where she was for several minutes, just staring out at the road. Then she walked back to the porch steps, sat. And sat.
So he’d make the excuses, Simon decided. Easy enough. Just remembered something I have to do. Dog’s coming along, blah, blah, see you.
He crossed toward her, pleased it only took a couple of tugs to have the pup fall in line. And as he approached, he saw she was dead white, and the hands clutched on her knees trembled lightly.
Crap.
With walking casually away no longer an option, he scooped up the puppy before Jaws could try to leap into her lap.
“Bad news,” he said.
“What?”
“The deputy brought bad news. Is Sylvia all right?”
“Yes. It’s not about Sylvia.”
Her dogs, sensing her mood, clustered around her. The big yellow Lab rested his head on her knee.
“Ah . . . we should . . .”
He watched her struggle to pull herself out of whatever hole she’d fallen into.
“We should work on sit and stay.”
“Not today.”
She looked up at him then, but he couldn’t translate what clouded her eyes. Grief ? Fear? Shock?
“No,” she agreed, “not today. Sorry.”
“No problem. I’ll see you next time.”
“Simon.” She drew a breath as he hesitated. “Would you mind . . . Could you stay for a while?”
He wanted to say no—wished he had it in him to say no. Maybe he’d have found it in him if it hadn’t been so obvious it was as hard for her to ask as for him to agree.
“All right.”
“Why don’t you let him run awhile. The big guys’ll watch him. Play,” she said as Simon unclipped the leash. “Stay close. Close,” she repeated, stroking fur. “Watch Jaws, go play.”
They whined a little, and each glanced back at her as they started into the yard.
“They know I’m upset. They’d rather stay until I’m not. You’d rather go.”
He sat beside her. “Yeah. I’m not much good at this kind of thing.”
“Not much good’s better than no good.”
“Okay. I guess you want to tell me the bad news.”
“I guess I do. It’ll get around the island anyway.”
Still, for a few moments she said nothing at all, then seemed to gather herself.
“Several years ago there was a series of abduction murders. Young women, ranging from eighteen to twenty-three. They were all college students, twelve of them over a three-year period. California, Nevada, Oregon, New Mexico, Washington state were either abduction sites or burial sites—or both.”
It rang a bell somewhere, dimly, but he said nothing.
“They were all the same type—not physically, as he crossed races and coloring, but basic body types and all college students, athletic, outdoorsy, outgoing. He’d stalk them for weeks once he’d chosen a target. Sometimes longer. Meticulous, patient, he’d record their routines, habits, wardrobe, friends, family, schedules. He used a tape recorder and kept a notebook. All of them either jogged or hiked or biked routinely. Habitually.”
She drew another breath and made him think of someone preparing to execute a surface dive in murky water.
“He preferred women who went out alone, early morning or dusk. He approached from the opposite direction—just another jogger, another hiker. And when he closed in, he used a stun gun to take them down. While they were incapacitated, he carried them to his car. He had the trunk lined with plastic so there’d be no trace on the bodies, and no trace of them in the trunk.”
“Thorough,” Simon said, thinking out loud.
“Yes. Very.” She continued briskly, without inflection, like a woman giving a report she knew by rote. “He bound them with nylon cord, gagged them with duct tape, then gave them a mild sedative to keep them under, keep them quiet. He’d drive to a national park. He’d already have the spot picked out. While the search went on for her, in the area she’d been abducted, he was hours away, forcing this groggy, terrified woman to walk, through the dark, off the trail.”
Now her voice
So he’d make the excuses, Simon decided. Easy enough. Just remembered something I have to do. Dog’s coming along, blah, blah, see you.
He crossed toward her, pleased it only took a couple of tugs to have the pup fall in line. And as he approached, he saw she was dead white, and the hands clutched on her knees trembled lightly.
Crap.
With walking casually away no longer an option, he scooped up the puppy before Jaws could try to leap into her lap.
“Bad news,” he said.
“What?”
“The deputy brought bad news. Is Sylvia all right?”
“Yes. It’s not about Sylvia.”
Her dogs, sensing her mood, clustered around her. The big yellow Lab rested his head on her knee.
“Ah . . . we should . . .”
He watched her struggle to pull herself out of whatever hole she’d fallen into.
“We should work on sit and stay.”
“Not today.”
She looked up at him then, but he couldn’t translate what clouded her eyes. Grief ? Fear? Shock?
“No,” she agreed, “not today. Sorry.”
“No problem. I’ll see you next time.”
“Simon.” She drew a breath as he hesitated. “Would you mind . . . Could you stay for a while?”
He wanted to say no—wished he had it in him to say no. Maybe he’d have found it in him if it hadn’t been so obvious it was as hard for her to ask as for him to agree.
“All right.”
“Why don’t you let him run awhile. The big guys’ll watch him. Play,” she said as Simon unclipped the leash. “Stay close. Close,” she repeated, stroking fur. “Watch Jaws, go play.”
They whined a little, and each glanced back at her as they started into the yard.
“They know I’m upset. They’d rather stay until I’m not. You’d rather go.”
He sat beside her. “Yeah. I’m not much good at this kind of thing.”
“Not much good’s better than no good.”
“Okay. I guess you want to tell me the bad news.”
“I guess I do. It’ll get around the island anyway.”
Still, for a few moments she said nothing at all, then seemed to gather herself.
“Several years ago there was a series of abduction murders. Young women, ranging from eighteen to twenty-three. They were all college students, twelve of them over a three-year period. California, Nevada, Oregon, New Mexico, Washington state were either abduction sites or burial sites—or both.”
It rang a bell somewhere, dimly, but he said nothing.
“They were all the same type—not physically, as he crossed races and coloring, but basic body types and all college students, athletic, outdoorsy, outgoing. He’d stalk them for weeks once he’d chosen a target. Sometimes longer. Meticulous, patient, he’d record their routines, habits, wardrobe, friends, family, schedules. He used a tape recorder and kept a notebook. All of them either jogged or hiked or biked routinely. Habitually.”
She drew another breath and made him think of someone preparing to execute a surface dive in murky water.
“He preferred women who went out alone, early morning or dusk. He approached from the opposite direction—just another jogger, another hiker. And when he closed in, he used a stun gun to take them down. While they were incapacitated, he carried them to his car. He had the trunk lined with plastic so there’d be no trace on the bodies, and no trace of them in the trunk.”
“Thorough,” Simon said, thinking out loud.
“Yes. Very.” She continued briskly, without inflection, like a woman giving a report she knew by rote. “He bound them with nylon cord, gagged them with duct tape, then gave them a mild sedative to keep them under, keep them quiet. He’d drive to a national park. He’d already have the spot picked out. While the search went on for her, in the area she’d been abducted, he was hours away, forcing this groggy, terrified woman to walk, through the dark, off the trail.”
Now her voice
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