No Escape. Meredith Fletcher
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were just friends.” Heath looked a little embarrassed, then hurt followed. “Actually, we were more than that. Janet was my FTO. Field training officer. She worked with me when I made detective. She got me started on my investigations, and she was there during some rough patches.”
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Yeah. Me, too.”
Outside the window behind Heath, street noises filtered in. People walked by. Cars passed on the streets, rubber squeaking on hot pavement. Someone upstairs was playing the television or a music system too loud.
“How old was she?”
Heath scowled. “What?”
“How old was your friend? If she trained you, she must have been older, right?”
“Eight years.”
“Making her forty or so.”
“About that.” Heath’s eyes narrowed, and he looked at her with increased interest. “Janet doesn’t fit on that victimology board because she called Gibson’s lawyers and left a message saying she knew what he was doing, that she was going to stop him.” Pain turned his voice hoarse for a moment. “I didn’t know till afterwards. The lawyers’ number turned up on her cell phone records.” He drew in a breath. “Gibson killed Janet to prove that he could do it under our noses and get away with it.” His voice turned hard. “But that’s not going to happen. He’s going to pay.”
Desperately, Lauren sought to turn the conversation away from Heath’s dead friend. She was afraid that he would shut down, and right now she wanted—needed—information about Megan’s death. “The other women on that—” she pointed at the rolled canvas “—are in their twenties.”
“Yeah.” Heath sat up a little straighter and looked as if he was regrouping. “They are. Like your sister. Gibson has a thing for younger women. He’s older—”
“Forty-three. I know.”
He focused on her with new intensity. “How do you know so much about him?”
“I know magic.”
“Sure you do.”
Still annoyed at Heath and wanting to wipe that smug look off his face, Lauren put her left hand to her temple and closed her eyes as she tilted her head back. “Think of your address.”
“You’re joking.”
“No. I’m going to read your mind.”
“You’re a mind reader? I didn’t know mind reading counted as magic.”
Using her right hand, Lauren palmed Heath’s driver’s license from the wallet she’d taken from him earlier. She opened her eyes, took her hand away, and looked at him. Then she gave the address she’d noticed on the driver’s license earlier.
He studied her with indolent eyes, not saying anything.
“Well, is that your address?”
For a moment, he didn’t say anything. The defenses went up. She saw that in the way he held his shoulders, the way he tilted his head to look at her. “How do you know so much about me?”
“Like I said, magic.” Lauren raised her right hand, palm forward so he couldn’t see the driver’s license trapped by its edge between her first two fingers.
“I’m not a big believer in magic.”
With a flourish, Lauren shook her hand and his driver’s license appeared at the end of her fingers. For a moment, Heath didn’t know what to say. Before he could recover, she flicked her wrist and sent the plastic rectangle spinning at him.
Surprisingly, like a cat snapping a moth out of the air, Heath caught the license in his left hand. After he perused the plastic rectangle, his eyes turned to slits. His free hand slid down to his pants pocket, then he looked shocked. “You picked my pocket and stole my wallet at the morgue.”
“I borrowed your wallet.” Lauren reached into her pocket and removed the article. She tossed it to him. Before she’d arrived at his hotel room, she’d photocopied all of the documents at her hotel and left the copies tucked away in her room. Heath knew a lot about her. It only seemed fair that she have the same opportunity.
With the same easy skill he’d shown in catching the license, Heath caught the wallet. He glanced through it quickly. Satisfied that everything was there, he shoved the wallet into his pocket. His eyes narrowed. “Picking pockets isn’t a skill most people have.”
“It’s just a riff on sleight of hand stuff. I work at a magic store.”
“Where?”
“In Chicago.”
“You sell magic tricks?”
“Yes. I guess you don’t know as much as you think you do, Detective Sawyer.” Lauren hated that Heath’s lack of knowledge about the field made the shop sound pedestrian. “But they’re not the kind of tricks you’ll find for some kid’s birthday party. Professional magicians come there to buy equipment, to talk with each other, and to design new illusions.”
Heath leaned his head back against the wall, relaxing a little, or maybe only providing a deception. “Has Gibson ever been there?”
“No.”
“Why? Is he that good?”
“I don’t know. The guy just appeared on the scene one day and streaked to the top of the heap. A lot of people want to know where Gibson learned his craft. If anyone knows, if anyone is helping craft his illusions, they’re not talking.”
A frown twisted Heath’s features. “People have been trying to figure that out?”
“Sure. The guy’s a celebrity in a field where secrets are prized. Every magician wants to know what’s in every other magician’s bag of tricks. Especially if that magician is as successful as Gibson. The fascination for magic only gets deeper if you’re actively involved in the field.”
“I’ll take your word on that.” Heath leaned forward in his chair, dropping his feet to the floor and resting his elbows on his knees. “You’ve never met Gibson?”
“No.”
“Your sister hadn’t, either? Until the other night?”
Lauren thought for a moment. “Not that I’m aware of.”
Heath nodded. “Somewhere, somehow, they crossed paths. I’d like to know if it was just here, or if it was somewhere else.”
“If nothing connects the victims you say Gibson has killed, what makes you so certain he is the killer?” Lauren couldn’t believe she was asking that question so calmly, but at the moment she felt dead inside. All of the hurt and pain was pushed back, waiting in the distance like gathering storm clouds. The anger was still there, though. She wanted to know who was responsible for what had happened to Megan.
“Janet and I talked about this case for weeks. I can’t even remember which of us came up with Gibson, or how we tripped to the fact that Gibson was playing in each of the cities where those victims were killed. We’d starting checking newspapers in those cities during the time periods of those murders. We found Gibson.”
“If you were looking in the newspapers, you probably found a lot of overlapping things.”
“We did. But Janet liked Gibson for it.”
“Why?”
Heath’s lips tightened for a moment. “She was good at what she did. She could make creative leaps that other detectives never got to. Sometimes you get a serial killer who kills over a wide range of areas. Usually he turns out to be a sales rep, or maybe a long-haul trucker. We even considered that, but nothing fell into place. Then we found Gibson. And everything fit. Especially the White Rabbit card.”
“Like