Madman on a Drum (Mac McKenzie #5)

“No.”

“We were never even in the same district,” I said. “When I was working out of Central, Bobby was in the Western District. When he was working Central, I was in the Eastern District. We never worked the same cases. We were never in on the same busts.”

“Never?”

Bobby’s voice was filled with frustration. “How many times do we have to say it?” he said.

Honsa stepped between Harry and Bobby. He was still smiling his reassuring smile. “The unsub knows you both from somewhere,” he said.

The unidentified subject. Yeah, think about him, I told myself. Don’t think about Victoria. If you think about her—everything had happened so fast since I entered the house that I hadn’t had time to get my head around it. Not the way Shelby and Bobby had. That was probably for the best. If I thought about it—I was the one who taught Victoria how to keep her hands back while waiting for a pitch, taught her how to stride into the ball as she swung the bat…

I looked at the hardwood staircase leading upstairs.

“I’ll be right back,” I said.

I was surprised at how loudly the steps creaked under my weight. The house, so alive throughout my life, now felt silent and empty. You wouldn’t think a four-foot-eleven girl could take up that much space, but she had. In Victoria’s absence every sound, every conversation now reverberated like an echo in an abandoned mine.

I peeked into the room at the top of the stairs. Katie and Shelby were lying in Katie’s bed. Katie was asleep in her mother’s arms. Shelby gave me a head shake, warning me not to speak. I nodded in return. Big, prominent, solemn green eyes stared back at me. If I had not known her, I would never have guessed that those eyes had ever winked at anything, had ever smiled.

I continued down the corridor to Victoria’s room. There were posters on the walls. Angelina Jolie as Lady Lara Croft in the Tomb Raider movies and Jennifer Garner as Elektra—both armed to the teeth, both kicking butt. The bed was unmade. Along with the floor, dresser, and chairs, it was littered with clothes, some washed, some unwashed. Books and magazines with the creased, smudged look of the heavily read were scattered among them. At least two dozen stuffed animals— dusty and neglected—were heaped in a mesh hammock stretched high across one corner of the bedroom. Beneath the hammock was a small desk stacked with books. Perched precariously on top of the books were a soccer ball, shin guards, and soccer cleats. Draped over the back of the desk chair was a nylon jersey, number 4. Four had been Bobby’s number growing up and playing baseball and hockey. Katie wore number 3. That had been my number.

The room breathed uneasily. The window curtains moved in and flattened against the screen and then billowed out with the breeze. Outside the window, children danced on the hills of Merriam Park. They were probably wondering when Victoria and Katie were coming out to play. I could almost feel the passing of time as I watched the children, could hear the snap, snap, snap it made as each second was stretched to its limit.

“This, believe it or not, is Victoria’s idea of clean,” a voice said behind me. “I swear, that girl…”

Shelby closed her eyes and went far away without moving from where she stood just inside the doorway. When she returned, she smiled slightly and said, “It’s always something, isn’t it?”

“What is it they say? If you want to make God laugh, tell Him your plans.”

She cautioned me with a wave of her finger. “I’m not a big fan of God right now,” she said. “I pray and pray and nothing happens.”

Shelby slowly sat down, her back against Victoria’s dresser. I had often accused her of being the most beautiful woman I knew. Not today. Today she looked like she had been trampled in a stampede.

I found an empty spot on the floor and sat across from her, leaning against the wall beneath Angelina.

“Katie’s asleep,” Shelby said. “The FBI agent downstairs, what’s his name?”

“Honsa?”

“He says that a wave of sleepiness can wash over you in a crisis. I don’t know why that is, but I believe it. I’m exhausted.”

“Maybe you should try to get some sleep.”

“Sleep, perchance to dream. What dreams may come, do you think, McKenzie, if I should sleep?”

“They could give you something…”

“Do you think I’m going to take drugs to make me sleep, to make me feel better, when, when my daughter—”

“Shelby—”

“Why is this happening to us?” Her voice was jagged yet clear. “Why did they take my girl?”

“For the money.”

“There are a lot of people with more money than we have. Just about everyone has more money than we have. So why us? Is it because of you, McKenzie? Did they kidnap my baby to get back at you, to get back at you through us? At first I thought it was Bobby, because he’s a cop. Then I heard the voice on the tape. One million dollars, they asked for. Get it from McKenzie, they said.”