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anything he was male superior.
Something was odd, though.
What was it?
Perhaps these youthful male figures were a
subconscious representation of Corian himself? But no,
each one was utterly unique. Right down to the appendix
scar on that kneeling youth. Elliot frowned, considering.
His cell phone rang and he reached for it, smiling,
expecting Tucker s return call.
Josh Lanyon 265
But it was not Tucker. The icon for a text message
appeared. The hair rose on the back of Elliot s neck.
Anonymous call from Anonymous@Anontxt.net.
He pressed accept.
Are we having fun yet?
All at once the background music seemed unbearably
loud, but perhaps that was Elliot s own heartbeat
pounding away in his ears. He turned his head, rapidly
scanning the packed room. There were several people on
cell phones. The dark-haired man who had been speaking
with Anne Gold was either dialing or texting.
Elliot stared down at his phone. He texted back Let s
meet.
He waited.
Nothing.
He looked around the room. The dark-haired man was
now laughing with a red-haired woman in a paisley
jumpsuit.
Elliot s phone chirped.
Text message from Anonymous@anontxt.net. He
clicked on the message.
Soon.
He had no proof the Unsub was in this crowd. It was
more likely that he wasn t in this crowd. Except this guy
liked risk, liked the thrill. He wasn t afraid of being
caught because he was confident he was stronger and
smarter than everyone else. He might easily have
followed Elliot this evening.
Or he might think Elliot was following him.
Now where had that thought come from? Elliot wasn t
sure. He stared around the room at the laughing, talking,
drinking faces. No one was paying him any attention. No
one was watching him. Roland was talking to three
266 Fair Game
attractive older ladies with the long, straight hair and
baggy peasant dresses that so many of his dad s admirers
favored. Anne was helping herself to another glass of
champagne. Charlotte Oppenheimer had just arrived. He
saw her wince at the human heartbeat soundtrack
overhead.
No. There was something he was missing. Something
obvious. Something as plain as the nose on his face.
The thought sank in. Elliot slowly turned back to the
forest of marble bodies. Like human tombstones. He
knew now what was odd.
Every single male nude was headless.
Chapter Twenty-Six
He wasn t mistaken. He walked quickly through the
exhibit. The female nudes were anatomically if coyly
correct. All body parts present and accounted for. The
male nudes were blazingly, flagrantly alive and
headless.
Every single one of them.
Elliot began to examine the statues for distinguishing
marks or scars. Corian was too much of an artist of an
egotist not to put them in, even if they could prove
incriminating.
He looked around the sparkling room. The streamers
wafted gently in the breeze from the main doors. Where
was Corian?
If he had been watching Elliot closely, he probably had
a very good idea of the deductions Elliot was making.
Would he try to make a run for it?
No.
He had too much to lose. He might try to destroy any
incriminating evidence, though. Yes. That seemed more
like it. Depending on what that evidence might be.
Elliot pulled his cell phone out and called Tucker.
Tucker s phone was busy and the call went to message.
I think the Unsub is Andrew Corian, Elliot said
quietly. I think he knows I m onto him. He may try and
head back to his place. If he s still here, I ll try to see that
268 Fair Game
he doesn t leave. Fuck. It was stupid trying to have this
discussion with a message box in cyberspace. He hung up,
searched the room for Anne and went to her.
What does Corian drive?
Hello to you too!
Nice to see you, you look gorgeous as always, what
does Corian drive?
Anne looked ceilingward. A minivan, I think. A black
minivan. Why?
Elliot started for the main door, making his way
through the crowd with more speed than finesse.
Someone grabbed his arm.
Elliot turned, his hand sliding to his open jacket and
the holster beneath. He recognized Roland s frowning
face and halted.
What s wrong? Where are you going? Roland
questioned.
Dad, call Tacoma PD and ask for Detective Anderson
or Pine. Tell them I think the PSU Killer is Andrew
Corian
What?
and that he s here at the exhibit. At least, I think he
still is.
What in God s name are you talking about?
The statues. I think Corian s models were his murder
victims. There s a sculpture over there with an appendix
scar.
But that statue could be anyone
Dad, I don t have time. If Corian realizes I ve made
the connection, he s liable to make a run for it. Can you
please just make the call? Elliot started to move away. A
thought occurred, and he turned back. And, Dad,
Josh Lanyon 269
whatever you do, don t approach Corian. Don t go
anywhere near him. I m serious.
Elliot continued onto the door. The smog-scented night
air felt cool against his face. He jogged lightly across the
plaza, circling the individuals and couples in his path,
until he came to the stairs to the parking structure below.
Three long flights.
He took them quickly but cautiously, conscious of the
bend and flex of his prosthetic knee joint. Everything was
operational. He could do this. He had to do this. If Corian
pulled a Ted Bundy and took flight they might not catch
him for weeks might not catch him until he had killed
again. That wasn t a risk Elliot was prepared to take.
Reaching the bottom, he looked left then right. The
garage was, as expected, crowded with cars and SUVs.
No people, but everyone would be upstairs enjoying the
big event.
He started up the aisles of cars. The guest of honor
would surely have a primo parking space. Maybe in the
employee lot or maybe under the overhang to the left
marked reserved.
Elliot drew his pistol and held it at low ready, trotting
toward the reserved parking area. The lights cast a deathly
bluish tint over the concrete walls and gleaming cars. As
Elliot passed a security camera he raised his pistol and
gestured the direction he was moving. He was not sure
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