panting.
“And Mallory Malone here, Detective Jordan.”
“Mallory Malone?” He was astonished. She was the last person he expected to hear from.
“I hope the panting doesn’t mean I’ve caught you doing something you shouldn’t,” she added spikily.
Harry’s eyebrows shot up. “Ms. Malone, I hope you will never catch me doing something I shouldn’t. But then again, we may have different views on what I should and should not do.”
“I’m sure you’re right.” Her voice was crisp, even tart.
He grinned, enjoying her. “Thanks for calling me back. Just out of interest, how did you get my home number?”
“Never underestimate the power of a good research team.”
“In other words, it’s not what you know, it’s who you know.”
“Possibly. Meanwhile, why don’t you tell me about your problem?”
“More specifically, three problems, Ms. Malone. Three murders, all young college women in New England. The pattern is the same. They were abducted in a parking lot or quiet street at night and driven to a lonely place. Their hair was cut off. They were raped, then their wrists were slit, neatly and cleanly, as though with a surgical knife. They were left to die in pools of their own blood. The first in a derelict country farmhouse; the second, at a deserted boathouse on the river; and this last one on a remote beach. In the first two cases the women had been reported missing but their bodies were found only by chance several weeks later.
“The latest victim, Summer Young, had been studying late at the college library. She walked to the parking lot to pick up her car. She was abducted and driven to a lonely beach. But the beach wasn’t as lonely as the murderer expected.
“The attacker took off, but a pair of fishermen caught a brief glimpse of his face in the beam of their flashlight. From their quick impression of him, we managed to put together a photo-fit.”
She said, surprised, “You have a picture of him?”
“That’s right, ma’am.”
“It’s Ms. Malone,” she retorted, and he could hear the irritation in her voice. “I hate that word
ma’am,”
she added. “It makes me feel about a hundred years old.”
He said teasingly, “No one would ever believe you were a day over thirty-five, Ms. Malone.”
“Thanks a lot, detective.” Her voice was edged with ice. “I assume your own looks are standing up to the pressure of time and the pull of gravity. Meanwhile, let’s get back to Summer Young. I’ve been in London for the past week. I didn’t realize you had a photo-fit. I want to see it and talk more about the case. I’ll need to know all the facts you have. No holding back.”
“Then you’re interested in helping us?” Harry wasn’t joking around anymore.
“I’m interested in helping innocent victims and preventing more killings, detective. Not in helping the police do their job.”
Harry took that on the chin. “Yes, ma’am.
Ms. Malone
. Since our objectives are the same, I’m sure we can work together. Amicably.”
“Are you free tomorrow evening?”
“I can be. Just tell me the time and the place, and I’ll be there.”
“I’ll come to Boston,” she said, surprising him.
“There’s no need for that. I’ll come to you.”
He might not have spoken for all the interest she displayed. “I’ll take the seven o’clock shuttle from La Guardia. Is there a restaurant where we could meet?”
“Sure. Around the corner from the precinct house. Ruby’s, on Miller.”
“I’ll be there at eight thirty, detective.”
“I’ll look forward to meeting you, Ms. Malone.”
The phone clicked and the line went dead. “Like hell Iwill,” Harry muttered, running his hands through his thick dark hair.
Squeeze cocked his head to one side, tongue lolling, eyes alert. “They were right, Squeeze.” He ruffled his silver fur affectionately. “Ms. Malone
ma’am
is a toughie.”
9
R AIN BOUNCED from the slick sidewalk as Harry hurried around the corner to
“And Mallory Malone here, Detective Jordan.”
“Mallory Malone?” He was astonished. She was the last person he expected to hear from.
“I hope the panting doesn’t mean I’ve caught you doing something you shouldn’t,” she added spikily.
Harry’s eyebrows shot up. “Ms. Malone, I hope you will never catch me doing something I shouldn’t. But then again, we may have different views on what I should and should not do.”
“I’m sure you’re right.” Her voice was crisp, even tart.
He grinned, enjoying her. “Thanks for calling me back. Just out of interest, how did you get my home number?”
“Never underestimate the power of a good research team.”
“In other words, it’s not what you know, it’s who you know.”
“Possibly. Meanwhile, why don’t you tell me about your problem?”
“More specifically, three problems, Ms. Malone. Three murders, all young college women in New England. The pattern is the same. They were abducted in a parking lot or quiet street at night and driven to a lonely place. Their hair was cut off. They were raped, then their wrists were slit, neatly and cleanly, as though with a surgical knife. They were left to die in pools of their own blood. The first in a derelict country farmhouse; the second, at a deserted boathouse on the river; and this last one on a remote beach. In the first two cases the women had been reported missing but their bodies were found only by chance several weeks later.
“The latest victim, Summer Young, had been studying late at the college library. She walked to the parking lot to pick up her car. She was abducted and driven to a lonely beach. But the beach wasn’t as lonely as the murderer expected.
“The attacker took off, but a pair of fishermen caught a brief glimpse of his face in the beam of their flashlight. From their quick impression of him, we managed to put together a photo-fit.”
She said, surprised, “You have a picture of him?”
“That’s right, ma’am.”
“It’s Ms. Malone,” she retorted, and he could hear the irritation in her voice. “I hate that word
ma’am,”
she added. “It makes me feel about a hundred years old.”
He said teasingly, “No one would ever believe you were a day over thirty-five, Ms. Malone.”
“Thanks a lot, detective.” Her voice was edged with ice. “I assume your own looks are standing up to the pressure of time and the pull of gravity. Meanwhile, let’s get back to Summer Young. I’ve been in London for the past week. I didn’t realize you had a photo-fit. I want to see it and talk more about the case. I’ll need to know all the facts you have. No holding back.”
“Then you’re interested in helping us?” Harry wasn’t joking around anymore.
“I’m interested in helping innocent victims and preventing more killings, detective. Not in helping the police do their job.”
Harry took that on the chin. “Yes, ma’am.
Ms. Malone
. Since our objectives are the same, I’m sure we can work together. Amicably.”
“Are you free tomorrow evening?”
“I can be. Just tell me the time and the place, and I’ll be there.”
“I’ll come to Boston,” she said, surprising him.
“There’s no need for that. I’ll come to you.”
He might not have spoken for all the interest she displayed. “I’ll take the seven o’clock shuttle from La Guardia. Is there a restaurant where we could meet?”
“Sure. Around the corner from the precinct house. Ruby’s, on Miller.”
“I’ll be there at eight thirty, detective.”
“I’ll look forward to meeting you, Ms. Malone.”
The phone clicked and the line went dead. “Like hell Iwill,” Harry muttered, running his hands through his thick dark hair.
Squeeze cocked his head to one side, tongue lolling, eyes alert. “They were right, Squeeze.” He ruffled his silver fur affectionately. “Ms. Malone
ma’am
is a toughie.”
9
R AIN BOUNCED from the slick sidewalk as Harry hurried around the corner to
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