We drove to my home on streets barely touched by traffic. The late night was perfectly still, snow covering the earth like cotton and absorbing sound. Bare trees were black against white, the moon an indistinct face behind fog. I wanted to go for a walk, but Wesley would not let me.
'It's late and you've had a traumatic day,' he said as we sat in his BMW, which was parked behind Marino's car in front of my house. 'You don't need to be walking around out here.'
'You could walk with me.' I felt vulnerable and very tired, and did not want him to leave.
'Neither of us needs to be walking around out here,' he said as Marino, Janet and Lucy disappeared inside my house. 'You need to go inside and get some sleep.'
'What will you do?'
'I have a room.'
'Where?' I asked as if I had a right to know.
'Linden Row. Downtown. Go to bed, Kay. Please.'
He paused, staring out the windshield. 'I wish I could do more, but I can't.'
'I know you can't and I'm not asking you to. Of course, you can't any more than I could if you needed comfort. If you needed someone. That's when I hate loving you. I hate it so much. I hate it so much when I need you. Like now.' I struggled. 'Oh damn.'
He put his arms around me and dried my tears. He touched my hair and held my hand as if he loved it with all his heart. 'I could take you downtown with me tonight if that's what you really want.'
He knew I did not want that because it was impossible. 'No,' I said with a deep breath. 'No, Benton.'
I got out of his car and scooped up a handful of snow. I scrubbed my face with it as I walked around to the front door. I did not want anyone to know I had been crying in the dark with Benton Wesley.
He did not drive off until I had barricaded myself inside my house with Marino, Janet and Lucy. Tucker had ordered an around-the-clock surveillance, and Marino was in charge. He would not entrust our safety to uniformed men parked somewhere in a cruiser or van. He rallied us like Green Berets or guerrillas.
'All right,' he said as we walked into my kitchen. 'I know Lucy can shoot. Janet, you sure as hell better be able to if you're ever gonna graduate from the Academy.'
'I could shoot before the Academy,' she said in her quiet, unflappable way.
'Doc?'
I was looking inside the refrigerator.
'I can make pasta with a little olive oil, Parmesan and onion. I've got cheese if anybody wants sandwiches. Or if you give me a chance to thaw it, I've got le piccagge col pesto di ricotta or tortellini verdi. I think there's enough for four if I warm up both.'
Nobody cared.
I wanted so much to do something normal.
'I'm sorry,' I said in despair. 'I haven't been to the store lately.'
'I need to get into your safe, Doc,' Marino said.
'I've got bagels.'
'Hey. Anybody hungry?' Marino asked.
No one was. I closed the freezer. The gun safe was in the garage.
'Come on,' I told him.
He followed me out and I opened it for him.
'Do you mind telling me what you're doing?' I asked.
'I'm arming us,' he said as he picked up one handgun after another and looked at my stash of ammunition. 'Damn, you must own stock in Green Top.'
Green Top was an area gun shop that catered not to felons, but to normal citizens who enjoyed sports and home security. I reminded Marino of this, although I could not deny that by normal standards I owned too many guns and too much ammunition.
'I didn't know you had all this,' Marino went on, half inside my large, heavy safe. 'When the hell did you get all this? I wasn't with you.'
'I do shop alone now and then,' I said sharply. 'Believe it or not, I am perfectly capable of buying groceries, clothing and guns all by myself. And I'm very tired, Marino. Let's wind this up.'
'Where are your shotguns?'
'What do you want?'
'What do you have?'
'Remingtons. A Marine Magnum. An 870 Express Security.'
'That'll do.'
'Would you like me to see if I can round up some plastic explosives?' I said. 'Maybe I can put my hands on a grenade launcher.'
He pulled out a Glock nine-millimeter. 'So you're into combat Tupperware, too.'
'I've used it in the indoor range for test fires,' I said. That's what I've used most of these guns for. I've got several papers to present at various meetings. This is making me crazy. Are you going into my dresser drawers next?'
Marino tucked the Glock in the back of his pants. 'Let's see. And I'm gonna swipe your stainless steel Smith and Wesson nine-mil and your Colt. Janet likes Colts.'
