The Search Read online

  “I didn’t give her an interview.” Fiona shoved the paper aside. “I didn’t talk to her about all of this.”

  “But you did talk to her,” Mantz persisted.

  “She showed up.” Struggling with rage, Fiona barely resisted ripping the paper to shreds. “I assumed she was here to ask about a class—and she let me assume that. She talked about the dogs, then she introduced herself. The minute she did I told her to go. No comment, go away. She persisted. I did say he wanted attention. I was angry. Look what they’re calling him, RSK Two, so it gives him flash and mystery and importance. I said he wanted attention, and she was giving it to him. I shouldn’t have said it.” She looked at Tawney now. “I know better.”

  “She pushed. You pushed back.”

  “And got just enough to run with it. I ordered her off the property. I even threatened to call Davey—Deputy Englewood—back. He’d just left because we both thought she’d come for class. She was here five minutes. Five goddamn minutes.”

  “When?” Simon demanded, and a quick chill skipped up her spine at the tone.

  “A couple of days ago. I put it away. I made her go, and I thought, I honestly thought I hadn’t given her anything—so I put it aside.”

  She let out a breath. “She’s made him see me here, with my dogs and my trees. The quiet life of a survivor. And she’s made him see me there, in the trunk of that car, tied up in the dark—another victim, who just got lucky. The one line, the one about attention. The way she’s written it, that’s me speaking to him, dismissing him. It’s the sort of thing he might fixate on. I understand that.”

  She glanced at the paper again, at the photo of her standing in front of her house, her hand on Newman’s head, Peck and Bogart beside her. “She must have taken this from her car. You’d think I posed for it.”

  “You shouldn’t have any trouble getting a restraining order,” Tawney told her.

  Discouraged, Fiona pressed her fingers to her eyes. “She’ll eat that up. I wouldn’t bet against her adding column inches on me to that article, my pansies, my chairs—painting a damn picture—because I wouldn’t play ball. She’ll only be more determined to write about me if I make her an issue. Maybe I played it wrong. Maybe I should’ve given her the interview the first time around. Something dull and restrained, then she’d have lost interest in me.”

  “You don’t get it.” Simon shook his head. He had his hands in his pockets, but Fiona knew there was nothing casual about it. “Talk to her, don’t, it doesn’t matter. You’re alive. You’re always going to be part of it. You survived, but it’s more than that. You weren’t rescued, the cavalry didn’t come charging up. You fought and escaped from a man who’d killed twelve other women, and who had eluded authorities for more than two years. As long as this bastard’s strangling women with red scarves, you’re news.”

  He looked back at Mantz. “So don’t look down your dismissive FBI nose at her over this. Until you catch the fucker, they’ll use her for print, for ratings, to keep it churned up between murders. And you fucking well know it.”

  “Maybe you think we’re just sitting on our hands,” Mantz began.

  “Erin.” Tawney waved his partner off. “You’re right,” he told Simon. “About the media. Still, Fee, it’s better for you to stick with the straight ‘No comment.’ And you’re right,” he said to Fiona, “that this kind of press will very likely pump up his interest in you. You need to continue all the precautions you’re taking. And I’m going to ask you not to take on any new clients.”

  “God. Look, I’m not trying to be difficult or stupid, but I have to make a living. I have—”

  “What else?” Simon interrupted.

  Fiona rounded on him. “Listen—”

  “Shut up. What else?” he repeated.

  “Okay. I want you to contact me every day,” Tawney went on. “I want you to keep a record of anything unusual. A wrong number, a hang-up, any questionable e-mails or correspondence. I want the name and contact for anyone who inquires about your classes, your schedule.”

  “Meanwhile, what are you doing?”

  Tawney glanced at Fiona’s flushed and furious face before answering Simon. “All we can. We’re interviewing and reinterviewing friends, family, coworkers, neighbors, instructors, classmates of all the victims. He spent time observing them, he has to have transportation. He’s not invisible. Someone saw him, and we’ll find them. We’re doing background checks and interviewing anyone associated with the prison who had, or may have had, contact with Perry over the last eighteen months. We have a team working the tip line twenty-four hours a day. Forensic experts are sifting through the dirt from every gravesite, looking for any trace evidence—a hair, a fiber.”

  He paused. “We’ve interviewed Perry, and will do so again. Because he knows. I know him, Fee, and I know he wasn’t pleased when I told him about the scarf that was sent to you. Not in his plans, not his style. Even less pleased when I let it slip, we’ll say, that Annette Kellworth had been beaten and her face, in particular, severely damaged. He’ll turn on this guy, he’ll turn because I’ll make him feel betrayed and disrespected. And that—you know—he won’t tolerate.”

  “I appreciate you keeping me informed, coming here and making sure I understand the status and the situation.” She held temper under clipped words and a brisk tone. “I have a class starting very soon. I have to get ready.”

  “All right.” Tawney laid a hand over hers in a gesture as fatherly as it was official. “I want that call, Fee, every day.”

  “Yes. Could you leave that?” she asked Mantz when the agent started to refold the paper. “It’ll help remind me not to give even an inch.”

