Dangerous Games by Michael Prescott Read Free Book Online Page A

any of these sightings could be significant, the simple fact was that the river extended for more than fifty miles, and along nearly all of its length it was frequented by shopping-cart people, soda-can scavengers, and other derelicts, not to mention joggers, bicyclists, and birdwatchers.
    Potentially more valuable were reports of vehicles parked near major entry points to the storm-drain system. As Crandall had pointed out, the Rain Man had probably entered through an opening large enough to accommodate a vehicle. He had driven his victims deep into the tunnel system, then proceeded farther on foot.
    The larger access points were used by maintenance crews from the Department of Water and Power. These entryways were locked, but a lock could be picked or shot off. So far no one had found a specific entrance that had been tampered with—a minor puzzle in itself. If an entrance used by the Rain Man could be found, some forensic evidence might be identified—tire tracks, shoe prints, fingerprints on the padlock—although, given the heavy rainfalls, most clues had probably been washed away.
    She placed the vehicle sightings in the medium-priority pile. Locations and times would have to be checked against the known deployment of DWP personnel.
    Much of the other material was useless. People called to speculate about the killer, to ask questions about the case, or to recommend an investigative technique that had worked on a TV show last week. It was possible that the Rain Man himself had called. Somewhere in the hundreds of tips there might be a sighting or suggestion planted by the killer, either to lead the investigators astray or simply to have some fun.
    Tess knew from the case report that two persons had already called authorities, claiming to be the killer. In both instances the caller had been indiscreet enough to place the call from his easily traceable home phone. Both had been picked up. One was a twelve-year-old playing a prank. The other was a psychiatric patient who’d gone off his meds.
    Across the room, two agents were holding a low conversation with occasional pointed looks in her direction. She ignored them until a new man drifted past her workstation on his way into the room.
    “Just heard about that stunt you pulled at City Hall,” he said as he passed her. “You’re a real prick, aren’t you?”
    “Women don’t have pricks,” she said dryly.
    “Fuck you.” He walked on, joining the other men, who were glaring at her with equal hostility.
    Oh, yeah, she’d screwed the pooch this time. Alienated not only Michaelson but every loyal foot soldier in his regiment.
    Her desk phone rang. She picked it up, bracing for another salvo of antagonism. “McCallum,” she said.
    “Agent McCallum?” A clipped female voice, sounding a note of surprise. “Well, you’re surprisingly easy to get hold of. The front desk connected me directly. Don’t you have a secretary to take your calls?”
    Yes, I do , Tess thought. In Denver . “Who am I speaking to, please?”
    “I’m sorry. My name is Madeleine Grant.”
    “How can I help you, Ms. Grant?”
    “I’m not sure you can. The fact is, I’ve already called the tip line, or hotline, that special phone number you people set up. No one got back to me. I assumed what I had to say just wasn’t very useful, but when I heard you had been brought in on the case, I began to think I ought to try again.”
    “Why is that? What do I have to do with anything?”
    “Well, it’s Mobius, you see. That’s the connection.”
    Tess wondered how long she would have to continue this conversation, which she had already dismissed as a waste of time. “I don’t understand,” she said patiently. “What connection?”
    “The connection to my case. The stalking case.”
    “Stalking?”
    “Haven’t you people even reviewed the tips you’ve been given? What’s the use of establishing a phone number—”
    “I just got on board, Ms. Grant. I’m still not up to