I closed the safe and angrily spun the dial. Marino and I returned to the house and I went upstairs because I did not want to see him pass out ammunition and guns. I could not cope with the thought of Lucy downstairs with a pump shotgun, and I wondered if anything would faze or frighten Gault. I was to the point of thinking he was the living dead and no weapon known to us could stop him. In my bedroom I turned out lights and stood before the window. My breath condensed on glass as I stared at a night lit up by snow. I remembered occasions when I had not been in Richmond long and woke up to a world quiet and white like this. Several times, the city was paralyzed and I could not go to work. I remembered walking my neighborhood, kicking snow up in the air and throwing snowballs at trees. I remembered watching children pull sleds along streets.
I wiped fog off the glass and was too sad to tell anyone my feelings. Across the street, holiday candles glowed in every window of every house but mine. The street was bright but empty. Not a single car went by. I knew Marino would stay up half the night with his female SWAT team. They would be disappointed. Gault would not come here. I was beginning to have an instinct about him. What Anna had said about him was probably right.
In bed I read until I fell to sleep, and I woke up at five. Quietly, I went downstairs, thinking it would be my luck to die from a shotgun blast inside my own home. But the door to one guest bedroom was shut, and Marino was snoring on the couch. I sneaked into the garage and backed my Mercedes out. It did wonderfully on the soft, dry snow. I felt like a bird and I flew.
I drove fast on Gary Street and thought it was fun when I fishtailed. No one else was out. I shifted the car into low gear and plowed through drifts in International Safeway's parking lot. The grocery store was always open, and I went in for fresh orange juice, cream cheese, bacon and eggs. I was wearing a hat and no one paid me any mind.
By the time I returned to my car, I was the happiest I had been in weeks. I sang with the radio all the way home and skidded when I safely could. I drove into the garage, and Marino was there with his flat black Benelli shotgun.
'What the hell do you think you're doing!' he exclaimed as I shut the garage door.
'I'm getting groceries.' My euphoria fled.
'Je-sus Christ. I can't believe you just did that,' he yelled at me.
'What do you think this is?' I lost my temper. Tatty Hearst? Am I kidnapped now? Should we just lock me inside a closet?'
'Get in the house.' Marino was very upset.
I stared coldly at him. 'This is my house. Not your house. Not Tucker's house. Not Benton's house. This, goddam it, is my house. And I will get in it when I please.'
'Good. And you can die in it just like you can die anywhere else.'
I followed him into the kitchen. I yanked items out of the grocery bag and slammed them on the counter. I cracked eggs into a bowl and shoved shells down the disposal. I snapped on the gas burner and beat the hell out of omelets with onions and fontina cheese. I made coffee and swore because I had forgotten low-fat Cremora. I tore off squares of paper towel because I had no napkins, either.
'You can set the table in the living room and start the fire,' I said, grinding fresh pepper into frothy eggs.
'The fire's been started since last night.'
'Are Lucy and Janet awake?' I was beginning to feel better.
'I got no idea.'
I rubbed olive oil into a frying pan. 'Then go knock on their door.'
'They're in the same bedroom,' he said.
'Oh for God's sake, Marino.' I turned around and looked at him in exasperation.
We ate breakfast at seven-thirty and read the newspaper, which was wet.
'What are you going to do today?' Lucy asked me as if we were on vacation, perhaps at some lovely resort in the Alps.
She was dressed in her same fatigues, sitting on an ottoman before the fire. The nickel-plated Remington was nearby on the floor. It was loaded with seven rounds.
'I have errands to run and phone calls to make,' I said.
Marino had put on blue jeans and a sweatshirt. He watched me suspiciously as he slurped coffee.
I met his eyes. 'I'm going downtown.'
He did not respond. 'Benton's already headed out.'
I felt my cheeks get hot.
'I already tried to call him and he already checked out of the hotel.' Marino glanced at his watch. 'That would have been about two hours ago, around six.'
'When I mentioned downtown,' I said evenly, 'I was referring to my office.'
'What you need to do, Doc, is drive north to Quantico and check into their security floor for a while. Seriously. At least for the weekend.'
'I agree,' I said. 'But not until I've taken care of a few matters here.'
'Then take Lucy and Janet with you.'
Lucy was looking out the sliding glass doors now, and Janet was still reading the paper.
