Quincy’s deepest wound and rip at it savagely.
Quincy licked his lips and sought once more for control. “Listen to me. This is not about my daughter. The UNSUB could care less about my daughter. He gave out that information just to get a cheap thrill.”
“So you know who it is then?” Glenda Rodman seemed intent on pinning him down.
“No, I don’t know who it is. I’m simply theorizing based upon the company I keep.”
“In other words, you don’t know shit,” Montgomery declared.
“Agent, you are not turning my daughter’s grave into some obscene stakeout.”
“Why?” Montgomery pushed. “It’s not like it’s something you haven’t asked of other families.”
“You son of a bitch—”
“Quincy!” Everett interrupted sharply. Quincy stilled as they all drew up short. He was slightly surprised to find that his hand was raised in midair, his index finger jabbing at Montgomery as if he would do the man harm.
“I know this is difficult,” the SAC said quietly, “but you’re still a federal agent, Quincy, and breaches of security are a threat to all of us. Take a few days. The case