Eve Duncan 01 - The Face of Deception Read online

  THE FACE OF

  DECEPTION

  IRIS JOHANSEN

  BANTAM

  NEW YORK TORONTO LONDON SYDNEY AUCKLAND

  THE FACE OF DECEPTION

  A Bantam Book

  PUBLISHING HISTORY

  Bantam hardcover edition published October 1998

  Bantam mass market edition published June 1999

  Bantam reissue edition / September 2003

  Published by

  Bantam Dell

  A Division of Random House, Inc.

  New York, New York

  This is a work of fiction. names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved

  Copyright © 1999 by I. J. Enterprises

  Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 98-24713

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law..

  For information address: Bantam Books, New York, New York

  Visit our website at www.bantamdell.com

  * * *

  Bantam Books and the rooster colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.

  * * *

  Published simultaneously in Canada

  eISBN: 978-0-553-89823-1

  v3.0_r2

  PROLOGUE

  DIAGNOSTIC CLASSIFICATION FACILITY

  JACKSON, GEORGIA

  JANUARY 27

  11:55 P.M.

  It was going to happen.

  Oh, God, don't let it happen.

  Lost. She'll be lost.

  They'll all be lost.

  “Come away, Eve. You don't want to be here.” It was Joe Quinn standing beside her. His square, boyish face was pale and drawn beneath the shadow of the black umbrella he was holding. “There's nothing you can do. He's had two stays of execution already. The governor's not going to do it again. There was too much public outcry the last time.”

  “He's got to do it.” Her heart was pounding so hard, it hurt her. But then, at that moment everything in the world was hurting her. “I want to talk to the warden.”

  Quinn shook his head. “He won't see you.”

  “He saw me before. He called the governor. I've got to see him. He understood about—”

  “Let me take you to your car. It's freezing out here and you're getting soaked.”

  She shook her head, her gaze fixed desperately on the prison gate. “You talk to him. You're with the FBI. Maybe he'll listen to you.”

  “It's too late, Eve.” He tried to draw her under his umbrella but she stepped away from him. “Jesus, you shouldn't have come.”

  “You came.” She gestured to the horde of newspaper and media people gathered at the gate. “They came. Who has a better right to be here than me?” Sobs were choking her. “I have to stop it. I have to make them see that they can't—”

  “You crazy bitch.”

  She was jerked around and found herself facing a man in his early forties. His features were twisted with pain, and tears were running down his cheeks. It took a minute for her to recognize him. Bill Verner. His son was one of the lost ones.

  “Stay out of it.” Verner's hands dug into her shoulders. He shook her. “Let them kill him. You've already caused us too much grief and now you're trying to get him off again. Damn you, let them burn the son of a bitch.”

  “I can't do—Can't you see? They're lost. I have to—”

  “You stay out of it, or so help me God I'll make you sorry that you—”

  “Leave her alone.” Quinn stepped forward and knocked Verner's hands away from Eve. “Don't you see she's hurting more than you are?”

  “The hell she is. He killed my boy. I won't let her try to get him off again.”

  “Do you think I don't want him to die?” she said fiercely. “He's a monster. I want to kill him myself, but I can't let him—” There was no time for this argument, she thought frantically. There was no time for anything. It must be almost midnight.

  They were going to kill him.

  And Bonnie would be lost forever.

  She whirled away from Verner and ran toward the gate.

  “Eve!”

  She pounded on the gate with clenched fists. “Let me in! You've got to let me in. Please don't do this.”

  Flashbulbs.

  The prison guards were coming toward her.

  Quinn was trying to pull her away from the gate.

  The gate was opening.

  Maybe there was a chance.

  God, please let there be a chance.

  The warden was coming out.

  “Stop it,” she screamed. “You've got to stop—”

  “Go home, Ms. Duncan. It's over.” He walked past her toward the TV cameras.

  Over. It couldn't be over.

  The warden was looking soberly into the cameras and his words were brief and to the point. “There was no stay of execution. Ralph Andrew Fraser was executed four minutes ago and pronounced dead at 12:07 A.M.”

  “No.”

  The scream was full of agony and desolation, as broken and forsaken as the wail of a lost child.

  Eve didn't realize the scream came from her.

  Quinn caught her as her knees buckled and she slumped forward in a dead faint.

  ONE

  ATLANTA, GEORGIA

  JUNE 3

  EIGHT YEARS LATER

  “You look like hell. It's nearly midnight. Don't you ever sleep?”

  Eve glanced up from the computer to see Joe Quinn leaning against the doorjamb across the room. “Sure I do.” She took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes. “One late night does not a workaholic make. Or something like that. I just had to check those measurements before—”

  “I know. I know.” Joe came into the studio lab and dropped down in the chair beside the desk. “Diane said you blew her off for lunch today.”

  She nodded guiltily. It was the third time that month she had canceled out on Joe's wife. “I explained that the Chicago P.D. needed the result. Bobby Starnes's parents were waiting.”

  “Was it a match?”

  “Close enough. I knew it was almost a certainty before I started the superimposition. There were a few teeth missing from the skull, but the dental check was very close.”

  “Then why were you brought in?”