'No,' I said. 'They can stay here until we head out to Quantico.'
'It's not a good idea.'
'Marino, unless I've been arrested for something I know nothing about, I'm leaving here in less than thirty minutes and going to my office. And I'm going there alone.'
Janet lowered the paper and said to Marino, 'There comes a point when you've got to go on with your life.'
'This is a security matter,' Marino dismissed her.
Janet's expression did not change. 'No, it isn't. This is a matter of your acting like a man.'
Marino looked puzzled.
'You're being overly protective,' she added reasonably. 'And you want to be in charge and control everything.'
Marino did not seem angry because she was soft-spoken. 'You got a better idea?' he asked.
'Dr. Scarpetta can take care of herself,' Janet said. 'But she shouldn't be alone in this house at night.'
'He won't come here,' I said.
Janet got up and stretched. 'He probably won't,' she said. 'But Carrie would.'
Lucy turned away from the glass doors. Outside, the morning was blinding, and water dripped from eaves.
'Why can't I go into the office with you?' my niece wanted to know.
'There's nothing for you to do,' I said. 'You'd be bored.'
'I can work on the computer,'
Later, I drove Lucy and Janet to work with me and left them at the office with Fielding, my deputy chief. At eleven a.m., roads were slushy in the Slip, and businesses were opening late. Dressed in waterproof boots and a long jacket, I waited on a sidewalk to cross Franklin Street. Road crews were spreading salt, and traffic was sporadic this Friday before New Year's Eve.
James Galleries occupied the upper floor in a former tobacco warehouse near Laura Ashley and a record store. I entered a side door, followed a dim hallway and got on an elevator too small to carry more than three people my size. I pushed the button for the third floor, and soon the elevator opened onto another dimly lit hallway, at the end of which were glass doors with the name of the gallery painted on them in black calligraphy.
James had opened his gallery after moving to Richmond from New York. I had purchased a mono-print and a carved bird from him once, and the art glass in my dining room had come from him as well. Then I quit shopping here about a year ago after a local artist came up with inappropriate silk-screened lab coats in honor of me. They included blood and bones, cartoons and crime scenes, and when I asked James not to carry them, he increased his order.
I could see him behind a showcase, rearranging a tray of what looked like bracelets. He looked up when I rang the bell. He shook his head and mouthed that he was not open. I removed hat and sunglasses and knocked on the glass. He stared blankly until I pulled out my credentials and showed him my shield.
He was startled, then confused when he realized it was me. James, who insisted the world call him James because his first name was Elmer, came to the door. He took another look at my face and bells rattled against glass as he turned a key.
'What in the world?' he said, letting me in.
'You and I must talk,' I said, unzipping my coat.
'I'm all out of lab coats.'
'I'm delighted to hear it.'
'Me too,' he said in his petty way. 'Sold every one of them for Christmas. I sell more of those silly lab coats than anything in the gallery. We're thinking of silk-screened scrubs next, the same style you folks wear when you're doing autopsies.'
'You're not disrespectful of me,' I said. 'You're disrespectful of the dead. You will never be me, but you will someday be dead. Maybe you should think about that.'
'The problem with you is you don't have a sense of humor.'
'I'm not here to talk about what you perceive the problem with me is,' I calmly said.
A tall, fussy man with short gray hair and a mustache, he specialized in minimalist paintings, bronzes and furniture, and unusual jewelry and kaleidoscopes. Of course, he had a penchant for the irreverent and bizarre, and nothing was a bargain. He treated customers as if they were lucky to be spending money in his gallery. I wasn't sure James treated anyone well.
'What are you doing here?' he asked me. 'I know what happened around the corner, at your office.'
'I'm sure you do,' I said. 1 can't imagine how anybody could not know.'
'Is it true that one of the cops was put in…'
I gave him a stony stare.
He returned behind the counter, where I could now see he had been tying tiny price tags on gold and silver bracelets fashioned to look like serpents, soda can flip tops, braided hair, even handcuffs.
'Special, aren't they?' He smiled.
'They are different.'
'This is my favorite.' He held up one. It was a chain wrought of rose-gold hands.
'Several days ago someone came into your gallery and used my charge card,' I said.
