the ice cream.”
He looked up at her. “The ice cream?”
“He said she was eating a strawberry ice-cream cone that day in the park.”
“That detail has never been released to the press,” Joe murmured.
“Fraser knew it. He told the police that Bonnie had been eating a strawberry ice-cream cone.”
“He also described what she was wearing.”
“He could have found that out by reading the papers.”
“He knew about the birthmark on her back.”
Eve rubbed her aching temples. Joe was right. That was why they had been so sure that Fraser had killed her. Why had she been so sure? “He said he tricked Fraser into calling him back by saying he was a newspaper reporter and then fed him details. Is that possible?”
Joe thought about it. “It's possible. Fraser was giving interviews to anyone who would listen. It drove his defense attorney crazy. And no one would have known the substance of their conversation since Georgia has a law against taping without permission. Why would they have even tried to tape it? Fraser had already confessed to the murders. It was going to be an open-and-shut case.”
“None of the bodies he'd said he'd buried had been found.”
“That wasn't as important to them as it was to you.”
God, she knew that. It had been like beating her head against a wall to get them to keep on searching after the confession. “It should have been.”
Joe nodded. “But they had enough to send Fraser to the electric chair. Open and shut.”
“And the ice cream . . .”
“A lot of time has passed. The vendor might have told any number of people.”
“The police told him not to discuss it.”
Joe shrugged. “For some people the case was closed when Fraser was executed.”
“Okay, the vendor could have told someone. But what if he didn't? What if Fraser didn't kill her?”
“Eve . . .”
“What if that bastard who called me killed her? He stole her from the lab. Why would he do that, unless he—”
“Shh.” Joe brought her the fresh cup of coffee and sat down beside her again. “I don't know the answer to any of those questions. I'm just playing devil's advocate so we can strike a sane balance.”
“Why should we be sane? That son of a bitch who killed her can't be sane. You should have heard him. He loved hurting me. He kept hammering away at me until he drew blood.”
“Okay, let's talk about him. What about his voice? Young? Old?”
“I couldn't tell. He sounded like he was talking from the bottom of a well.”
“Mechanical distorter,” Joe said. “What about phrasing? Accent? Vocabulary? Slang?”
She tried to remember. It was difficult to separate the manner from the words that had caused her so much pain. “No accent. He seemed . . . well spoken. I think he's educated.” She shook her head wearily. “I don't know. I wasn't trying to analyze anything from the moment he mentioned Bonnie. I'll try to do better next time.”
“If there is a next time.”
“There will be. He was exhilarated. He said so. Why would he call me once and just leave it at that?” She started to take a sip of coffee, then stopped. “You have an unlisted number here. How did he get it?”
Joe shook his head. “I'm more concerned that he found you.”
“Guesswork?”
“Possibly.” He paused. “We have to consider that he still may be some kid at the university playing a nasty joke on you.”
She shook her head.
“Okay, then there's the possibility that he was the murderer of those people at Talladega. But he didn't kill Bonnie and wants to take credit for it as he accused Fraser of doing.”
“He knew about the ice cream.”
“Or he's one of those people who confess to every murder and had nothing to do with any of them.”
“We'll know soon enough about that one,” Eve whispered. “If they find those boys at Talladega.”
“They're searching now. I called Robert Spiro the minute I hung up with you.”
“Who's Robert Spiro?”
“An agent with the FBI Behavioral
He looked up at her. “The ice cream?”
“He said she was eating a strawberry ice-cream cone that day in the park.”
“That detail has never been released to the press,” Joe murmured.
“Fraser knew it. He told the police that Bonnie had been eating a strawberry ice-cream cone.”
“He also described what she was wearing.”
“He could have found that out by reading the papers.”
“He knew about the birthmark on her back.”
Eve rubbed her aching temples. Joe was right. That was why they had been so sure that Fraser had killed her. Why had she been so sure? “He said he tricked Fraser into calling him back by saying he was a newspaper reporter and then fed him details. Is that possible?”
Joe thought about it. “It's possible. Fraser was giving interviews to anyone who would listen. It drove his defense attorney crazy. And no one would have known the substance of their conversation since Georgia has a law against taping without permission. Why would they have even tried to tape it? Fraser had already confessed to the murders. It was going to be an open-and-shut case.”
“None of the bodies he'd said he'd buried had been found.”
“That wasn't as important to them as it was to you.”
God, she knew that. It had been like beating her head against a wall to get them to keep on searching after the confession. “It should have been.”
Joe nodded. “But they had enough to send Fraser to the electric chair. Open and shut.”
“And the ice cream . . .”
“A lot of time has passed. The vendor might have told any number of people.”
“The police told him not to discuss it.”
Joe shrugged. “For some people the case was closed when Fraser was executed.”
“Okay, the vendor could have told someone. But what if he didn't? What if Fraser didn't kill her?”
“Eve . . .”
“What if that bastard who called me killed her? He stole her from the lab. Why would he do that, unless he—”
“Shh.” Joe brought her the fresh cup of coffee and sat down beside her again. “I don't know the answer to any of those questions. I'm just playing devil's advocate so we can strike a sane balance.”
“Why should we be sane? That son of a bitch who killed her can't be sane. You should have heard him. He loved hurting me. He kept hammering away at me until he drew blood.”
“Okay, let's talk about him. What about his voice? Young? Old?”
“I couldn't tell. He sounded like he was talking from the bottom of a well.”
“Mechanical distorter,” Joe said. “What about phrasing? Accent? Vocabulary? Slang?”
She tried to remember. It was difficult to separate the manner from the words that had caused her so much pain. “No accent. He seemed . . . well spoken. I think he's educated.” She shook her head wearily. “I don't know. I wasn't trying to analyze anything from the moment he mentioned Bonnie. I'll try to do better next time.”
“If there is a next time.”
“There will be. He was exhilarated. He said so. Why would he call me once and just leave it at that?” She started to take a sip of coffee, then stopped. “You have an unlisted number here. How did he get it?”
Joe shook his head. “I'm more concerned that he found you.”
“Guesswork?”
“Possibly.” He paused. “We have to consider that he still may be some kid at the university playing a nasty joke on you.”
She shook her head.
“Okay, then there's the possibility that he was the murderer of those people at Talladega. But he didn't kill Bonnie and wants to take credit for it as he accused Fraser of doing.”
“He knew about the ice cream.”
“Or he's one of those people who confess to every murder and had nothing to do with any of them.”
“We'll know soon enough about that one,” Eve whispered. “If they find those boys at Talladega.”
“They're searching now. I called Robert Spiro the minute I hung up with you.”
“Who's Robert Spiro?”
“An agent with the FBI Behavioral
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