  “His parents didn't want to believe it. I was their last hope.”

  “Bummer.”

  “Yes, but I know about hope. And when they see the way Bobby's features fit the skull, they'll know it's over. They'll accept the fact that their child is dead and it may bring closure.” She glanced at the image on her computer screen. Chicago P.D. had given her a skull and a picture of seven-year-old Bobby. Working with visual equipment and her computer, she had superimposed Bobby's face on the skull. As she had said, the match was very close. Bobby had looked so alive and sweet in the picture it was enough to break your heart.

  They were all heartbreakers, she thought wearily. “Are you on your way home?”

  “Yep.”

  “And just dropped by to yell at me?”

  “I feel it's one of my primary duties in life.”

  “Liar.” Her gaze was on the black leather case in his hands. “Is that for me?”

  “We found a skeleton in the woods in North Gwinnett. The rain unearthed it. The animals got at it, so there's not much left, but the skull is intact.” He snappe
d open the case. “It's a little girl, Eve.”

  He always told her right away if it was a girl. She supposed he thought he was shielding her.

  She carefully took the skull and studied it. “It's not a little girl. She's a preteen, maybe eleven or twelve.” She indicated a lacy crack on the upper jaw. “She's been exposed to the cold of at least one winter.” She gently touched the broad nasal cavity. “And she was probably black.”

  “That will help.” He grimaced. “But not much. You'll have to sculpt her. We don't have any idea who she is. No pictures for superimposition. Do you know how many girls run away from home in this town? If she was a slum kid, she might not have even been reported missing. The parents are usually more concerned with getting their crack than keeping track of their—” He shook his head. “Sorry. I forgot. Open mouth, insert foot.”

  “A habit with you, Joe.”

  “Only around you. I tend to lower my guard.”

  “Should I be honored?” Her brow knit with concentration as she studied the skull. “You know Mom hasn't been on crack for years. And there are a lot of things I'm ashamed of in my life, but growing up in the slums isn't one of them. I might not have survived if I hadn't had it tough.”

  “You'd have survived.”

  She wasn't so sure. She had been too close to going under to take either sanity or survival for granted. “Want a cup of coffee? We slum kids make great java.”

  He flinched. “Ouch. I said I was sorry.”

  She smiled. “Just thought I'd take a jab or two. You deserve it for generalizing. Coffee?”

  “No, I have to get home to Diane.” He stood up. “There's no hurry with this one if she's been buried that long. Like I said, we don't even know who we're looking for.”

  “I won't hurry. I'll work on her at night.”

  “Yeah, you have so much time.” He looked at the pile of textbooks on the table. “Your mom said you were studying physical anthropology now.”

  “Only by correspondence. I don't have time to go to classes yet.”

  “For God's sake, why anthropology? Don't you have enough on your plate?”

  “I thought it might help. I've tried to find out all I can from the anthropologists I've worked with, but there's still too much I don't know.”

  “You're working too hard as it is. Your schedule is booked up for months.”

  “That's not my fault.” She made a face. “It was that damn mention your commissioner gave me on 60 Minutes. Why couldn't he keep his mouth shut? I was busy enough without getting all this out-of-town stuff.”

  “Well, just remember who your friends are.” Joe headed for the door. “Don't go moving away to some highfalutin college.”

  “Don't talk to me about highfalutin, when you went to Harvard.”

  “That was a lifetime ago. Now I'm a good ol' southern boy. Follow my example and stay where you belong.”

  “I'm not going anywhere.” She got up and set the skull on the shelf above her workbench. “Except to lunch with Diane next Tuesday. If she'll have me. Will you ask her?”

  “You ask her. I'm not running interference again. I have my own problems. It's not easy for her being a cop's wife.” He paused at the door. “Go to bed, Eve. They're dead. They're all dead. It's not going to hurt them if you get a little sleep.”

  “Don't be stupid. I know that. You act like I'm neurotic or something. It's just not professional to ignore a job.”

  “Yeah, sure.” He hesitated. “You ever been contacted by John Logan?”

  “Who?”

  “Logan. Logan Computers. He's a billionaire racing on the heels of Bill Gates. He's been all over the news lately because of the Republican fundraisers he's been throwing out in Hollywood.”

  She shrugged. “You know I barely keep up with the news.” But she did recall seeing a picture of Logan, perhaps in the Sunday paper the previous week. He was in his late thirties or early forties with a California tan and close-cut dark hair with a dusting of gray at the temples. He had been smiling down at some blond movie star. Sharon Stone? She couldn't remember. “Well, he hasn't been soliciting me for money. I wouldn't give it to him if he did. I vote Independent.” She glanced at her computer. “That's a Logan. He makes a good computer, but that's the closest I've ever come in contact with the great man. Why?”

  “He's been making inquiries about you.”

  “What?”

  “Not personally. He's going through a high-powered West Coast lawyer, Ken Novak. When they told me down at the precinct, I did some checking and I'm almost sure Logan's behind it.”

  “I don't think so.” She smiled slyly as she punned, “It doesn't compute.”

  “You've handled private inquiries before.” He grinned. “A man in his position has to have left a trail of bodies on his way to the top. Maybe he forgot where he buried one of them.”