'Yes. Your son.' He returned the bracelet to the tray.
'My what?' I said.
He looked up at me. 'Your son. Let's see. I believe his name is Kirk.'
'I do not have a son,' I told him. 'I have no children. And my American Express gold card was stolen several months ago.'
James chided me, 'Well, for crummy sake, why haven't you canceled it?'
'I didn't realize it was stolen until very recently. And I'm not here to talk to you about that,' I said. 'I need you to tell me exactly what happened.'
James pulled out a stool and sat down. He did not offer me a chair. 'He came in the Friday before Christmas,' he said. 'I guess about four o'clock in the afternoon.'
'This was a man?'
James gave me a disgusted look. 'I do know the difference. Yes. He was a man.'
'Please describe him.'
'Five-ten, thin, sharp features. His cheeks were a little sunken. But I actually found him rather striking.'
'What about his hair?'
'He was wearing a baseball cap, so I didn't see much of it. But I got the impression it was a really terrible red. A Raggedy Andy red. I can't imagine who got hold of him, but he ought to sue for malpractice.'
'And his eyes?'
He was wearing dark-tinted glasses. Sort of Armani-ish.' He got amused. 'I was so surprised you had a son like that. I would have figured your boy wore khakis, skinny ties and went to MIT…'
'James, there is nothing lighthearted about this conversation,' I abruptly said.
His face lit up and his eyes got wide as the meaning became clear. 'Oh my God. The man I've been reading about? That's who… My God. He was in my gallery?'
I made no comment.
James was ecstatic. 'Do you realize what this will do?' he said. 'When people find out he shopped here?'
I said nothing.
'It will be fabulous for my business. People from all over will come here. My gallery will be on the tour routes.'
'That's right. Be certain to advertise something like that,' I said. 'And character disorders from everywhere will stand in line. They'll touch your expensive paintings, bronzes, tapestries, and ask you endless questions. And they won't buy a thing.'
He got quiet.
'When he came in,' I said, 'what did he do?'
'He looked around. He said he was looking for a last-minute gift.'
'What was his voice like?'
'Quiet. Kind of high-pitched. I asked who the present was for, and he said his mother. He said she was a doctor. That's when I showed him the pin he ended up buying. It's a caduceus. Two white gold serpents twined around a yellow gold winged staff. The serpents have ruby eyes. It's handmade and absolutely spectacular.'
'That's what he bought for two hundred and fifty dollars?' I asked.
'Yes.' He was appraising me, crooked finger under his chin. 'Actually, it's you. The pin is really you. Would you like for me to have the artist make another one?'
'What happened after he bought the pin?'
'I asked if he wanted it gift wrapped, and he didn't. He pulled out the charge card. And I said, "Well, small, small world. Your mother works right around the corner." He didn't say anything. So I asked if he was home for the holidays, and he smiled.'
'He didn't talk,' I said.
'Not at all. It was like pulling hens' teeth. I wouldn't call him friendly. But he was polite.'
'Do you remember how he was dressed?'
'A long black leather coat. It was belted, so I don't know what he had on under it. But I thought he looked sharp.'
'Shoes?'
'It seems he had on boots.'
'Did you notice anything else about him?'
He thought for a while, looking past me at the door. He said, 'Now that you mention it, he had what looked like burns on his fingers. I thought that was a little scary.'
'What about his hygiene?' I then asked, for the more addicted a crack user got, the less he cared about clothing or cleanliness.
'He seemed clean to me. But I really didn't get close to him.'
'And he bought nothing else while he was here?'
'Unfortunately not.'
Elmer James propped an elbow on the showcase and rested his cheek on his fist. He sighed. 'I wonder how he found me.'
I walked back, avoiding slushy puddles on streets and the cars that drove through them heedlessly. I got splashed once. I returned to my office, where Janet was in the library watching a teaching videotape of an autopsy while Lucy worked in the computer room. I left them alone and went down to the morgue to check on my staff.
Fielding was at the first table, working on a young woman found dead in the snow below her bedroom window. I noted the pinkness of the body and could smell alcohol in the blood. On her right arm was a cast scribbled with messages and autographs.
'How are we doing?' I asked.
'She's got a STAT alcohol of.23,' he replied, examining a section of aorta. 'So that didn't get her. I think she's going to be an exposure death.'
