The Beginning

by Catherine Coulter

  “That’s crazy,” Candice said slowly. “There’s no reason in the world why Douglas would be in any danger from Marlin Jones.”

  “Oh? Are you really so sure about that? Didn’t Douglas tell you about Mrs. Sherlock seeing Marlin kissing Belinda in front of the house? Who knows what’s going on in Marlin Jones’s mind these days? But who cares, when all’s said and done? Sure, I’ll call off the FBI. Douglas can be on his own, no problem.” Savich calmly pulled his cell out of his jacket pocket and punched in numbers.

  “Do you really think he could be in danger?”

  Savich ignored her, waiting. Then he said, “This is Dillon Savich. Please connect me with James Maitland. Thank you.”

  “What if this creep is after him? What if he does manage to get to San Francisco? Douglas needs help. You can’t leave him alone like this. It’s inhuman.”

  “Sir, Savich here. Yes, we need to call off the protection on Douglas Madigan in San Francisco. Yes, I’m sure. There’s no more need.”

  “No, don’t call it off! What if this Marlin Jones goes after Douglas? No, don’t!”

  “Yes, that’s right. No need any longer. Thank you.”

  Savich hung up the phone in time to block Candice Madigan from shoving him into the fireplace.

  “That’s it,” Sherlock said. She roared toward Candice, grabbing her arm and pulling her around. She sent her fist into Candice’s jaw.

  “Ow! That hurts, you mean little bitch!”

  Sherlock hit her again, then groaned herself at the pain in her knuckles.

  Candice looked at her, astonishment written clearly on her face, and slumped to the floor.

  “Are you all right, Dillon?”

  She was standing there rubbing her knuckles, asking him if he was all right. He could only shake his head. “Thank you for protecting me,” he said, laughing.

  She’d rushed in to protect him. Life with Sherlock would never be boring. He hoped she hadn’t hurt her hand.

  “Could you come and kiss me, Sherlock? I’m feeling a little shaky.”

  “Sure,” she said, smiling sweetly at him. She kissed his chin, ran her fingertips over his eyebrows, kissed his nose. “You’re better now?”

  “Getting there,” he said, and kept kissing her.

  They stopped only when they heard Candice say from the floor, “If the two of you make out in front of me, I’m going to call the police. Then you’ll both be arrested.”

  Sherlock began to laugh; she couldn’t help it. Savich said, “Would you like a cup of coffee before you leave, Mrs. Madigan?”

  “What I want is for the FBI to protect my husband.”

  “But you flew all the way here to get us off him.”

  “Look, I know I haven’t been really nice to either of you, but Douglas, he’s different. He needs me. Please, if you truly believe he’s in danger, protect him.”

  Savich pulled out his cell again, punched in numbers, and said, “Reinstate the surveillance on Douglas Madigan. Yes, that’s right. Thank you.” He hung up, then turned to Candice. “It’s done.”

  “Thank you,” she said. “Really, thank you very much.” Then she turned to Sherlock. “As for you, you’re nothing but trouble. You’re going to bring trouble to this very nice man who doesn’t know you at all. Stay away from Douglas!”

  With that, she was gone.

  Savich stood there, looking toward the front door. “I guess she didn’t want coffee.”

  “Did you really have surveillance on Douglas?”

  “Oh yes.”

  “Did you take it off then put it back on?”

  “Nope. Douglas is a suspect. I want an eye kept on him. Hey, if it protects him as well, so be it.”

  “She loves him,” Lacey said. “She really truly loves him.”

  “The two of them deserve each other. I hope they live happily ever after. Now, if you’re ready for bed, I’ll race you.”

  She’d been so depressed, then she’d wanted to shoot Candice, but now, looking at Dillon Savich, she felt relief and something wild and wonderful pour through her. “Let’s go.”

  THIRTY-TWO

  Marlin Jones was still free on Thursday at noon. His photo was shown on TV special bulletins throughout the day and evening. Hundreds of sightings from Boca Raton to Anchorage had flooded in.

  Savich tried to work, tried to concentrate on the killings in South Dakota and Iowa, but it was tough. He called everyone together Thursday afternoon to announce that Hannah Paisley had been reassigned. He would let everyone know where she would be going when it was decided. No one was particularly sorry to see her go.

  As for Sherlock, she felt as if a hundred-pound weight had been lifted off her back.

  An hour later, there was a resolution to the nursing home murders in Florida. Savich, Ollie, and Sherlock were hooting when they walked into the conference room, giving everyone high fives.

  Savich, grinning from ear to ear, rubbing his hands, said, “Good news. Great news. It turns out our murderer is an old man—Benjamin Potter from Cincinnati who’s been a magician for thirty years. He’s a master of disguise, which all of you know. Also, he’s never done a bad thing in his life. He easily entered the nursing homes as just another old person in need of round-the-clock attention. Sometimes he passed himself off as an old woman, other times, an old man. Because he was in basic good health, no nurse ever saw him without his clothes on, important since he could have been playacting an old woman. He never had difficulty escaping after each murder, because he didn’t. Nope, he always stayed on until a ‘relative’ came to take him home to his family. He paid the ‘relative’ fifty bucks for this service. Savich turned to Ollie.

