Rabbe’s sprawling
Spanish-colonial home. The man who lived behind this fence was very likely to
be the killer who had taken a woman’s life and thrown her body into a lake.
Bill was determined to find out for sure.
He had done a little
research on Calvin Rabbe before driving out here. Ishtar Haynes had been
right—the spoiled bastard hadn’t done a day’s honest work in his life. He’d
spent his childhood and teen years getting expelled from boarding schools, then
had gotten kicked out of all the best Ivy League universities without getting a
degree.
Now he was living
with his divorced mother in that mansion.
It figures, Bill thought.
Rabbe’s dependence
on the family matriarch added to Bill’s suspicions. The man was sounding more
and more like a spoiled rich momma’s boy who might have a lot of unresolved
resentment. Bill was starting to look forward to putting this guy away.
But as he drove past
the entrance, he could see that getting to meet Rabbe might be complicated.
Even getting admitted to the grounds would involve a bit of protocol. Security
cameras flanked the gates to the property. You had to ring a buzzer and
announce yourself. Bill wasn’t sure how to proceed.
What would happen if
he tried to ring himself in, announcing that he was an FBI agent? And who would
he wind up talking to once he was admitted? Dusk had fallen, and the house was
well lit. It was possible that a number of people were inside. Bill couldn’t
even be sure that Calvin Rabbe was one of them.
At the next corner,
Bill turned his car around to drive past the front gates again.
In the well-lighted
driveway, he saw a fancy little sports convertible wending its way through the
grounds toward the gate. The top was down, and Bill could see the driver. The
man was young with sandy blond hair, and he was wearing a polo shirt. He
perfectly matched pictures Bill had seen of Calvin Rabbe. He had the look of a
movie star approaching middle age, but still trying to project a carefree,
youthful image.
Bill suddenly felt
lucky. Now he wouldn’t have to fake his way into the mansion. Rabbe was on his
way out, very possibly headed for a night on the town. If Bill could just stay
on his trail, the man might give himself away. The gate opened, and the little
car went off down the street. Bill followed him, keeping an unsuspicious
distance behind.
The night deepened
as Bill followed the sports car through the expensive neighborhood. He found
himself wondering what Riley was doing right now. Had it really been a good idea
to let her go to that truck stop alone? Hank’s Derby sounded like a vile and
dangerous place for a woman.
Bill didn’t really
know why he was worried. Riley was far and away the toughest and most capable
woman he had ever known. He’d seen her take down some truly dangerous
characters. It was hard to imagine what kind of man could actually be a threat
to her.
He decided that his
unease was because this case was getting to him. He thought that it was getting
to Riley too. Bill doubted that either of them would feel a lot of satisfaction
once they took down this killer. Whoever had murdered Nancy Holbrook was just
the tip of an iceberg, a symptom of a much larger evil. God only knew how many
other women were being exploited, victimized, and killed. They were here to
stop one man, but the whole ugly scene would just go on and on.
Soon Bill noticed
that Calvin Rabbe was making his way into an especially unpleasant
neighborhood. The streets were lined with seedy bars, motels, and strip joints.
Rabbe parked his car in front of a place called the Lariat Strip Club.
The marquee sign
showed a semi-animated neon lariat dropping around a nude woman’s silhouette
and tightening around her waist. Below the sign was a smaller one that
announced “LIVE NUDES.” So soon after viewing Nancy Holbrook’s naked corpse,
the sign struck Bill as chillingly ironic. Had the killer come here to hunt for
another living target?
He parked just
Spanish-colonial home. The man who lived behind this fence was very likely to
be the killer who had taken a woman’s life and thrown her body into a lake.
Bill was determined to find out for sure.
He had done a little
research on Calvin Rabbe before driving out here. Ishtar Haynes had been
right—the spoiled bastard hadn’t done a day’s honest work in his life. He’d
spent his childhood and teen years getting expelled from boarding schools, then
had gotten kicked out of all the best Ivy League universities without getting a
degree.
Now he was living
with his divorced mother in that mansion.
It figures, Bill thought.
Rabbe’s dependence
on the family matriarch added to Bill’s suspicions. The man was sounding more
and more like a spoiled rich momma’s boy who might have a lot of unresolved
resentment. Bill was starting to look forward to putting this guy away.
But as he drove past
the entrance, he could see that getting to meet Rabbe might be complicated.
Even getting admitted to the grounds would involve a bit of protocol. Security
cameras flanked the gates to the property. You had to ring a buzzer and
announce yourself. Bill wasn’t sure how to proceed.
What would happen if
he tried to ring himself in, announcing that he was an FBI agent? And who would
he wind up talking to once he was admitted? Dusk had fallen, and the house was
well lit. It was possible that a number of people were inside. Bill couldn’t
even be sure that Calvin Rabbe was one of them.
At the next corner,
Bill turned his car around to drive past the front gates again.
In the well-lighted
driveway, he saw a fancy little sports convertible wending its way through the
grounds toward the gate. The top was down, and Bill could see the driver. The
man was young with sandy blond hair, and he was wearing a polo shirt. He
perfectly matched pictures Bill had seen of Calvin Rabbe. He had the look of a
movie star approaching middle age, but still trying to project a carefree,
youthful image.
Bill suddenly felt
lucky. Now he wouldn’t have to fake his way into the mansion. Rabbe was on his
way out, very possibly headed for a night on the town. If Bill could just stay
on his trail, the man might give himself away. The gate opened, and the little
car went off down the street. Bill followed him, keeping an unsuspicious
distance behind.
The night deepened
as Bill followed the sports car through the expensive neighborhood. He found
himself wondering what Riley was doing right now. Had it really been a good idea
to let her go to that truck stop alone? Hank’s Derby sounded like a vile and
dangerous place for a woman.
Bill didn’t really
know why he was worried. Riley was far and away the toughest and most capable
woman he had ever known. He’d seen her take down some truly dangerous
characters. It was hard to imagine what kind of man could actually be a threat
to her.
He decided that his
unease was because this case was getting to him. He thought that it was getting
to Riley too. Bill doubted that either of them would feel a lot of satisfaction
once they took down this killer. Whoever had murdered Nancy Holbrook was just
the tip of an iceberg, a symptom of a much larger evil. God only knew how many
other women were being exploited, victimized, and killed. They were here to
stop one man, but the whole ugly scene would just go on and on.
Soon Bill noticed
that Calvin Rabbe was making his way into an especially unpleasant
neighborhood. The streets were lined with seedy bars, motels, and strip joints.
Rabbe parked his car in front of a place called the Lariat Strip Club.
The marquee sign
showed a semi-animated neon lariat dropping around a nude woman’s silhouette
and tightening around her waist. Below the sign was a smaller one that
announced “LIVE NUDES.” So soon after viewing Nancy Holbrook’s naked corpse,
the sign struck Bill as chillingly ironic. Had the killer come here to hunt for
another living target?
He parked just
Similar Books