'What are the circumstances?' I could not help but think of Jane.
'Apparently, she was out drinking with friends and by the time they took her home around eleven p.m. it was snowing pretty hard. They let her out and didn't wait to see her in. The police think her keys fell in the snow and she was too drunk to find them.'
He dropped the section of aorta into a jar of formalin. 'So she tried to get in a window by breaking it with her cast.'
He lifted the brain out of the scale. 'But that didn't work. The window was too high up, and with one arm she couldn't have climbed in it anyway. Eventually she passed out.'
'Nice friends,' I said, walking off.
Dr. Anderson, who was new, was photographing a ninety-one-year-old woman with a hip fracture. I collected paperwork from a nearby desk and quickly reviewed the case.
'Is this an autopsy?' I asked.
'Yes,' Dr. Anderson said.
'Why?'
She stopped what she was doing and looked at me through her face shield. I could see intimidation in her eyes. 'The fracture was two weeks ago. The medical examiner in Albemarle was concerned her death could be due to complications of that accident.'
'What are the circumstances of her death?'
'She presented with pleural effusion and shortness of breath.'
'I don't see any direct relationship between that and a hip fracture,' I said.
Dr. Anderson rested her gloved hands on the edge of the steel table.
'An act of God can take you at any time,' I said. 'You can release her. She's not a medical examiner's case.'
'Dr. Scarpetta,' Fielding spoke above the whining of the Stryker saw. 'Did you know that the Transplant Council meeting is Thursday?'
'I've got jury duty.' I turned to Dr. Anderson. 'Do you have court on Thursday?'
'Well, it's been continued. They keep sending me subpoenas even though they've stipulated my testimony.'
'Ask Rose to take care of it. If you're free and we don't have a full house on Thursday, you can go with Fielding to the council meeting.'
I checked carts and cupboards, wondering if any other boxes of gloves were gone. But it seemed Gault had taken only those that were in the van. I wondered what else he might find in my office, and my thoughts darkened.
I went directly to my office without speaking to anyone I passed and opened a cabinet door beneath my microscope. In back I had tucked a very fine set of dissecting knives Lucy had given to me for Christmas. German made, they were stainless steel with smooth light handles. They were expensive and incredibly sharp. I moved aside cardboard files of slides, journals, microscope lightbulbs and batteries and reams of printer paper. The knives were gone.
Rose was on the phone in her office adjoining mine, and I walked in and stood by her desk.
'But you've already stipulated her testimony,' she was saying. 'If you've stipulated her testimony, then you obviously don't need to subpoena her to appear so she can give you her testimony…'
She looked at me and rolled her eyes. Rose was getting on in years, but she was ever vigilant and forceful. Snow or shine she was always here, the headmistress of Les Miserables.
'Yes, yes. Now we're getting somewhere.' She scribbled something on a message pad. 'I can promise you Dr. Anderson will be very grateful. Of course. Good day.'
My secretary hung up and looked at me. 'You're gone entirely too much.'
'Tell me about it,' I said.
'You'd better watch out. One of these days you may find me with someone else.'
I was too worn out to joke. 'I wouldn't blame you,' I said.
She regarded me like a shrewd mother who knew I had been drinking or making out or sneaking cigarettes. 'What is it, Dr. Scarpetta?' she said.
'Have you seen my dissecting knives?'
She did not know what I was talking about.
'The ones Lucy gave me. A set of three in a hard plastic box. Three different sizes.'
Recognition registered on her face. 'Oh yes. I remember now. I thought you kept them in your cabinet.'
'They're not there.'
'Shoot. Not the cleaning crew, I hope. When was the last time you saw them?'
'Probably right after Lucy gave them to me, which was actually before Christmas because she didn't want to take them down to Miami. I showed the set to you, remember? And then I put them in my cabinet because I didn't want to keep them downstairs.'
Rose was grim. 'I know what you must be thinking. Uh.' She shivered. 'What a gruesome thought.'
I pulled up a chair and sat. 'The thought of him doing something like that with my-'
'You can't think about it,' she interrupted me. 'You have no control over what he does.'
I stared off.
'I'm worried about Jennifer,' my secretary then said.
