Dream Man (Page 72)

“I’m tough,” Dane replied, concealing his instant dread. “It might damage me, but it won’t kill me. For you, old buddy, anything.”

Trammell scowled, as if he had been hoping for more of a reaction, but turned and led the way through the empty rooms. Dane was frankly amazed at what had been accomplished in just four days. His grandmother had loved wallpaper, and every room in the house had sported a different pattern. The wallpaper was gone now, and in its place was fresh stucco, painted a soothing, mellow white. All of the interior doorways had been reframed into arches.

“It would look better if the exterior doors and the windows were arches,” Trammell said, “but changing them would cost a lot more money than you want to spend. The floor refinishers start tomorrow.”

Dane skidded to a halt, gaping at the hull of what had been his bathroom. “You’ve gutted it,” he blurted.

“Yeah. I hadn’t planned to do it, but the plumbing was fifty years old. It’ll cost you probably another thousand.”

“Damn it, the next time you feel the urge to spend another thousand or so of my money, ask me first!”

“If I’d asked, you’d have said no,” Trammell replied calmly. “Wait until I’m finished, and you’ll agree that it was worth the money.”

“It had betterbe,” Dane muttered. He sensed Trammell’s amusement, and knew his partner was getting back at him for being so gleeful about the impending marriage. He didn’t mind, much. He was glad Trammell had found someone as wonderful as Grace, though he understood exactly his partner’s sense of panic, as if his life had suddenly rocketed out of control.

He had felt that way himself since meeting Marlie. Things had happened too fast. Trammell and Grace had decided to get married, then set the date far enough in the future to give themselves time to settle down and be certain of their feelings. Dane hadn’t mentioned marriage or even love to Marlie, preferring to give himself the time before the commitment. Maybe what he felt for her wouldn’t last. It sure felt permanent, but maybe it wasn’t; time would tell. In the meantime, they were together, and in the end that was really all that mattered. He woke up with her every morning and went to bed with her every night. As long as he had that, he could wait for the rest.

He wasn’t certain how Marlie felt, either. There was passion, liking, companionship … maybe love. Who could tell? She had been under considerable stress from the first. When everything was settled down, then they would be able to tell more about their relationship. For the first time he considered marriage a possibility, and that in itself was a huge step for him.

It would all have to wait, though. There was a killer to catch, a plan to put into action, and he had to protect Marlie while he did it. And if he had learned anything about Marlie in the time he had been with her, it was that she wasn’t going to like his plan worth a damn.

17

LOWERY CALLED FIRST THING MONDAY MORNING, ASKING them to come over immediately. He had just returned from Quantico with the character profile.

The day was hot and clear and sticky, with the temperature already in the mid-eighties, predicted to reach the high nineties, and the humidity there already. Dane hadn’t slept well the entire weekend, probably because Marlie hadn’t. She had been restless, able to doze for only short periods before jerking awake. The strain of the weekend, waiting for a vision of murder to appear, had left her pale and withdrawn, with dark circles of fatigue under her eyes. He had spent long hours cuddling her, letting her know that she wasn’t alone even if he couldn’t prevent the vision, if it came. It hadn’t.

How much more of this could she take? She was under so much stress, both physically and emotionally, that he was afraid for her. A lot of people would have broken under the strain, years ago. She hadn’t, which was a testimony to her strength; Marlie wasn’t a delicate flower, wilting at any hardship. Despite the finely drawn lines of her too thin body, she was remarkably sturdy. But even an oak tree could be felled, and he was worried.

Trammell was showing strain, too, probably from terror of his impending nuptials. He and Dane barely spoke on the way over to the Bureau, each of them absorbed in his own worries.

Freddie and Worley were already there, as was Bonness. DiLeonardo was present, with that besotted look on his face again as he maneuvered around the conference table for a seat next to Freddie.

Lowery was freshly shaved but was more rumpled than usual, making Dane think that he had truly just arrived from Virginia, on the early-bird flight.

“The ISU really worked on this,” he said quietly. “You’re to be congratulated on noticing the pattern so quickly, but catching this guy isn’t going to be easy. He’s the worst kind of killer, the Bundy type. He’s as cold as ice; he’s intelligent, resourceful, and totally without a shred of guilt.

“I have a list of similar murders: slashings, no suspects, no evidence. It’s possible some of them were done by the same guy. Some of them are impossible, because they took place at roughly the same time on opposite sides of the country as some of the other murders, but there’s no way of telling which one to eliminate.

“The murders started approximately ten years ago. ISU puts his age in the early to mid-thirties. Most serial killers start killing in their early twenties. But ten years of successful killings means he’s going to be very hard to apprehend; he’s experienced, he has learned from his mistakes and perfected his crime. He knows what he’s doing. He has studied forensics and police procedure, and he’s very careful to leave no identifiable evidence behind.”