“Do you want us to call our department or the FBI, get more officers—”

“No,” Rudkowski said. “For the time being, I want to keep this under wraps.”

He didn’t want to appear more of a buffoon than he already did. He’d jumped the chain and placed a call to the SAC of the field office in Columbia, asking him to call him back on a matter of some urgency. He didn’t know whether to look forward to speaking with him and alerting him to Easton’s latest chicanery or to fear the flak he himself would catch for being outwitted again.

Left alone now with Locke, he said, “Show me around.”

“We don’t have a warrant yet.”

“We have a material witness who has skipped out to avoid being questioned.”

“That hasn’t been ascertained.”

“She ran off dressed in pajamas. Wouldn’t you say that indicates flight?”

“Or coercion,” Locke said.

“Which Easton is more than capable of, and, ethically, he’s not above it. But there were four other men on this property. If he was forcing her, why didn’t she scream bloody murder? There’s no sign of a tussle. No, detective, she left of her own volition. Now show me around.”

They went upstairs. From the master bedroom window, Locke pointed out the garage apartment. “There’s a window behind that oak. Easton had a good vantage point. He could surveil them without being seen.”

Rudkowski snorted. “If you call window-peeping and illegal bugging surveillance.”

Locke turned tight-jawed but didn’t comment.

They walked through the rooms on both floors, finding nothing of particular interest. They concluded the tour in a small room behind the main staircase. “Mrs. Ford’s study,” Locke explained. “When she came to the door for us last night, she left her shoes in here. I came to get them for her.”

“Do you extend that kind of courtesy to every murder suspect?”

“We didn’t know then that it was a murder. She wasn’t a suspect.”

“Well, it was, and now she is.”

Menundez joined them. “I called the numbers I have for Mallory and Lewis. They go to voice mail.”

“Um-huh. You still think signals got mixed?” Rudkowski huffed a sardonic laugh. “Apparently you haven’t absorbed what I’ve told you. Easton is Peter Pan. Lewis and Mallory are the lost boys. They weren’t always. They were good agents. Lewis has always been a nerd, but Mallory actually did field work before he turned to blubber.

“Then the two started working with Easton. He recruited them with flattery, told them he needed men with their individual and unique skills. He’s corrupted them. They have no families, no social life, no nothing. Their world revolves around him. They would walk through fire for him. They have.”

“Because they believe in what he’s doing,” Menundez said. “It seemed to me that they’re every bit as committed as Easton.”

The young detective’s admiration of the three inflamed Rudkowski. “Committed to breaking rules, yes.”

“Sir, regardless of their methods, the perp is real. They’ve gleaned a lot of—”

“Save it, Menundez,” Rudkowski snapped. “For years Easton’s been piecing together a scenario and molding it to fit an imaginary bogeyman.” He spread his arms at his sides. “He doesn’t even have the bodies to prove the women are dead.”

In contrast to his shout, Locke’s voice was low. “The Harris woman in Key West is dead. You can’t deny the parallels between her case and Elaine Conner.”

“That photo, right? With the fuzzy-haired guy in the background? And in the foreground—as has recently been brought to my attention—Talia Shafer Ford. We can’t confirm that the man in the picture is Jasper, but we can sure as hell tell it’s her. Two friends of hers, both rich, both dead.

“I’m not saying that the Marian Harris case and this one aren’t connected. I’m saying these two aren’t connected to any of Easton’s others. What’s the common denominator here, fellas?” He snapped his fingers several times as though to hurry them to provide an answer.

“Talia Shafer. Maybe her old man drowned after killing the Conner woman. Maybe a shark got him. Or maybe he escaped and left her holding the bag. However it happened, she was in on it.”

“I’m not convinced of that, Agent Rudkowski,” Locke said.

“Well, if we get a search warrant for this house, maybe we’ll dig up something that will convince you. Twist that judge’s arm. Send those rookies outside home. They’re useless. Easton is long gone.”

“His car is still here.”

“He’s long gone,” he repeated. “Even after everything I’ve told you, it still hasn’t sunk in, has it? You’ve never come up against somebody like him, and, in your career, you probably never will again.”

He divided a look between them, but ended on Menundez. “Keep in mind that his preoccupation is psychopaths.” He stabbed his temple with the tip of his index finger. “He thinks like they do. He’s cunning, unprincipled, egotistical, and relentless.”

He let that hover, then said, “Find him, you’ll find your suspect. You’ll have all the help you need from the bureau. I look forward to reading Easton’s eloquent resignation letter to the SAC in Columbia. He’ll be pleased. Easton has built a reputation for himself through the rank and file. He’s been a blight on the FBI for more than a decade.”

He moved to the doorway. “Call the judge back and tell him we need that warrant. While we’re waiting on it, we can grab some lunch.” He turned to go, then stopped and came back around. “Does Mrs. Ford look like her picture? Young? Fair of face and form?”

The two detectives consulted each other with an exchanged look, then Locke spoke for both of them. “You could say.”

Rudkowski snuffled. “Easton’s got the devil’s own luck with pussy.”

Drex sensed that Talia was about to utter a sound of protest over Rudkowski’s vulgarity. He stopped it by placing his finger lengthwise over her lips. Even the slightest sound, an intake of breath, could have given away their hiding place.

Chapter 27

It had been agony to remain perfectly still and silent for the duration of Rudkowski’s conversation with the pair of detectives, especially when listening to the harsh things he’d said about Gif and Mike.

Drex was glad to hear his stamping footsteps moving out of the study and down the hall. As soon as he was out of earshot, Menundez said something under his breath in Spanish. Locke asked him for a translation. What he’d said was unflattering to Rudkowski and his ancestry, but less of an insult than the jerk deserved.

The two detectives remained in the study while Locke called the judge, who must have been unavailable. The detective said, “Tell him there’s been a development. Ask him to call me back. Thank you.”

After a pause, Menundez asked, “Where do you think they went?”

“You’ll have to be more specific.”

“Mallory and Lewis.”

“On a mission for Easton.”