Reprisal

She said, "You've heard it too, haven't you?"

The woman's words jolted Re

How the hell did she know? How could she tell?

Shit, yes, he'd heard that voice. He'd had the u

He studied Lisl Whitman with renewed respect. This was one sharp gal. Good-looking too.

Looks and smarts—a deadly combination. Re

"No, not really," he lied—not well, he knew. "But I've heard the description so many times I almost feel like I have."

She nodded absently. He could tell she didn't believe him.

"Who's behind this?" she said.

"A very sick man. We're trying to track him down."

She looked him squarely in the eyes and said, "Was that a… a real child on the phone?"

"No," Re

"But what about my phone cord?"

"What about it?"

"Didn't they tell you? It was disco

He didn't remember the phone company rep mentioning anything about that.

"I don't understand."

"The phone… it wasn't plugged into the wall when I got the call. How is that possible?"

An awful lot of things about this case aren't possible, lady.

"It's not," he told her. "It must have come loose at the end of the call."

"But it didn't. I distinctly remember looking down and seeing the phone cord coiled on the floor a couple of feet away from the phone."

A chill skittered across Re

He pulled himself together. This was no way to think. He'd always followed the old Sherlock Holmes dictum to eliminate the impossible. Well, what she was telling him was pretty goddam impossible. It would only muddy the waters if he gave it any space.

Re

"But this is not the address at which the incident occurred, am I correct?"

Re

"No," she said. "It was at Rafe Losmara's. That should be in the report too."

"It is. But every time I call Mr. Losmara or stop by his place, there's no one home."

"That's strange…" she said.

"How long have you known Mr. Losmara?"

"Only a few months."

"Only a few months." Re

He saw her back stiffen.

"I know him very well."

"Could you describe him to me?" Re

He'd been looking for an answer to that question for nearly two weeks now.

She described Losmara in glowing terms. Obviously these two had a thing going. Lucky Losmara. But Re

Not Ryan. No way.

So much for that theory. But that didn't mean that Ryan hadn't been there. Maybe he didn't own the place, but he'd been at that party. No question. Re

"Could I have a guest list?"

"You can't think that anyone at the party—?"

"Of course not. But it's all we have to go on for now. It might be useful."

She rose and went to a small desk in the corner of the living room and began rummaging through the papers that cluttered its surface. Abruptly she held up a sheet of paper.

"Got it! I always knew there was a reason never to throw anything away."

She handed it to him.

"I'll tell you what, though," he said, glancing down at the long list of names. "You could do me a favor and pare this down by eliminating anyone you've known for more than five years or who you're certain has been in the area at least that long."

She picked up a pencil and began drawing lines through some of the names.

"Does that mean you have a suspect?"

Re

"We don't have a name, but we do have an old photo."

She handed back the list, then took her seat again.

"Well…?"

Re

"A priest?"

Anxiously, Re

"A Jesuit. As I said, this is an old picture. No doubt he looks a lot different now."

She said, "And you say he's been here less than five years?"

"We believe so. That's when he disappeared. Give it a good look. He might have a beard or a mustache these days." He thought he saw her stiffen. "Remind you of anyone?"

She shook her head quickly. "No. No one."

A thrill shot through Re

"Sure?"

"Positive."

If he'd been on his home turf, Re

"Thank you, Miss Whitman. You've been a big help. Maybe we'll finally track down this pervo."

She was staring at him.

"Your accent… you sound like a New Yorker now."

Damn! Time to beat it.

"Yes, well, I spent part of my youth in Queens. Hard to kick some things, don't you think?"

She said nothing.

"Okay, well, I've got to get back to Raleigh. Thanks again."

He hurried out the door and fairly danced down the steps after it closed behind him. Somewhere on that list in his pocket was the new identity of Father Bill Ryan. He was closing in. He could taste it.

And when he found him, he'd drag him back for trial. But not before he'd extracted down payment on five years worth of rage from his worthless hide.

Wouldn't be long now. Not long at all.

Rafe showed up only moments after the detective had departed. Lisl told him about the encounter but didn't mention how the photo of the priest had reminded her vaguely of Will. But it was so hard to tell. The priest in the photo had been so young and fresh-faced, with a straight nose and unscarred forehead, so different from Will. But still, there was something there. Plus the fact that Will had been working around Darnell less than three years now, and a beard was a good disguise if you were on the run…

She shook off the apprehensions. Groundless. Silly. Will was the gentlest of men. She couldn't imagine him hurting anyone, especially a child. And besides, Will had been nowhere near the phone when it rang. She distinctly remembered seeing him standing in the middle of'the room.

But why had Will disappeared immediately after?

No matter. She was sure he'd have a good explanation the next time they talked. And she didn't have to worry about the cop bothering him—Will had been so adamant about not coming, she hadn't bothered to put his name on the guest list.

Rafe brushed off her puzzlement as to why the State Police were getting involved, saying it had nothing to do with them, that they had more important things to concern them.