The Third Victim Part 57

"I ... I could look into that."

The agent nodded encouragingly. He continued, "Also for a child like Danny, violent books, video games, and movies are not appropriate. They only fuel angry thoughts."

"Danny's never really been into violent movies. But in all honesty, I don't know what he does on the Web."

"If you have a troubled son, you need to know what he's reading or surfing on the Internet, Mrs. O'grady. It can make a difference."

Sandy hung her head.

"Danny's issue with his father is more involved," Quincy said quietly.

"He and Shep need family counseling, or Danny needs private counseling, or both. You also might want to find additional family relations.h.i.+ps for Danny with a grandparent or aunt or uncle. That way if things are strained at home, the child still has other sources of comfort and support."

"I never thought of that," Sandy said honestly.

"Our family's not that big. Shep's parents pa.s.sed away years ago. My own .. . G.o.d knows they love my kids, but they aren't the warmest people in the world. It's not their way." She paused.

"Do you think .. . Do you think Danny's troubles are caused by the fact that I went back to work?"

Quincy smiled at her kindly.

"No, Mrs. O'grady. Being a working mom doesn't mean you're a horrible mom. Stay-at-home parents have troubled children too."

Sandy nodded. She would never admit it out loud, but she was relieved.

She hesitated, then asked, "My son was already troubled. Now at the very least he's witnessed three violent murders. What will that do?"

"He needs to get it out. Keeping the experience bottled up will only make it worse." Quincy's gaze drifted toward Rainie.

"And if ... if he did do something bad?"

Quincy was silent for a moment.

"He's going to need a lot of help," he said at last.

"Chances are that he's experiencing a great deal of guilt and self-loathing. Someone needs to help him come to terms with that.

Otherwise, there is the danger that he will simply shut down that part of himself. He will start actively considering himself to be a remorseless killer. And he will become one."

A knock sounded on the door. Luke Hayes stuck his head in. His gaze went straight to Sandy.

"It's time," he said.

"Already?"

Sandy glanced at her watch. It took her a moment to read the dial, for her hand was still shaking violently. Nine a.m. The joint funeral for Alice and Sally wasn't due to start until one. But the whole town was probably turning out, and people wanted to get good seats.

She had no choice but to go home. By the mayor's orders, she and her family would be spending the day under virtual house arrest. He didn't want them to upset the town, and that hurt Sandy almost more than the threatening phone calls, messages, and ca.s.seroles combined.

She slowly rose and gathered up her purse. She had hoped for easy answers this morning. Of course, there were very few such things anymore. Just more questions. And more doubts to torment her through all the long days to come.

She loved Danny so desperately. Was it right to actively wonder if her son was a murderer and still love him? Was it right to mourn for Alice Bensen and Sally Walker but still want the best for her child?

Suddenly, she felt so exhausted, she wasn't sure how she was going to make it down the stairs.

She turned to Rainie one last time. "Do you know who this other person is yet? Do you have any leads on who did this to us?"

Rainie seemed to hesitate.

"Danny ever mention anyone named No Lava to you?"

Sandy regarded her curiously.

"Of course he did. No That was his teacher's account.

Its Avalon, spelled backward."

Friday, May 18, 10:05 a.m.

Rainie and Quincy climbed into Luke's patrol car at a little past ten.

Since Luke and Chuckie were sitting in the front seat, they took the back. Chuckie immediately looked self-conscious about having a commanding officer and federal agent behind him. He kept glancing nervously over his shoulder, as if he thought Quincy might goose him at any moment. After the second time, Quincy placed his face against the patrol car's mesh divider. When Chuckie turned again, he discovered Quincy's nose up close and personal. The rookie literally squealed.

Luke sighed heavily. Rainie shook her head. Quincy sat back, contented.

"You're riling my partner," Luke said at last. He was slouched low behind the steering wheel, studying Sandy and Shep's quaint neighborhood with a deceptively lazy gaze. His hat was on the seat beside him; the brim limited his line of sight. The top of his head came to just above the dashboard; the lower vantage point expanded his field of view. Mostly, he watched the residential street for signs of out-of-place traffic, but from time to time he also perused the rooflines of the surrounding houses with his narrow gaze. Luke was an ace sniper.

"Any activity?" Rainie asked.

"Quiet as a church mouse."

"How are you holding up?" Rainie asked Chuckie. He had his baton on his lap and was stroking the handle as if it were a favorite pet.

"All right," Chuckie muttered. He studied his lap, refusing to meet her gaze. His broad face was haggard, his hair uncharacteristically mussed. Rainie hadn't given the green rookie any thought during the last three days. Now she regarded him intently.

"Cunningham," she ordered more sharply. Chuckie's gaze reluctantly rose to meet hers. She held it for a minute. Chuckie was messed up.

He had dark circles under his eyes and a nervous twitch in his hand.

Apparently, seeing real action was different from boasting about it, and it was wrong of her not to have thought about him before now.

"You did well on Tuesday," she said curtly.

"I broke a freaking door," Cunningham muttered.

"Left footprints everywhere. The state technicians yelled at me. That man Sanders said I was a disaster."

"Sanders is full of s.h.i.+t. You acted with heart, Chuckie. The rest you'll learn with time."

Chuckie's gaze fell to his kneecaps. He still looked troubled. When he had volunteered for this job, he had probably envisioned saving lives and protecting his community. He had not expected the debilitating frustration of arriving too late or the hard truth that today his job was merely processing the damage. Rainie understood. She knew one of the reasons George Walker hated her was that she hadn't paid him the respect of personally visiting his family. She should've done that the very first day, except that she couldn't bring herself to go, sit on a worn sofa, and make small talk while a father sat hollow-eyed and a mother wept. She just couldn't do it.

Rainie turned back to Luke. He was still studying Shep's house. It was a tidy, three-bedroom ranch with an attached two-car garage. Soft gray paint. Crisp white trim. One garage door was a brighter white than the other, obviously the one vandalized on Wednesday. Rainie wondered if Shep and Sandy could look at the bright white paint without remembering what was written underneath.

"We need to talk," she said to Luke.

He nodded. He looked tired from his long trip yesterday, his cheeks not as freshly shaven as usual and his uniform rumpled. But his eyes were sharp and his hands steady. You could always count on Luke.