‘I read their paper. Lancaster hits all the right notes, minus the charisma.’

‘Yes. Unfortunately for Mr Lancaster, he was cursed with a personality that makes you want to drive your fist through his skull. My guess is he compensates for it with sheer ruthlessness, manipulating people who are powerless and moving them around like chess pieces.’

‘So explain to me why he’s suddenly developed such a major hard-on for the Red Hill Ripper.’

‘The killer represents an opportunity.’

‘For career advancement.’

‘And fame,’ Hoder said. ‘Look at your own career. You caught a serial killer who eluded capture for, what, almost three decades, and you became a minor celebrity in both the legitimate press and tabloids.’

‘That wasn’t my choice. I didn’t seek it out.’

‘I wasn’t suggesting you did. And by fame I don’t mean he simply yearns to see his face plastered in the papers and all over TV, although I’m sure that plays a part in his psychological drive. It’s recognition he craves. By catching the Ripper, Lancaster proves he’s not only smarter than the killer but also smarter than you, me, the FBI. He’s angling to take over the case now because we represent a collective threat – you, especially.’

‘Because he’s a misogynist.’

‘That’s probably true,’ Hoder said. ‘He finds you particularly vexing.’

‘Meaning?’

‘You didn’t flinch when he tried to embarrass you in front of a roomful of men, and you didn’t run away and hide in shame or embarrassment when those pictures of you were exposed.’

‘The way a normal woman should,’ Darby added.

Hoder’s smile was warm. Paternal. ‘You’re far from normal,’ he said. ‘In all my travels, I can honestly say I’ve never met a woman like you. It’s your capacity for violence that threatens men like Teddy Lancaster. You can handle yourself physically, and you’re a killer.’

‘I’m not a killer.’

‘You’ve killed before and you have the capacity to kill again. And you will, in the right circumstances, without hesitation.’ There was no judgement in his voice, just a cold, clinical tone. ‘You represent castration anxiety in the metaphorical sense – you have the power to emasculate men, make them feel powerless.’

‘Do you feel that way?’

Hoder didn’t have a chance to answer; the waitress had returned, but she wasn’t carrying any plates, just a cordless phone. She pressed a finger to her lips, signalling for them to be quiet. She placed the phone on their table and then she reached inside her apron and came back with a receipt that had been folded once and handed it to Darby.

Darby unfolded the piece of paper and read the bold, black writing:

DON’T SPEAK

LEAVE YOUR CELL ON THE TABLE & STEP OUTSIDE W/CORDLESS

ALONE.

32

Darby handed the note to Hoder as she got to her feet. Phone in hand, she left the diner and moved down the short set of steps to the sidewalk. The afternoon sky was filled with bright sun. She put on her sunglasses.

Two vehicles, a compact car and a truck, were parked on the kerb across the street, in front of a hardware store called Gilly’s. She could see shadows moving behind the glass as her gaze broke to her left, to another street dotted with maples and aspens, the mountains visible in the distance. To her right, on the route she’d used to come here, she saw a pawnshop. There had been cars parked in front of it moments earlier; now they were gone.

The cordless rang. A spike of fear shot its way up her arm as she pressed the TALK button and brought the receiver up to her ear.

‘Hello.’

‘You leave your phone on the table?’

The caged breath trapped in her throat dissolved. The caller on the other end of the line was Ray Williams.

‘That was you who gave the waitress that message?’

‘Yeah,’ Williams said. ‘She told you guys not to talk, right?’

‘She did. How’d you know I was here?’

‘Laurie Richards told me. I –’

‘You there right now, at the hotel?’ Darby was thinking about the possibility of another listening device having been placed somewhere on the front desk.

‘No, I’m calling you from a payphone on Main,’ Williams said. ‘Coop called Robinson looking for you and Hoder, and then the chief got on the horn to me, on the police radio. Told me to call him on a land-line. Sorry for the cloak-and-dagger shit, but Coop’s instructions were real specific. You got a pen?’

‘Yeah.’ Darby fished out a ballpoint from her breast pocket. ‘What’s going on?’

‘I don’t know the details yet, just the broad strokes. Coop wants you to call him, said it’s urgent. I’ve got the number for you.’

Williams gave it to her. He agreed to meet her at the diner and then hung up.

Darby dialled Coop’s number. The phone on the other end of the line had barely rung before Coop said, ‘Darby?’

‘I got your note and I’m standing outside a diner talking on a cordless.’

‘It’s about those pictures of you in your birthday suit. It’s malware. We’re talking two separate programs. The malware hidden in the first photo, it runs a program that turns your cell’s speaker into a portable, walking microphone. You type in the number for the infected cell and you can listen in on any conversation.’

‘And the second one?’

‘Turns your cell into a GPS tracker. The son of a bitch knows where you are – where we all are – at all times, even if your phone is turned off. As long as the battery is connected, he can listen in on any conversation and check your GPS signal whenever he wants, using a laptop or a portable surveillance receiver.’

‘What sort of range are we talking about?’

‘Don’t know yet,’ Coop said. ‘Cell signals are spotty, at best, in Red Hill. You may get a bar or two, but there’s a good chance the signal will drop altogether. The geeks here who specialize in this stuff think he’s using either a satellite phone or a laptop with a 4G connection, maybe even a satellite internet card. We don’t know the frequency yet. For all we know he’s simply using a portable receiver and is parked somewhere within a quarter of a mile of you. You seen anyone following you?’

‘No, but I wasn’t really paying much – oh shit.’

‘What?’

Darby squeezed the phone and rubbed the back of her head. ‘He knows, Coop.’

‘Knows what?’

‘Everything.’ Darby pinched her temples between her fingers and then gave him a quick rundown about the bug she’d found inside her hotel phone. ‘When I came back to tell Hoder, I had my iPhone on me. It was in my pocket. He heard me talking to the woman who works the reception desk, Laurie Richards. How is it this guy always seems to be two steps ahead of us?’

‘Maybe not,’ Coop said. ‘I’m looking at a satellite map of your area. Street you want is called Lomas.’

‘What’s there?’

‘The phone used to send out your nudie pics. I gave the number to the geeks, and they plugged it into their tracking system. They couldn’t trace the signal earlier because there was no signal trace. Our guy must’ve disconnected the battery from his phone right after he sent them. Then, five, maybe ten minutes ago, the signal for that number came back on. It’s coming from Lomas Street, near the Red Hill Public Library. You’re 2.3 miles away from it. You drive there?’

‘Hoder did. He’s inside the diner. Has the signal moved at all?’

‘No, it’s remained stationary since it came back on.’

‘Give me the directions – never mind, there’s a police cruiser coming my way. It’s probably Williams.’

‘I’ll be here for another hour,’ Coop said. ‘Mobile lab’s almost done being fixed.’

Darby ran into the street, her heart bursting with adrenalin, and waved down the patrol car. She saw Hoder watching her from the diner window.

‘Stay there,’ she called to him as the patrol car accelerated towards her, its engine climbing.

Ray Williams stopped next to her, his window down, his face etched with concern and worry. He was about to speak when she motioned for him to be quiet.