FBI Profiler 03 - The Next Accident by Lisa Gardner

Author:Lisa Gardner [Gardner, Lisa]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: thriller, Fiction, Mystery & Detective, Suspense, General, Serial Murders, Mystery Fiction, Murder, Psychological, Fathers and Daughters, Psychological Fiction, Ex-Police Officers, Government Investigators, Stalking, Psychopaths, Suspense Fiction
ISBN: 9780553578690
Google: MebMTXmeITIC
Amazon: 0553578693
Publisher: Bantam
Published: 2001-01-02T06:00:00+00:00

19

Quincy 's House, Virginia

It was early evening on Thursday, and Special Agent Glenda Rodman had yet to return to bed from the night before when she looked at the security monitor and saw Quincy standing outside his front gate. She had slept two hours before receiving the call to come to Philadelphia last night, but that now seemed a lifetime ago. The two hours of sleep were the aberration. The rest of the time, touring the Philadelphia crime scene, then returning to Quincy's home to listen to message after message promising sick, perverse death, was the norm.

They were up to three hundred and fifty-nine callers.

Some Quincy had personally put in jail. Others simply hated feds. Still others were merely bored. Either way, word was definitely out that the thinly disguised ad circulating in so many prison newsletters contained an FBI profiler's home number. Everyone felt compelled to call. Some, she had to admit, were more imaginative than most. One artistic soul had gone so far as to compose a death rap. It wasn't half bad.

Glenda hit the button and let Quincy into his own property. The agent wore the same suit from the night before. His features were pale. On the camera, they were also hard to read. Whether he knew it or not, Pierce Quincy was a legend around the Bureau. These days, Glenda felt sorry for the agent. But she felt even more curious about what would happen next.

He knocked on his front door. She kindly let him in. "I need to gather a few things," he said. "Certainly."

"Ill check in with Everett next, then I'm leaving town."

"The Philadelphia P.D. aren't going to like that." "My daughter comes first." He disappeared into the master bedroom. Moments later, Glenda heard the sound of closet doors opening, as he began to pack a bag.

She wandered into his home office, not sure what to do with herself. It was interesting, she'd been in this house two days now and there wasn't much here to give a sense of the man who technically occupied the space. Several of the rooms were completely empty. The majority of the walls were bare; the kitchen couldn't feed a rat. The only room with any atmosphere was this room, the office, and she found herself coming here again and again, if only to escape the starkness of a vast, overwhelmingly white space.

Here was an old sound system that offered mediocre comfort in the shape of classical jazz tapes. A state-of-the-art fax dominated the corner of a beautiful, antique cherry desk. Gold-framed diplomas and academic certificates leaned against one wall, still not hung, but at least unearthed, while cardboard boxes were piled in each corner. The desk chair, black leather, was supple and distinctly expensive. Quincy obviously spent time in this room. Sometimes she caught a whiff of his cologne.

She sat in his chair, feeling like an intruder, as the phone once more began to ring. Following protocol, she let the answering machine pick it up.

"Hey baby," a voice crooned.

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