Jennifer was one of the clerks in the front office. Her major responsibility was sorting photographs, answering the phones, and entering cases into our database.
'She's traumatized.'
'By what's just happened,' I assumed.
Rose nodded. 'She's been in the bathroom crying quite a lot today. Needless to say, what happened is awful and there are many tales circulating. But she's so much more upset than anyone else. I've tried to talk to her. I'm afraid she's going to quit.' She pointed the mouse at the WordPerfect icon and clicked a button. 'I'll print out the autopsy protocols for your review.'
'You've already typed both of them?'
'I came in early this morning. I've got four-wheel drive.'
'I'll talk to Jennifer,' I said.
I walked down the corridor and glanced into the computer room. Lucy was mesmerized by the monitor, and I did not bother her. Up front, Tamara was answering one line while two others rang and someone else was unhappily flashing on hold. Cleta made photocopies while Jo entered death certificates at a workstation.
I walked back down the hall and pushed open the door to the ladies' room. Jennifer was at one of the sinks, splashing cold water on her face.
'Oh!' she exclaimed when she saw me in the mirror. 'Hello, Dr. Scarpetta,' she said, unnerved and embarrassed.
She was a homely young woman who would forever struggle with calories and the clothes that might hide them. Her eyes were puffy and she had protruding teeth and flyaway hair. She wore too much makeup even at times like this when her appearance should not matter.
'Please sit down,' I said kindly, motioning to a red plastic chair near lockers.
'I'm sorry,' she said. 'I know I've not done right today.'
I pulled up another chair and sat so I would not tower over her.
'You're upset,' I said.
She bit her bottom lip to stop it from quivering as her eyes filled with tears.
'What can I do to help you?' I asked.
She shook her head and began to sob.
'I can't stop,' she said. 'I can't stop crying. And if someone even scrapes their chair across the floor I jump.' She wiped tears with a paper towel, hands shaking. 'I feel like I'm going crazy.'
'When did this all start?'
She blew her nose. 'Yesterday. After the sheriff and the policeman were found. I heard about the one downstairs. They said even his boots was on fire.'
'Jennifer, do you remember the pamphlets I passed out about Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome?'
'Yes, ma'am.'
'It's something everybody's got to worry about in a place like this. Every single one of us. I have to worry about it, too.'
'You do?' Her mouth fell open.
'Certainly. I have to worry about it more than anyone.'
'I just thought you was used to it.'
'God forbid that any of us should get used to it.'
'I mean' - she lowered her voice as if we were talking about sex - 'do you get like I am right now?' She quickly added, 'I mean, I'm sure you don't.'
'I'm sure I do,' I said. 'I get very upset sometimes.'
Her eyes brimmed with tears again and she took a deep breath. 'That makes me feel a whole lot better. You know, when I was little my daddy always was telling me how stupid and fat I was. I didn't figure someone like you would ever feel like I do.'
'No one should have ever said such a thing to you,' I replied with feeling. 'You are a lovely person, Jennifer, and we are very fortunate to have you here.'
'Thank you,' she said quietly, eyes cast down.
I got up. 'I think you should go home for the rest of the day and have a nice long weekend. How about it?'
She continued looking down at the floor. 'I think I saw him,' she said, biting her bottom lip.
'Who did you see?'
'I saw that man.' She glanced at my eyes. 'When I saw the pictures on TV, I couldn't believe it. I keep thinking if only I had told somebody.'
'Where is it you think you saw him?'
'Rumors.'
'The bar?' I asked.
She nodded.
'When was this?'
'Tuesday.'
I looked closely at her. "This past Tuesday? The day after Christmas?'
That night Gault had been in New York. I had seen him in the subway tunnel, or at least I thought I had.
'Yes, ma'am,' Jennifer said. 'I guess it was about ten. I was dancing with Tommy.'
I did not know who Tommy was.
'I seen him hanging back from everyone. I couldn't help but notice because of his white hair. I'm not used to seeing anybody his age with hair that white. He was in a real cool black suit with a black T-shirt under it. I remember that. I figured he was from out of town. Maybe from a big place like Los Angeles or something.'
'Did he dance with anyone?'
