approach. “Who killed poor Lizzie? The neighbor with the motorcycle?” When the agent didn’t answer right away, she felt a twinge of foreboding. “Justin? Who was it?”
“The kid.”
“Pardon?” It didn’t make any sense for a moment, then she realized he was referring to the victim’s fourteen-year-old brother, Randy, and she gasped the boy’s name in disbelief.
“Yeah. It’s been rough all around,” the operative confirmed. “As if that family didn’t already have enough grief.”
Kristie was shaking her head, still stunned. “When you say he confessed, what exactly do you mean?”
“I mean he did it. He told us he did it. He’s racked with guilt, Essie. They had to sedate him, and even then, he was a mess. It was one of the most painful things I’ve ever had to witness.”
“Oh, Justin. How horrible.”
“It was an accident. The kids had an argument, then Randy pushed her, and she hit her head. When he realized she wasn’t breathing, he panicked and threw her in the river. They’re dragging it again as we speak, so it’s only a matter of time.”
Kristie struggled not to picture how Lizzie Rodriguez’s little body would look after six days in icy water. The poor, sweet angel…
“This is so awful, Justin. Do you know what made Randy decide to confess? It’s been almost a week. Why today?”
“I asked him that. And he said…” The agent’s voice trailed into silence.
“Justin? What’s wrong?”
“Tell me why Coach Horton was your top suspect.”
“Pardon?”
He exhaled audibly. “I spent the whole day at the school, conducting another round of useless interviews. Just when I was leaving, Randy approached me and said he wanted to turn himself in. I was surprised, because I had been watching him in the cafeteria during lunch. He was talking to his friends, and it was the first time I’d seen him look halfway relaxed since—well, since I got here. I remember thinking to myself, the days are probably getting a little easier, but I bet the nights are still a bitch. Missing his baby sister. Hearing his mom cry.”
“Go on.”
“I even mentioned it to the vice principal—that the kid’s mood seemed to be improving. And she said the staff were all trying to be sensitive and supportive. To be aware but not crowd him. Then she said she saw Horton take him aside after lunch—probably to do that very thing. You know, give him moral support. Horton’s a part-time guidance counselor as well as the track coach, you know, so it made sense.”
“Randy talked to the coach this afternoon? And then out of the blue…?” Kristie stopped herself from finishing the sentence, prompting the agent instead. “So? What did he say when you asked him ‘Why today?’”
“He said Coach Horton reminded him that he was just a kid. That he shouldn’t carry his grief inside. That no matter what he said or did, his teachers and parents and community cared and would support him. It made sense, Essie.”
“It still does,” she assured the agent. “That’s just the kind of thing a really good guidance counselor would say. I just didn’t think…”
“You didn’t think Horton was a ‘really good’ one? Why not?”
She took a deep breath, then admitted, “Instinct, pure and simple. I’ll admit he didn’t fit the profile in several key respects. At least, no more than any of the other men the cops questioned. But there were those two years of his life, in his late twenties, when he suddenly didn’t have a real job. I just kept coming back to that.”
“His mother was dying. Emphysema, right? She needed him to come home. And she had enough retirement money so he could afford to help her full-time. That’s what the file said. His relatives and neighbors made it sound like he was a frigging saint,” Justin added, his tone slightly frantic. “But you don’t think so? Is that it? You think…what?”
“I guess I don’t think anyone’s a saint,” Kristie admitted. “And I don’t think twenty-eight-year-old men who’ve been holding themselves out as Mr. Macho for years suddenly quit their jobs and break their engagement to their high-school sweetheart and move home to play nursemaid for two whole years—no matter how sick their mom is—unless there’s something else going on.”
“Geez, Essie, don’t say that.” Justin heaved an exaggerated sigh, then muttered, “Okay, say it. Your gut instinct has been flawless in every case we’ve worked together. Almost eerie. So…?”
Her heart was pounding again. “Either I’m right or I’m wrong. Obviously. But if I’m right—”
“If you’re right, Lizzie might still be alive? That’s what you’re thinking? Based on what?”
“Horton wants the search directed elsewhere. Away from him. Buying himself more time—more time to spend with Lizzie. He doesn’t really think he’s going to get away with it, but he wants it to last as long as possible. It’s right there in his file, Justin. I see it, even though I can’t explain it.” Kristie’s voice almost cracked with desperation. “He’s not finished yet, Justin. We still have time.”
“Damn, Essie, I want that to be true.”
“I know you do. Her big brother does, too. So—” She took a deep breath, then exhaled and instructed him briskly, “Just do exactly what I say.”
Kristie had promised Justin Russo she’d wait a full half hour before putting their plan into action, allowing plenty of time for him to smuggle a phone into Randy’s room at the juvenile detention center. The agent was risking his case by putting her in touch with a detainee without alerting defense counsel, and was probably risking his career as well, all because of his faith in a woman he had never met.
Now it was up to Kristie. Or rather, up to Melissa Daniels. Because Kristie Hennessy definitely intended to delegate this particular assignment to her red-haired counterpart. Melissa had gotten her this great job, and had been a virtual operative for several of her most challenging assignments. Now she was going to crack this kidnapping case.
The spinner propped three pictures on a shelf in front of the phone for inspiration. The first was a photo of fourteen-year-old Randy Rodriguez, a typical boy with bravado to spare, yet gentleness behind his soft brown eyes. According to all reports, Randy had played hero in his five-year-old sister’s life since the very day she’d been born.
Little Lizzie Rodriguez. She had the same brown eyes and dark hair as her brother and was just as adorable. Staring back at Kristie from the second photo, her eyes danced as playfully as the teddy-bear emblem on her pink polo shirt.
Each of those photos was an inspiration, but given the chutzpah needed for this endeavor, Kristie focused on the third picture—a computer-generated image of Melissa Daniels. Long legs and a perfect body, cut-and-pasted from the Internet and clad in black leather. Luxurious red curls framing a face that was based on Kristie’s, but with shamrock-green eyes, sharper cheekbones and a sinfully generous mouth, all accentuated by sultry makeup and a saucy smile.
When she was just about as psyched up as she could hope to be, Kristie glanced at