  “No problem.” Mantz rose. “There’ll be others now that this story hit. I’d start screening all my calls, and you’d be smart to post some ‘No Trespassing’ signs around your property. You can tell your clients you’ve had some trouble with hikers cutting through, and you’re concerned for your dogs,” she added before Fiona could speak.

  “Yes. Yes, that’s a good idea. I’ll take care of it.”

  She walked them out, then waited for Simon to join her on the porch. “You want to give me grief for not mentioning the reporter. That’s fine, but you have to get in line. I’m first.”

  “You already gave yourself grief on that.”

  “No. I mean I have a few things to say to you, and I’m in a bind. You’re pissed at me, and pretty seriously, but you still stood up for me with Agent Mantz. I’d say the standing up wasn’t necessary, but that’s ungracious. Besides, standing up for someone isn’t ever necessary—it’s just what you do for someone you care about, or when somebody needs it. So I’m grateful for that, and I appreciate that. And at the same time I’m so angry with you for just taking over the way you did. For pushing my opinion and wants aside, and making it clear you’d see to it I’d do what I was told.”

  “I’m clear on it, so I figured you and the feds should be.”

  She swung around. “Don’t think for one minute you can—”

  “You’d better shut it down, Fiona.” His eyes flared hot, singed gold. “You’d better shut it down fast.” He took a step toward her. Nearby, Peck let out a quiet warning. Simon responded by jerking his head, aiming a hard look, pointing a finger for silence.

  The dog sat instantly but kept watchful.

  “You want to go off on me, then you get in line. You can go on your I-can-take-care-of-myself routine all you want. I don’t give a rat’s rabid ass because you’re not doing it yourself this time, so just swallow that one down. You can tell me I’m stupid for not leaving my damn toothbrush in the bathroom, and I’ve got to give that to you. I’m telling you, you’re brain-dead if you think you can decide all the rest on your own. That’s not how it works.”

  “I never said—”

  “Shut up. This bullshit about not telling me some reporter came by to hassle you because you put it aside? Don’t pull that on me again. You don’t put things aside, not like
this.”

  “I didn’t—”

  “I’m not fucking done. You don’t run this show. I don’t know how you worked it before with your cop, but this is now. You’re dealing with me now. You’d better think about that, and if you can’t deal with it, you let me know. We’ll leave it that we just fuck when we’re both in the mood, and move on.”

  She felt her face go cold and stiff as the blood drained. “That’s harsh, Simon.”

  “Damn right it is. You’ve got clients coming, and I’ve got work to do.” He strode away as a couple of cars drove across her bridge.

  Jaws, obviously tuned in to his master’s mood, leaped quickly into the truck.

  “I didn’t get my turn,” Fiona muttered, then tried some deep breathing to center herself before greeting her clients.

  NINETEEN

  Fiona deliberately scheduled a solo behavioral correction as her last client of the day. She often thought of those sessions as attitude adjustments—and not just for the dog.

  The fluffy orange Pom, Chloe—all four pounds of her—ruled over her owners, reportedly wreaked havoc in her neighborhood, yipping, snarling and lunging hysterically at other dogs, cats, birds, kids, and occasionally tried to take a Pom-sized chunk out of whatever crossed her path when she wasn’t in the mood for it.

  Struggling to crochet—her newest hobby—Sylvia sat on the porch with a pitcher of fresh lemonade and butter cookies while Fiona listened to the client repeat the gist of their phone consult.

  “My husband and I had to cancel our vacation this winter.” Lissy Childs stroked the ball of fur in her arms while that ball eyed Fiona suspiciously. “We couldn’t get anyone to take her for the week—or house-sit, if she was in it. She’s so sweet, really, and so adorable, but, well, she is incorrigible.”

  Lissy made kissy noises, and Chloe responded by shivering all over and lapping at Lissy’s face.

  Chloe, Fiona noted, wore a silver collar studded with multicolored rhinestones—at least she hoped they were just rhinestones—and pink booties, open at the toe to show off matching pink toenails.

  Both she and her human smelled of Vera Wang’s Princess.

  “She’s a year?”

  “Yes, she just had her very first birthday, didn’t you, baby doll?”

  “Do you remember when she started showing unsociable behavior?”

  “Well.” Lissy cuddled Chloe. The eye-popping square-cut diamond on her hand flared like fired ice, and Chloe made a point of showing Fiona her sharp, scissorlike teeth. “She’s really never liked other dogs, or cats. She thinks she’s a person, ’cause she’s my baby.”

  “She sleeps in your bed, doesn’t she?”

  “Well . . . yes. She has a sweet bed of her own, but she likes to use it as a toy box. She just loves squeaky toys.”

  “How many does she have?”

  “Oh . . . well.” Lissy had the grace to look sheepish as she flipped back her long blond mane. “I buy them for her all the time. I just can’t resist. And little outfits. She loves to dress up. I know I spoil her. Harry does, too. We just can’t resist. And really, she is a sweetheart. She’s just a little jealous and excitable.”

  “Why don’t you put her down?”

