The Pawn by Steven James Read Free Book Online Page B

nineteen, was the fourth victim and the only African-American in the group. She had fine, light chocolate-colored skin and eyes brimming with dreams.
    Ralph flipped open a manila file folder. “The day before she was abducted. She’d just posted it on her MySpace page. Why?”
    In her picture she was flirting with the camera, her left hand leaning up against her cheek, delicately, invitingly. Her smile held a hint of seduction. She was strikingly beautiful, but something wasn’t right. I stared at the picture. I traced her smile, her eyes, her hand. Leaned close. “The day before? Are you sure?” I asked.
    Ralph glanced at the file again. “Yeah. What are you thinking?”
    “She doesn’t have an engagement ring on,” I said.
    “What?”
    “In the crime scene photos you sent me she’s wearing an engagement ring.”
    He flipped through a stack of papers in a manila folder. “Hmm,” he said. “She might not have been wearing it that day.”
    “You get engaged, you show off the ring to everyone.” I spoke my thoughts aloud. “Of course, it’s possible she got engaged between having the picture taken and getting abducted. But that’s unlikely if she took it the day before.”
    He set down the folder. “So what are you saying? You think the killer might have left it as some kind of symbol? Is he trying to tell us he’s engaged to them? Marrying them in some sick, twisted sense?”
    “Maybe. I don’t know.” I stared at the photo for a long moment. “Check it out for me, though, would you? Find out if she’s really engaged to anyone. If so, I wanna meet the guy.”
    “You got it.”
    Suddenly I realized I was giving orders. “Um, please,” I said. Officially, I’d been brought in as a consultant, but Ralph and I had worked so many times together at the Bureau that I just seemed to pick up right where we left off.
    He slapped me on the shoulder. Almost knocked me over. “Don’t worry, you’re cool. Let’s just catch this sicko.”
    Ralph went to make a few phone calls and I looked at the last picture. Bethanie Dixon, twenty-two, was the only other victim besides Patty to be found indoors. She was also the one found the farthest away, in Athens, Georgia. The pawn and the yellow ribbon linked her to our killer, even though the distance didn’t seem quite right.
    I was jarred from my thoughts by someone calling my name. “Dr. Bowers.”
    Something about that voice.
    No, it couldn’t be her.
    I turned.
    It was.
    Special Agent Margaret Wellington.
    And my day had been going so well too.

10
    “Margaret,” I said. I knew she would correct me.
    “I’d prefer you call me Special Agent in Charge Wellington.”
    I extended my hand. “Sorry. I guess I forgot.”
    She flipped back a snatch of her impossibly straight rodent-colored hair and glared at me. I’d forgotten how narrow her lips were, how straight her teeth. Instead of shaking my hand she slid her hands to her hips. “No, Dr. Bowers. You didn’t forget.”
    Well, OK. That was true. I did remember how much she hated being called Margaret, but I’d forgotten that she was stationed here in North Carolina. Slipped my mind entirely. Obviously it had, or I wouldn’t have accepted Ralph’s invitation to consult on the case. I retrieved my hand. She wasn’t going to shake it anyway.
    Margaret Wellington had a habit of breathing in sharply through her nose, which made it seem like she was constantly disgusted with you. Which, maybe, she was. “It’s been, what, Dr. Bowers? Four years?”
    “Has it been that long?” I said. “Hardly seems like it.”
    She blinked. “Yes. Four years.” She cocked her head slightly. “So. How have you been?”
    “Busy.” It was true enough.
    “I heard your wife died,” she said. I could feel my anger rising. She continued, her voice even and emotionless. “Very tragic. And then they transferred you to Denver and stuck you behind a desk. Must have been hard.”
    “I volunteered for the position in