'Yes, ma'am, he danced with a girl or two. You know, he'd buy them a drink. Then next thing I know he was gone.'
'Did he leave alone?'
'It looked to me like one girl went with him.'
'Do you know who?' I asked with dread. I hoped the woman, whoever she was, had lived.
'It wasn't anybody I knew,' Jennifer said. 'I just remember he was dancing with this one girl. He must've danced with her three times and then they walked off the floor together, holding hands.'
'Describe her,' I said.
'She was black. She was real pretty in this little red dress. It was low cut and kind of short. I remember she had bright red lipstick and all these little braids with little lights winking in them.' She paused.
'And you're certain they left the club together?' I asked.
'As far as I could tell. I never saw either one of them again that night, and me and Tommy stayed till two.'
I said to her, 'I want you to call Captain Marino and tell him what you just told me.'
Jennifer got out of the chair and felt important. 'I'll get started right this minute.'
I returned to my office as Rose was walking through the door.
'You need to call Dr. Gruber,' she said.
I dialed the number for the Quartermaster Museum, and he had stepped out. He called me back two hours later.
'Is the snow bad in Petersburg?' I asked him.
'Oh, it's just wet and messy.'
'How are things?'
'I've got something for you,' Dr. Gruber said. 'I feel real bad about it.'
I waited. When he offered nothing more, I said, 'What do you feel bad about, exactly?'
'I went into the computer and ran the name you wanted. I shouldn't have.' He got quiet again.
'Dr. Gruber, I'm dealing with a serial killer.'
'He was never in the army.'
'You mean his father wasn't,' I said, disappointed.
'Neither of them was,' Dr. Gruber said. 'Not Temple or Peyton Gault.'
'Oh,' I said. 'So the boots probably came from a surplus store.'
'Might have, but he may have an uncle.'
'Who has an uncle?'
'Temple Gault. That's what I'm wondering. There's a Gault in the computer, only his name is Luther. Luther Gault. He served in the Quartermaster Corps during World War Two.' He paused. 'In fact, he was right here at Ft. Lee a lot of the time.'
I had never heard of Luther Gault.
'Is he still alive?' I asked.
'He died in Seattle about five years ago,'
'What makes you suspicious this man might be Temple Gault's uncle?' I asked. 'Seattle's on the other side of the country from Georgia, which is where the Gaults are from.'
'The only real connection I can make is the last name and Ft. Lee.'
I then asked, 'Do you think it's possible the jungle boots once belonged to him?'
'Well, they're World War Two, and were tested here at Ft. Lee, which is where Luther Gault was stationed for most of his career. What would typically happen is soldiers, even some officers, would be asked to try out boots and other gear before any of it was sent to the boys in the trenches,'
'What did Luther Gault do after the army?'
'I don't have any information on him after the army except that he died at the age of seventy-eight,' He paused. 'But it might interest you to know he was a career man. He retired with the rank of major general,'
'And you had never heard of him before this?'
'I didn't say I've never heard of him,' He paused. 'I'm sure the army has quite a file on him if you could get your hands on it,'
'Would it be possible for me to get a photograph?'
'I have one on the computer - just your run-of-the-mill file photo,'
'Can you fax it?'
He hesitated again. 'Sure,'
I hung up as Rose walked in with yesterday's autopsy protocols. I reviewed them and made corrections while I waited for the fax machine to ring. Momentarily, it did, and the black-and-white image of Luther Gault materialized in my office. He stood proudly in dark mess jacket and pants with gold piping and buttons, and satin lapels. The resemblance was there. Temple Gault had his eyes.
I called Wesley.
'Temple Gault may have had an uncle in Seattle,' I said. 'He was a major general in the army,'
'How did you find that out?' he asked.
I did not like his coolness. 'It doesn't matter. What does is that I think we need to find out all we can about it,'
Wesley maintained his reserve. 'How is it germane?'
I lost my temper. 'How is anything germane when you're trying to stop somebody like this? When you've got nothing, you look at everything,'
'Sure, sure,' he said. 'It's no problem, but we can't schedule it just now. You too,' He hung up.
I sat there stunned, my heart gripped by pain. Someone must have been in his office. Wesley had never hung up on me before. My paranoia got more inflamed as I went to find Lucy.
