“Hey!” A patrolman ran around the van. He screeched to a stop when he took in the scene. “Jesus fucking Christ.” His gun was drawn, though it hung limply out in front of him. “What the fuck did you broads do?”

“Amanda.” Evelyn’s voice was stilted, as if it hurt to talk. She said, “The girl.”

twenty-six

Present Day

WEDNESDAY

News vans and reporters scurried like ants on the outer motor court of the Four Seasons. This wasn’t just a hotel. High-priced lawyers and money managers filled the office spaces on the upper levels. The residence floors were packed with the rich and famous. Rap singers. TV reality stars. Fame-seeking socialites.

Crime scene tape had been strung along the marble fountain fronting Fourteenth Street. Someone noticed that Faith’s turn signal was on. The reporters thronged forward. Will could hear their questions shouted through the closed window. What happened? Why are you here? Can you tell us who the victim is?

They would get the story soon enough. A woman murdered in a high-class hotel room. A paroled killer on the loose. There was not one part of the city this crime didn’t touch, from the mayor’s office to the Convention and Visitors Bureau.

Will had seen these stories spin out of control before. Every salacious detail would be discussed and analyzed. Rumors would be fed into the machine and regurgitated as fact. The obvious questions would be asked: Who did he kill? Why was he released? The Sunshine Law would be invoked. Files would be photocopied and couriered and Sam Lawson, Faith’s ex who worked at the newspaper, would probably be on CNN before night fell.

“Crap,” Faith mumbled, nosing her Mini up to the police barricade. The car shook as reporters jockeyed for position. She flashed her badge at the cop on duty.

“The BMW, too,” Faith told him, pointing to Sara’s car behind them.

The cop made a note on his clipboard, then pushed his way through the crowd to lift the barricade.

A reporter knocked on Faith’s window. She mumbled, “Asshole,” as she rolled the car forward. She hadn’t said much on the ride over. Will didn’t know if that was because she didn’t know what to say or because Amanda was playing her usual game of hide the details.

Another body. Same M.O. His father nowhere to be found. The new victim was a prostitute. Will knew this with absolute certainty. It was his father’s pattern. First a student, then a working girl. He didn’t get rid of one unless he had another to take her place.

Will turned around to check for Sara. The BMW followed them inside the barricade. His Sig Sauer was still under her front seat. She wasn’t going to stop him this time. Amanda could put fifty guards on Will and he’d still grab the gun and find his father and shoot him in the head.

Exactly as he should’ve done last night. This morning. Last week.

So many opportunities missed. His father had lived in this hotel for two months, and he’d somehow managed to come and go with no one being the wiser. He’d managed to abduct two girls. He’d managed to dump one at Techwood and murder another one in his hotel room. All while the police, hotel security, and undercover agents were supposedly watching his every move.

If that bastard could give them the slip, then so could Will. He was nothing if not his father’s son.

Faith jerked up the handbrake as she parked behind Amanda’s G-ride. Will got out of the car. Sara’s BMW stopped in front of two Atlanta police cruisers. There were just as many cops on scene as reporters. He had to push past two uniformed patrolmen to open Sara’s door for her. The cameras flashed as she got out of the car. She crossed her arms self-consciously. She was dressed in her yoga pants and his shirt. Hardly work attire. Will took the opportunity to reach in behind her and retrieve his gun from under the seat.

Except the gun wasn’t there.

When he looked up, Sara was staring at him.

“Dr. Linton,” Amanda said. “Thank you for coming.”

Sara shut the car door. She locked it with the key fob, which she put in her shirt pocket. “Is Pete on the way?”

“No. He’s testifying in court this morning.” Amanda motioned for them to follow her inside. “I appreciate your coming on such short notice. It would behoove us all to get this body quickly removed.”

A patrolman opened the side door. There was a whoosh as the air pressure changed. Will had never been inside the hotel before. The lobby was opulent in its excesses. Every surface was a different color of marble. A large staircase dominated the center of the room, splitting into two opposite sides as it reached the second floor. The treads were carpeted. The handrails were polished brass. The chandelier overhead looked as if a crystal factory had exploded.

The setting would’ve been impressive but for the fact that every shade and variety of police officer filled the lobby. Plainclothes division. Uniformed patrol. Special agents from the GBI. Even a couple of women from vice were there, their gold detective’s shields looking incongruous against their skimpy attire.

Amanda told Faith, “Security is pulling footage from the last twenty-four hours. I need you to expedite that.”

Faith nodded, heading toward the front desk.

Sara asked, “Have you identified the victim?”

“Yes.” Amanda motioned over Jamal Hodge. “Detective, if you could please clear out all but the bare minimum of your people?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He walked over to the crowd and raised his arms for attention. Will tuned out the man. He watched Amanda instead. She adjusted the sling on her shoulder as she gave orders to one of the hotel rent-a-cops.

Sara asked, “What is it?”

Will didn’t answer. He scanned the lobby, trying to find a senior Atlanta Police officer. No Leo Donnelly. No Mike Geary, the captain in charge of this zone.

Amanda took over the case, Will realized. It didn’t make sense. As far as the Atlanta Police Department knew, a dead prostitute had nothing to do with a kidnapped student. He asked Amanda, “What happened?”

Amanda indicated the rent-a-cop. He was in an expensive-looking charcoal suit, but the radio in his hand gave him away. “This is Bob McGuire, head of hotel security. He called it in.”

Will shook the man’s hand. McGuire was too young to be a retired cop, but he seemed fairly collected considering what had fallen into his lap. He led them toward the elevator, saying, “I got the call from the kitchen this morning. The room service girl said that he wasn’t responding to her knock.”

Amanda explained, “He’s been adhering to a regular schedule.”

The elevator doors opened. Will stood back to let Sara and Amanda on first.

McGuire said, “He’s been staying here for two months.” He waved a keycard over the panel, then pressed the button for the nineteenth floor. “We can track his movements in and out of the room through the software on the door lock. His schedule’s been roughly the same since he got here. Room service at six in the morning, then the gym, then he goes back to his room, then he orders room service at noon.” He tucked his hands into his pockets. “Once or twice a week, he uses our restaurant for dinner, or eats at the bar. Most nights, he orders room service at six o’clock. Then we don’t hear from him until six the next morning.”

Amanda noted, “He’s keeping to his prison schedule.”