The Night Killer

message.”
    “Don’t worry, boss, we’ll get Andie back,” said Jin before he went into the workstation with David.
    “What can I do?” said Izzy.
    “You and Liam work on a plan. All we have is parts of one. We need a real plan.”
    The two of them nodded. No one could take their eyes off Andie, yet none of them wanted to look at her. Diane felt so sick she couldn’t think.
    “It should be what I’m good at,” said Liam. “I know I didn’t do right by Andie. But from the first I cared and wanted to see where we went with each other.”
    “Like Jin said,” said Izzy, “we’ll get her back.”
    “I called Frank,” Diane told Izzy.
    Izzy bobbed his head up and down. “That’s good. Frank’s got a good brain. Between all of you guys’ smarts and my comic relief, we’ll solve this.” He reached out and touched her shoulder and squeezed. Diane put a hand on his.
    There was a time when Izzy and Diane didn’t get along. He was Frank’s friend and didn’t think she was good enough for him—his opinion helped along by the rumor mill. But they had a shared tragedy: They both had lost a child. Izzy looked at a lot of things differently now. And now they were friends. Normally, Izzy was a very blunt friend, and she appreciated his attempt at comfort. Diane dropped her hand and sat down to think.
    “When was Andie taken?” she asked. “I last saw her when she poked her head in my office. That was sometime after three yesterday afternoon.”
    “We went up to see Beth in Archives right after that,” Liam said. “Then we had an early dinner in the restaurant. We finished a little after four. I left for the nursing home and she was going back into the building.”
    “Did you see her go back in?” asked Diane.
    “No, she waved until I was out of sight. I watched her in my rearview mirror.”
    “It was daylight still,” said Diane. She paused and looked at Izzy.
    “The parking-lot cameras.”
    Diane pressed her hands to her forehead. “Think, damn it,” she whispered.
    She sat down in front of the computer and called up the program that ran her security videos. She started with the videos from three o’clock. Izzy and Liam pulled up chairs beside her.
    Diane sped through the three-to-four-o’clock period quickly, taking note of cars coming and going, looking for anomalies, particularly vans, campers—enclosed vehicles that could conceal a victim. There were many that could have concealed Andie. None looked like they were trying to hide or showed anything out of the ordinary.
    At four fifteen, Andie and Liam walked out of the museum and to his car. They kissed, rather passionately, before he got in his car. Liam drove off and Andie waved for a few moments. She looked so sweet standing there. Andie—optimistic, happy with life, naive, trusting. Andie, who decorated her office as if she were expecting Peter Rabbit’s mother for tea.
    Damn it , thought Diane. Damn him, whoever he is.
    In the video Andie turned and started walking back to the museum but stopped, turned to the east, and smiled at something out of range. Diane switched cameras, starting from three o’clock. She couldn’t see anything or anyone that might have attracted Andie’s attention. As the time stamp passed four fifteen, there it was—a puppy, trotting along the side access road leading to the back of the museum. Andie chased after it and it ran into the woods. Andie followed, out of camera range.
    “Oldest lure there is,” said Izzy. “Who won’t go after a puppy?”
    “It’s a Walker hound,” said Liam.
    “Walker hound?” Izzy looked over at him. “You mean . . .” He looked over at Diane.
    “They still have Slick, don’t they?” Diane said, more to herself than to any of them. She called Agent Mathews on his cell.
    “Slick and Tammy are still in custody, aren’t they? Did they make bail? Escape?” she asked when Mathews answered.
    “No, no, we still have them under lock and key. Why?” he asked—reasonably.
    “A question came up about his dogs,” said Diane, hoping that lame answer would suffice.
    Mathews laughed. “Those dogs. You know who he calls when he gets his telephone privileges? Not Tammy, not his lawyer. He spends his quality time talking to some guy named Hennessey who’s keeping his dogs.” He laughed again.
    “How about Leland Conrad? Has he made bail yet?” she asked.
    “He won’t be making bail. What’s this about?” he asked.
    “Paranoia,” said Diane. “Thanks.