Perfect Victim by Jay Bonansinga Read Free Book Online Page B

thoughts. None of these considerations even entered his mind as the plane pitched and bumped over angry turbulence. He was too busy staring at the damp, wrinkled note spread out on the tray table in front of him.
    Grove had read and reread Tom Geisel’s hurriedly scrawled message, at least a half a dozen times now, and it still remained as cryptic and foreboding as the first time—especially the last few lines, when the spidery handwriting disintegrated into illegible gibberish, probably due to the onslaught of convulsions.
    Ulysses—
    Mind’s a little scrambled now, bear with me. Full disclosure time. Been having nightmares last few years. Thought it was stress. Now, I think has something to do with this thing inside the perps that you’re in the habit of mentioning. This entity you speak of. Let me start over. Having trouble organizing my thoughts. Tonight had the worst dream ever, a dark figure, like a shadow. No face, just an outline just not feeling too good about not tellin yo s’thing they tol me bac then tht thee ws an o her b y a b d one who yo have to Ul h ss yr tn
    And that’s how the note—and ultimately Tom Geisel’s time on earth—ignominiously came to an end.

SIX
    â€œIt’s just up ahead, near the end of the causeway, another mile or so,” Van Teigham was saying, pointing a manicured finger at the distant overcast horizon visible through the windshield. They were driving to the north end of the island, a scabrous stretch of marshland and trailer homes rusted out by the salt winds and Carolina sun.
    â€œWhere is the scene exactly?” Grove wanted to know as they thumped over traffic-control bumps. The fishy smell of the low country filtered through the window vent. It was nearly four o’clock, and the daylight was already starting to soften. The sky had a cellophane texture to it. Distant streaks of faint lightning veined the horizon-like tinsel.
    â€œWhat do you mean? The street address?” The young field agent in his stylish haircut and Ralph Lauren suit made Grove nervous. There was an edge to the man that Grove couldn’t quite put his finger on.
    â€œNo, I mean in relation to the rest of the community. Is it in a gentrified area? Upscale resort area? Industrial pier—what?”
    Van Teighman shot him a glance from behind the wheel. “My guess is you already know.”
    â€œYou folks use the zone system down here?”
    â€œYep, just like the big guys up north.”
    â€œMy guess is Zone II.”
    Van Teigham gave him a nod. “You got it.”
    The zone is a method of defining populated areas in terms of criminal activity. Zone I is usually a central business district. Zone II is a transitional area of warehouses, alleys, and mixed-use buildings sandwiched between a populated area and an unpopulated area. Nearly 80 percent of all violent crimes occur in Zone II. The average body dump also happens there.
    â€œLucky guess,” Grove muttered under his breath as he stared out the window. “I assume you got all the ME photos of the vic ready to go?”
    â€œAbsolutely, got the whole series on a light table back at the office.”
    â€œHow about evidence logs?”
    â€œYep, and we got the autopsy report an hour ago.”
    â€œPathology report?”
    Van Teigham gave a nod as he made a sharp left turn, then headed down a sandy access road bordered by palmettos swaying in sea winds. “Got the lab stuff in my briefcase.”
    â€œAnd?”
    Van Teigham didn’t say anything for an excruciatingly long moment.
    Then the young field agent finally looked over at Grove, and replied in such a somber tone it sounded as though he didn’t believe it himself. “It’s like when you wrote that book…you were thinking of this guy.”
    Â 
    The actual murder scene—at least the taped-off portion of the beach—was barely a hundred square feet, now crisscrossed in