'Hi,' she said before I spoke from the doorway.
She could see my reflection in the monitor.
'We've got to go,' I said.
'Why? Is it snowing again?'
'No. The sun's out.'
'I'm almost finished here,' she said, typing as she talked.
'I need to get you and Janet back to Quantico.'
'You need to call Grans,' she said. 'She's feeling neglected.'
'She is neglected and I feel guilty,' I said.
Lucy turned around and looked at me as my pager went off.
'Where is Janet?' I asked.
'I think she went downstairs.'
I pressed the display button and recognized Marino's home number. 'Well, you round her up and I'll meet you downstairs in a minute.'
I returned to my office and this time shut the doors. When I called Marino, he sounded as if he were on amphetamines.
'They're gone,' he said.
'Who is?'
'We found out where they was staying. The Hacienda Motel on US 1, that roach trap not too far from where you buy all your guns and ammo. That's where that bitch took her girlfriend.'
'What girlfriend?' I still did not know what he was talking about. Then I remembered Jennifer. 'Oh. The woman Carrie picked up at Rumors.'
'Yo.' He was so excited he sounded as if he had been on a Mayday. 'Her name's Apollonia and-'
'She's alive?' I interrupted.
'Oh yeah. Carrie took her back to the motel and they partied.'
'Who drove?'
'Apollonia did.'
'Did you find my van in the motel parking lot?'
'Not when we hit the joint a little while ago. And the rooms were cleared out. It's like they was never there.'
'Then Carrie wasn't in New York this past Tuesday,' I said.
'Nope. She was here partying while Gault was up there whacking Jimmy Davila. Then I'm thinking she got a place ready for him and probably helped intercept him wherever he was.'
'I doubt he flew from New York to Richmond,' I said. 'That would have been too risky.'
'I personally think he flew to DC on Wednesday…'
'Marino,' I said. 'I flew to DC on Wednesday.'
'I know you did. Maybe you and him was on the same plane.'
'I didn't see him.'
'You don't know that you didn't. But the point is, if you were on the same plane, you can bet he saw you.'
I remembered leaving the terminal and getting into that old, beat-up taxi with the windows and locks that didn't work. I wondered if Gault had been watching.
'Does Carrie have a car?' I asked.
'She's got a Saab convertible registered to her. But she sure as hell isn't driving it these days.'
'I'm not certain why she picked up this Apollonia woman,' I said. 'And how did you find her?'
'Easy. She works at Rumors. I'm not sure what all she sells, but it isn't just cigarettes.'
'Damn,' I muttered.
'I'm assuming the connection is coke,' Marino said. 'And it might interest you to know that Apollonia was acquainted with Sheriff Brown. In fact, they dated, you might say.'
'Do you think she could have had anything to do with his murder?' I asked.
'Yeah, I do. She probably helped lead Gault and Carrie to him. I'm beginning to think the sheriff was pretty much a last-minute thing. I think Carrie asked Apollonia where she could score some coke, and Brown's name came up. Then Carrie tells Gault and he orchestrates another one of his impetuous nightmares.'
'That could very well be,' I said. 'Did Apollonia know Carrie was a woman?'
'Yeah. It didn't matter.'
'Damn,' I said again. 'We were so close.'
'I know. I just can't believe they slipped through the net like that. We got everything but the National Guard looking for them. We got choppers out, the whole nine yards. But in my gut I feel they've left the area.'
'I just called Benton and he hung up on me,' I said.
'What? You guys have a fight?'
'Marino, something is very wrong. I had a sense that someone was in his office and he didn't want this person to know he was talking to me.'
'Maybe it was his wife.'
'I'm heading up there now with Lucy and Janet.'
'You staying the night?'
'That all depends.'
'Well, I wish you wouldn't be driving around. And if anybody tries to pull you over for any reason, don't you stop. Not for lights or sirens or nothing. Don't stop for anything but a marked patrol car.' He gave me one of his lectures. 'And keep your Remington between the front seats.'
'Gault's not going to stop killing,' I said.
Marino got quiet on the line.
'When he was in my office he stole my set of dissecting knives.'
'You sure someone from the cleaning crew didn't do it? Those knives would be good for fileting fish.'
'I know Gault did it,' I said.