The Perfect Husband - Lisa Gardner [37]
A new hand went up. “Which part of the task force is watching Theresa Williams?”
The powers that be exchanged glances. Special Agent Quincy stepped aside and Lieutenant Houlihan took over the podium. “Ms. Williams has opted against police protection.”
“What?” Murmurs broke out. Lieutenant Houlihan raised his hand to settle things down. His reaction had been the same when Difford had called him and outlined the ridiculous plan.
“She knows she’s in danger. She decided her best odds lie with her being on her own.”
“We must have at least a few feds on her. He could get to her and no one would even know it.”
“People, her location is given out only on a need-to-know basis, and no one in this room needs to know.”
More grumbles. “What about the daughter?”
“She is in protective custody with her own guards. None of you need to concern yourself with that.”
Even more grumbles. Cops hated to be left in the dark.
“What about the pattern Beckett mentioned?”
“We’re working on that. Any other questions?”
Some people shook their heads. Others exchanged dubious glances. To a person, they already looked stressed.
Lieutenant Houlihan tapped the podium with his fist. “People, that’s a wrap.”
THE FRONT DOORS released a small flood of blue-uniformed officers. They poured into the bright fall sunlight, blinking their eyes and readjusting to daylight. Some walked in pairs, others in small groups. All walked fast, men and women with a lot of work to do.
At the end of the block, one man peeled off from the group, casually waved good-bye, and disappeared down a side street as if his cruiser was parked there.
He didn’t get into a car.
He walked down that block, then another, then another. He doubled back, then finally, when it was clear no one was following him, he disappeared into the woods. He stripped off his uniform, revealing the orange construction uniform beneath it. From behind a boulder he produced the hard hat he’d hidden earlier. Shelly had been in charge of securing uniforms, following his instructions, of course. She’d done that part of her job well.
He tucked the police uniform into a paper bag and reentered civilization. His face was already expertly made up—a bit of padding here, the skin tucked there—to give himself a whole new look. After a fifteen-minute walk he arrived at the motel where Lola Gavitz had a room.
“Honey, I’m home.”
Whistling, he locked the door behind himself, then checked the curtains. He didn’t bother turning on a light. He tossed the paper bag onto the single queen-size bed and walked through the gloom to the bathroom.
Shelly hung naked in the shower.
Duct tape covered her mouth. More tape bound her wrists and ankles. A small hand towel protected the tender skin of her neck from the clothesline he’d wrapped around it. The other end of the clothesline was attached to the shower head, suspending Shelly three inches off the ground. Classic autoerotic asphyxiation setup. One did learn so many useful things as a police officer.
Shelly could keep the clothesline from strangling her by looping her arms over the showerhead and holding herself up. Or she could swing her feet onto the edge of the bathtub. Of course, then she ran the risk of her feet slipping off and the sudden fall snapping her neck.
Her arms must have gotten tired though, for now she did have her feet on the edge of the tub. As he entered the bathroom, she raised her head wearily, her long blond hair sliding back from hollow eyes.
He looked at her feet. He curled one hand around her ankle. One push, that’s all it would take.
She rolled her eyes in terror.
“What do you think, Shelly? Do you want to live?”
She nodded as furiously as she could with a clothesline around her neck.
“The police predicts that I’ll kill you once you’re no longer useful to me. Are you still