Bones Never Lie (Temperance Brennan, #17)(89)

“Could you read the plate?”

“No. But it was green, probably Vermont.”

“Contact Rodas?”

“Already did. He’s requested an enhancement. If that works, he’ll run the registration through the DMV.”

“Get Tawny’s photo from Bernadette Kezerian. Scan it and email it to Rodas, Slidell, and me.”

“Done. I’ll also contact border control on this side, see if they have any record of McGee crossing into Vermont. Or back into Quebec.”

We’d barely disconnected when Slidell showed up at my door. I offered him coffee. He accepted. We settled at the kitchen table. I briefed him on my conversation with Ryan.

“Dew says no can do.”

“What do you mean, no can do?”

“As of January 23, 2007, you gotta have a passport to enter the U.S. from Canada.”

“That’s good. ICE keeps records—”

“You wanna let me finish?”

I settled back, having vowed to be more patient with Slidell.

“That’s for airports. The reg didn’t kick in for land and sea borders until June 1, 2009.”

“Not likely she’d have flown such a short distance.”

“No.”

“Crap.”

“Yeah. But I got this.” He pulled a printout from an inside jacket pocket and flipped it onto the table.

I unfolded and read it. A tox report. I looked up, stunned by the implications. “They found chloral hydrate in the coffee grounds?”

“Yeah.” He tipped his chin at the paper. “A boatload.”

“Ajax was drugged?”

“Doubt he laced his own Joe.”

“You think someone sedated him, then put him in the car?”

“Explains the washup on the cup and coffeemaker. The grounds being outside in the trash.” Slidell thought a moment. “Kind of an odd choice, eh?”

“Chloral hydrate?”

“Yeah.”

“It was found in the victims at Jonestown.” I was referring to the 1978 poisoning of more than nine hundred people at the Peoples Temple in Guyana, a massacre orchestrated by a power-mad evangelist, Jim Jones. “Also in Anna Nicole Smith and Marilyn Monroe.”

Slidell said nothing.

“Ajax died between midnight and two.” My mind was spinning. “There was a cruiser parked at the curb all night. The surveillance team didn’t see anyone enter or leave the house until Cauthern showed up at dawn.”

“The Ajax property backs up to a walking trail behind Sunrise Court and a couple other dead-enders along that stretch. Whoever capped him probably parked on another cul-de-sac, took the path, then crossed the yard to the kitchen door.”

“That could explain the fibers on the hedge. The dirt on the floor.”

Our eyes exchanged the same questions. Who? Why?

“You taking it to Salter?” I asked.

“Soon.”

I raised my brows in question.

“I want to go at this scumbag Yoder one more time.”

“Why is he a scumbag?”

“There’s something smells there.”

“Not exactly an answer.”

“We ask Yoder about Leal and Donovan, the next thing you know, Ajax is dead with a kit in his trunk.” Slidell looked at me a very long moment. “What’s your gut? We looking at the same doer?”

“The girls and Ajax?”

Slidell nodded.

“My gut says yes.”

“Sonofafriggin’ bitch. And we got squat.”

“We know our killer is male.”

Slidell stared into his cup as if the answer were floating in his coffee. I’d never seen him so discouraged. “Think the guy’s a sexual sadist?”

“None of the victims was sexually assaulted.” I’d chewed on this a lot. “I think his arousal comes from control, from the ability to manipulate.”

“Us or his vics?”

I hadn’t looked at it that way. “Both. He’s definitely toying with us.”

Slidell rose. I walked him to the door.

“How’s he do it?” As he stepped outside.

“Do what?”

“Move under the radar and leave us nothing.”

I was in the study checking email when the phone rang again. I glanced at the caller ID. S. Marcus. Not recognizing the name, I let the call roll to voicemail. Seconds later, I heard the voice of my little cat-sitter friend, Mary Louise, on the answering machine. She wanted to visit after school. Had something for me.

Sorry, sweetie. Not today. Adding my guilt over Mary Louise to my guilt over Ajax, I turned back to the computer.

Ryan’s email attachment had opened. Tawny McGee looked at me from the deck of a boat, breeze lifting her collar and tossing her hair.

“Why?” I whispered. “Why did you go to Pomerleau?”

McGee continued to gaze straight ahead with her empty, still eyes. She was tall and full-breasted. But she didn’t flaunt what a lot of women paid big bucks to have. She downplayed it with a modest turtleneck.

I recalled the odd dynamic between the Kezerians. Bernadette’s comments. Jake’s.

Tawny hated being photographed. Hated being seen naked. Never dated or felt comfortable around men or boys.