  “Very funny.” She wearily rubbed the back of her neck. “Did his lawyer get his report?”

  “What the hell do you think? We know how to protect our own. Tell me if he gets hold of your private number and bothers you. See you.” The door shut behind him.

  Yes, Joe would protect her just as he'd always done, and no one could do it better. He was different from when they had first met years before. Time had hammered every trace of boyishness out of him. Shortly after Fraser's execution, he had resigned from his job as an agent in the FBI and joined the Atlanta P.D. He was now a lieutenant detective. He'd never really told her why he had made the move. She had asked, but his answer—that he'd wanted to jettison the pressure of the bureau—had never satisfied her. Joe could be a very private person, and she hadn't probed. All she knew was that he had always been there for her.

  Even that night at the prison when she had felt more alone than ever.

  She didn't want to think about that night. The despair and pain were still as raw as—

  So think about it anyway. She had learned the only way to survive the pain was to meet it head-on.

  Fraser was dead.

  Bonnie was lost.

  She closed her eyes and let the agony wash over her. When it eased, she opened her eyes and moved toward the computer. Work always helped. Bonnie might be lost and never be found, but there were others—

  “You've got another one?” Sandra Duncan stood in the doorway, dressed in pajamas and her favorite pink chenille robe. Her gaze was focused on the skull across the room. “I thought I heard someone in the driveway. You'd think Joe would leave you alone.”

  “I don't want to be left alone.” Eve sat down at the desk. “No problem. It's not a rush job. Go back to bed, Mom.”

  “You go to bed.” Sandra Duncan walked over to the skull. “Is it a little girl?”

  “Preadolescent.”

  She was silent a moment. “You're never going to find her, you know. Bonnie's gone. Let it go, Eve.”

  “I have let it go. I just do my job.”

  “Bullshit.”

  Eve smiled. “Go to bed.”

  “Can I help? Make you a snack?”

  “I have more respect for my digestive system than to let you sabotage it.”

  “I do try.” Sandra made a face. “Some people weren't meant to cook.”

  “You have other talents.”

  Her mother nodded. “I'm a good court reporter and I nag damn well. Will you go to bed, or do I have to demonstrate?”

  “Fifteen minutes more.”

  “I guess I'll allow you that much slack.” She moved toward the door. “But I'll be listening to hear your bedroom door close.” She paused and then said awkwardly, “I'm not coming home right away after work tomorrow night. I'm going out to dinner.”

  Eve looked up in surprise. “With whom?”

  “Ron Fitzgerald. I told you about him. He's a lawyer in the district attorney's office. I like him.” Her tone was almost defiant. “He makes me laugh.”

  “Good. I'd like to meet him.”

  “I'm not like you. It's been a long time since I've been out with a ma
n, and I need people. I'm not a nun. For God's sake, I'm not even fifty. My life can't stop just because—”

  “Why are you acting so guilty? Have I ever said I wanted you to stay home? You have a right to do whatever you want to do.”

  “I'm acting guilty because I feel guilty.” Sandra scowled. “You could make it easier for me if you weren't so hard on yourself. You're the one who's a nun.”

  God, she wished her mother hadn't decided to go into this tonight. She was too tired to cope. “I've had a few relationships.”

  “Until they got in the way of your work. Two weeks tops.”

  “Mom.”

  “Okay, okay. I just think it's time for you to live a normal life again.”

  “What's normal for one person isn't always normal for another.” She looked down at her computer screen. “Now, scat. I want to finish this before I go to bed. Be sure you drop in tomorrow night and tell me all about your dinner.”

  “So you can live vicariously?” Sandra asked tartly. “I may or may not.”

  “You will.”

  “Yeah, I will.” Her mother sighed. “Good night, Eve.”

  “Good night, Mom.”

  Eve leaned back in her chair. She should have noticed her mother was becoming restless and unhappy. Emotional instability was always dangerous for a recovering addict. But, dammit, Mom had been clean since Bonnie's second birthday. Another gift that Bonnie had brought when she came into their lives.

  She was probably exaggerating the problem. Growing up with an addict had made her deeply suspicious. Surely her mother's restlessness was both typical and healthy. The best thing that could happen to her was a solid, loving relationship.

  So let Sandra run with it, but watch the situation closely.

  She was staring blindly at the screen. She had done enough tonight. There could be little doubt the skull belonged to little Bobby Starnes.

  She noticed the Logan insignia as she logged out and turned off the computer. Funny how you never paid any attention to things like that. Why the hell would Logan be asking questions about her? He probably wasn't. More than likely it was a mistake. Her life and Logan's were at opposite ends of the spectrum.

  She stood up and moved her shoulders to rid them of stiffness. She'd pack up Bobby's skull, take it and the report to the house, then ship them out the following morning. She never liked to have more than one skull in the lab at the same time. Joe laughed at her, but she felt she couldn't give her full attention to the job she was working on if she could see another skull silently waiting. So she'd overnight Bobby Starnes and the report to Chicago and the day after tomorrow Bobby's parents would know that their son had come home, that he was no longer one of the lost ones.