him to expand on what the similarities between the cases were, and asked if any new evidence had been discovered. “I can’t comment on an ongoing investigation,” he said. “At this time, all I’ll say is that this individual is under the delusion that he’s outsmarted us. He hasn’t. We’re smarter. He has left us a distinct signature. He’s tripped up, and doesn’t even realize it.”
The claim didn’t rattle Jasper in the least. It was poppycock. If there had been any evidence connecting him to Marian Harris, Drex’s wannabe-writer charade would have been unnecessary. Agents would have stormed Jasper’s house and placed him under arrest.
Having heard enough of the blather, he was about to switch off the TV when the reporter said, “You’ve taken a man into custody this morning. Drex Easton, who holds a doctorate in criminal psychology. What’s his connection to these cases, and what charges is he facing?”
Drex had a doctorate? He was in custody?
One of the anchors cut to the heart of the matter. “He’s said to have become recently acquainted with Elaine Conner, Jasper Ford, and Ford’s wife, Talia Shafer. Is he considered a suspect in Conner’s murder?”
“No,” the agent replied. “But Easton has, over the course of many years, hindered other FBI investigations by interfering without authority. From the night Ford went missing and Mrs. Conner was killed, Easton has prevented Ford’s wife from cooperating with the investigation. He was arrested this morning. Together they were brought in for questioning. He’s being arraigned this afternoon, facing state charges of tampering with evidence and obstruction of justice. Similar federal charges are pending.”
It appeared to Jasper that the agent wished to say more. Jasper wanted to hear more, but his curiosity went ungratified. The reporter thanked the FBI agent and turned to face the camera, which zoomed in on her.
“Easton’s involvement with the key parties, which has led to his arrest, is a surprising twist in a case that already has authorities baffled.”
“Kelly, what’s the status of the search for Mr. Ford?” asked one of the anchors.
“Ongoing. However, there has been a development.” She went on to relate that fishermen had reeled in one of his shoes. “It’s looking more and more likely that he drowned. I haven’t received confirmation, but the word is that the search for him will be suspended after today.”
She wrapped up, and they returned to the studio. Jasper muted the television but stared at the miming heads for a full minute, trying to assimilate the shocking news that Drex Easton was to be arraigned later today.
What a well-deserved comedown! He wouldn’t be so cocky when standing before a judge, would he? He wouldn’t be glib and disarming. The court would not go all aflutter over the dimple that Elaine had found so dashing. Drex Easton, humbled to the level of a common criminal, would be a sight to behold.
Not that Jasper would go anywhere near that courthouse.
In his current incarnation, the chances of being recognized were slim to none. But it would be foolish to risk exposure when he was so close to being free and clear of this venture and ready to move on to his next.
He turned off the TV and wiped down the remote. Everything else in the room he had already thoroughly sterilized. His suitcase was packed except for the last two items to go into it. It lay open on the end of the bed. He’d hung the Do Not Disturb card on the outside doorknob to ward off the housekeeper, both while he remained and after he was gone.
Watching the noon news had been the last item on his agenda before taking his departure. He confessed that the half-hour delay had been a trifle self-indulgent, but he couldn’t resist watching all the reports about himself, and he had enjoyed them immensely. He could leave Charleston feeling very proud.
Although it did stick in his craw that he was leaving with a major ambition unfulfilled: killing Talia. He had never before abandoned a project without completing it, and it galled him to do so now.
He was undeterred, of course. He would kill her. But the risk of doing so presently was too great. He would wait for several months, perhaps for as long as a year. Which, now that he thought on it, wouldn’t be at all bad. The anticipation of ending her life, especially when she believed him dead, would ferment in his imagination like a fine wine. He could spend idle days fantasizing it.
He wondered