“What we don’t know is whether or not the attraction was mutual,” Begley said. “Maybe they’ve been seeing each other since last summer. As the ex, Dutch Burton wouldn’t necessarily know about it.”
“Correct.”
“On the other hand . . . ,” Begley began.
“If Ms. Martin was not attracted to Tierney, and if he is Blue . . .”
“Yeah.” Begley sighed. “He wouldn’t like being rebuffed.” He lapsed into a glum silence for several minutes, then thumped his fist against his thigh with aggravation. “Son of a bitch! This just doesn’t gel, Hoot. According to Ritt, and Wes Hamer agreed, women are naturally attracted to Tierney. So tell me why he would kidnap them. Huh, Hoot? Any ideas?”
Although Begley was impatiently waiting for an answer, Hoot carefully thought it through first. “When I was in law school—”
“Speaking of that,” Begley interrupted. “I learned only a short while ago that you had a law degree. Why didn’t you become a lawyer?”
“I wanted to be an FBI agent,” he said without hesitation. “For as long as I can remember, that’s all I ever wanted to be.” His ambition had been ridiculed by the tough guys in school. Even his parents had suggested that he have an alternative in mind should his first choice of career not pan out. He hadn’t let the skepticism of others dissuade him.
“The problem was, well, sir, I didn’t serve in the military. I had no police training. To look at me, you wouldn’t immediately think that I would be a suitable candidate for the best criminal investigation agency in the world. I don’t fit the image most people have of a federal agent. I was afraid the bureau wouldn’t accept me unless and until I distinguished myself in some other way. I figured a law degree would help, and obviously it did.”
He glanced at Begley, who had been handpicked by the bureau because of his outstanding military service record, leadership qualities, and—most important—his set of brass balls. Their qualifications were so disparate it was laughable.
Begley was assessing him thoughtfully, although not harshly. Hoot thought that maybe, hopefully, he had passed muster in Begley’s estimation. That was no small thing. In fact, it was huge. It was the big bang of approval ratings.
“You asked me why Tierney takes women, sir. I was about to give you a correlation that may apply. From my first semester in law school, a classmate and I were in a dead heat to be top of our class. He looked like a young John Kennedy. Athletic. Charismatic. Dated a Sports Illustrated swimsuit model. In addition to all those attributes, he was brilliant. Positively brilliant.
“But he cheated. Rampantly. In just about every class, through every year of law school, he cribbed on every assignment and test. He wound up with a grade point a fraction higher than mine and graduated in the number one spot.”
“He was never caught?”
“No, sir.”
“That must have been difficult for you to stomach.”
“Not really, sir. He probably would have outscored me anyway. The point is, he didn’t need to cheat.”
“So why did he?”
“Law school didn’t present a challenge. Cheating and getting away with it did.”
Up ahead, Wes Hamer’s taillights blinked on once, twice, three times. Hoot took that as a signal that he would need to brake soon. He let up on the accelerator. Beyond Hamer the sanding truck’s brake lights came on, and with them, the right turn signal. Gently Hoot applied his brakes so he could slow down gradually.
Begley seemed oblivious to anything beyond the windshield. He was ruminating on Tierney’s motivation. “So here we have another overachiever who’s run out of challenges. He’s taking them to see if he can. But why these women? Why not—”
Suddenly he unbuckled his seat belt and turned toward the backseat, making Hoot awfully nervous. Reaching between the seats, Begley picked up the five file jackets containing the countless bureau forms and investigative information that Hoot had compiled for each missing persons case. Facing forward again, Begley stacked the files in his lap. Hoot breathed easier when he was buckled back into his seat.
“Last night, as I was wading through these files, I kept thinking I was reading the same story time and again,” Begley said. “I just now figured out why.”
“I’m not following, sir.” Hoot took the sedan into a careful turn. By following Hamer at a safe distance, he was able to roll to a stop, coming short of ramming into Hamer’s rear end when he braked. Ahead of Hamer, the sanding truck was laboring to get traction on the incline that rose sharply just beyond the turn.
Begley slapped his palm on the top file. The abrupt noise startled Hoot enough to make him jump. “These women had something in common, Hoot.”
“No one working the cases has found a common thread among the victims, sir. Not a place of employment, body type, background—”
“Neediness.”
Not sure he’d heard correctly, Hoot risked turning his head to look at Begley. “Sir?”
“They were all needy in one way or another. Millicent, we know, was anorexic, which is symptomatic of emotional and self-image problems, right?”
“That’s my understanding.”