  “She doesn’t like me to put her down outside. Especially when . . .” She glanced over her shoulder where Oreo and Fiona’s dogs sprawled. “When other d-o-g-s are around.”

  “Lissy, you’re paying me to help Chloe become a happier, better-adjusted dog. What you’re telling me, and what I’m seeing, is that Chloe’s not only pack leader, she’s a four-pound dictator. Everything you’ve told me indicates she has a classic case of Small Dog Syndrome.”

  “Oh, my goodness! Does she need medication?”

  “She needs you to stop allowing her to lead, fostering the idea that because she’s little she’s permitted to engage in bad behavior you wouldn’t permit in a larger dog.”

  “Well, but, she is little.”

  “Size doesn’t change the behavior, or the reason a dog displays it.” Owners, Fiona thought, were all too often the biggest obstacle. “Listen, you can’t take her for a walk without stress, or have people over to your house. You told me you and Harry love to entertain, but haven’t been able to have a dinner party in months.”

  “It’s just that the last time we tried, it was so stressful with Chloe so upset that we had to put her in the bedroom.”

  “Where she destroyed your new duvet, among other things.”

  “It was awful.”

  “You can’t leave her to have an evening away without her having a tantrum, so you and your husband have stopped going out to dinner, to parties, to the theater. You said she bit your mother.”

  “Yes, it was just a nip really. She—”

  “Lissy, let me ask you something. I bet you’ve been on planes, or in the shops, a restaurant where a child’s been running wild, disturbing everyone, kicking the seat, arguing with his parents, creating a nuisance, whining, complaining and so on.”

  “God, yes.” She rolled her eyes as she spoke. “It’s so annoying. I don’t understand why . . . Oh.” Cluing in, Lissy blew out a breath. “I’m not being a responsible mommy.”

  “Exactly.” Or close enough. “Put her down.”

  The minute Chloe’s pink booties hit the ground, she leaped onto her hind legs, yipping, scrabbling at Lissy’s lovely linen pants.

  “Come on now, baby, don’t—”

  “No,” Fiona said. “Don’t give her that kind of attention when she’s misbehaving. You need to dominate. Show her who’s in charge.”

  “Stop that right now, Chloe, or no yummies on the way home.”

  “Not like that. First, stop thinking, But she’s so little and cute. Stop thinking about her size and think of her as a misbehaving dog. Here.” Fiona took the leash.

  “Step away,” she told Lissy, and positioned herself between them. Chloe yipped and snarled, attempted a quick lunge and nip.

  “Stop!” Voice firm, Fiona kept eye contact and shot a finger toward the dog. Chloe made grumbling sounds, but subsided.

  “She’s sulking,” Lissy said with indulgence.

  “If she was a Lab or a German shepherd sitting there growling, would it be cute?”

  Lissy cleared her throat. “No. You’re right.”

  “Spoiling her isn’t making her happy. It’s making her a bully, and bullies aren’t happy.”

  She began to walk the dog. Chloe struggled, trying to turn back to Lissy. Fiona simply shortened the leash, forcing Chloe to fall in line. “Once she understands there’s no reward, no affection shown for bad behavior, and that you’re in charge, she’ll stop. And be happier.”

  “I don’t want her to be a bully or unhappy. Honestly, that’s why I’m here. I’m just terrible at discipline.”

  “Then get better,” Fiona said flatly. “She depends on you. When she’s already excited and heading out of control, speak to her firmly, correct her quickly, don’t placate her in that high baby-talk voice. That only increases her level of stress. She wants you to take control, and you’ll all be happier once you do.”

  For the next ten minutes, Fiona worked with the dog, correcting and rewarding.

  “She listens to you.”

  “Because she understands I’m in charge, and she respects that. Her behavior problems are a result of how she’s been treated by the people around her, how she’s come to believe she should be treated and now demands to be treated.”

  “Spoiled.”

  “It’s not the squeaky toys, the yummies, the outfits. Why not indulge yourselves there if it makes all of you happy? It goes back to allowing, even encouraging, unacceptable behavior and giving her the controls. She goes on the attack with big dogs, right?”

  “All the time. And it was funny at first. You just had to laugh. Now it’s gotten a little scary every time we take her for a walk.”

  “She does it because you’ve made her pack leader. She has to defend that position every time she comes in cont
act with another dog, human, animal. It stresses her out.”

  “Is that why she goes on those barking jags? Because she’s stressed?”

  “That, and because she’s telling you what to do. People think of Poms as yappy dogs because their owners often allow them to become yappy dogs.”

  Not yapping now, Fiona thought as she stopped and Chloe sat and watched her with those almond-shaped eyes. “She’s relaxed now. I want you to do the same thing with her. Walk her back and forth. Stay in control.”

  Fiona led Chloe to Lissy, and the dog rose up to paw the air, to scrabble at Lissy’s legs.

  “Lissy,” Fiona said firmly.

  “Okay. Chloe, stop.”

  “Mean it!” Fiona ordered.

  “Chloe, stop!”

  Chloe sat, tipped her head from side to side as if evaluating.

  “Now walk her. Insist that she heel. She’s not walking you.”