  Ollie said, “The cops found the ‘relative’ in Atlanta. He denied knowing anything about the murders. He said only that the old man was a kick and it was easy money.” He nodded to Lacey.

  “Benjamin Potter wouldn’t have been caught after the sixth murder except that he happened to trip on a used syringe on his way out of the victim’s room and suffered a heart attack. He died before he could tell anyone why he’d killed six old women.”

  Ollie picked it up. “Yep, the relative is my part. He said he had no clue. The old man always seemed happy and well adjusted to him. So go figure.”

  They all tried to figure it out, but no one could come up with anything that sounded like the perfect fit. Although Savich said that MAXINE thought it might be that the old man had always wanted to be an old woman and he was killing off his competition.

  “A real big one down,” Savich said. “Everybody to the gym for celebrations.”

  There was groaning from around the table.

  Sherlock was still on a high when she went to the women’s room in the middle of the afternoon, a redone men’s room that looked it. When workmen had removed the urinals, they hadn’t patched the wall tile very well. The big room was always dank and smelled like Pine Sol.

  Sherlock was washing her hands when she looked up to see Hannah in the mirror, standing behind her. She didn’t say anything, just looked at her reflection.

  “Your lover didn’t want to take the chance I’d slap him with a sexual harassment complaint so he couldn’t fire me.”

  “I thought you denied leaking my relationship to a murder victim to the press.”

  “I did deny it.”

  “Then how could Savich have fired you without proof? Oh enough, Hannah. Say what you have to say and go about your business.”

  “You’re really cute, you know that? Tell me, Sherlock, did you set your sights on Savich while you were still at Quantico?”

  “No.”

  “He’ll screw your eyes out but he won’t marry you. Has he made love to you in the shower? He loves that.”

  “Hannah, it’s none of your business what either of us does. Please, let it go. Forget him. You know I’m irrelevant in all this. Even if I weren’t here, Savich still wouldn’t be going out with you.”

  “Maybe, maybe not.”

  “Good-by
e, Hannah.”

  Ollie was waiting outside for her. He said only, “I didn’t want her to shoot you.”

  “So you were waiting out here to see if a gun went off?”

  “Something like that.”

  “I’m fine, Ollie. Any word yet on Marlin Jones?”

  “Nope, nothing. Oh yeah, your father called, asked that you phone him back. He said it was really important.”

  She didn’t want to pick up that phone. She didn’t want to, but she did. She felt an urgency that she’d never felt before. Even as she was dialing her parents’ home number, she was terrified.

  “Isabelle? It’s Lacey.”

  “Oh God, Lacey, it’s your mama. Let me get your daddy on the phone. You just caught him in time. He’s leaving now for the hospital.”

  “The hospital? What happened to Mother?” But Isabelle had already hit the hold button. “Father?”

  “Lacey? Come home, my dear, it’s your mother. There was an accident. She’s in the hospital. It doesn’t look good, Lacey. Can you get some time off?”

  “What kind of accident? What is her exact condition?”

  “I was backing out of the driveway. She darted out from the bushes that line the street. I hit her. It was an accident. I swear it was an accident. There was even a passerby who saw the whole thing. She’s not dead, Lacey, but her spleen is ruptured and they’re taking it out as we speak. I feel terrible. I don’t know what’s going to happen. I think you should come home now.”

  Before she could say anything, he hung up. She stared down at the receiver, hearing the loud dial tone. What more could happen?

  AT nine o’clock the next morning she was on a nonstop flight to San Francisco. Dillon took the Dulles shuttle with her to the terminal to catch her United flight, using his FBI identification to get through security. “You’ll call me,” he said, kissing her hair, just holding her against him, his hands stroking down her back. “It will be all right. We’ll get through it. Remember in the Bible how God kept testing Job? Well, these are our tests. Call me, okay?” And he kissed her again. He watched at the huge windows until her plane took off.

  He didn’t like her to go alone but he couldn’t pick up and leave, not now. Everything was coming to a head, he knew it. More important, she knew it. It was just a matter of time. Actually he was rather relieved that she’d be three thousand miles away, although he’d never tell her that. She’d blow a fuse because he wanted to protect her and she was a professional and could take care of herself.

  He stepped back onto the shuttle, realizing, as he stared blankly at a businessman with a very packed briefcase, that she would be justified smacking him but good if he’d said that to her. He had to remember she was well trained. She was a professional. Even if his guts twisted whenever he thought of her going into the field, he’d have to get used to it.

  He shook his head as he walked to his Porsche. Could her father have deliberately hit her mother?

  FOR the first time that Sherlock could remember, her mother looked all sixty-one of her years. Her flesh seemed loose, her cheeks sunken in. And so white and waxy, tubes everywhere. Mrs. Arch, her mother’s ten-year companion, was there, as was Lacey’s father, both standing beside her bed.

  “Don’t worry,” her father said. “The operation went well. They took out her spleen and stopped the internal bleeding. There’s lots of bruising and she’ll have some sore ribs, but she’ll be all right, Lacey.”

  She looked over at her father. “I know. I spoke to the nurse outside. Where were you, Mrs. Arch, when this happened?”

  “Your mother got by me, Lacey. One minute she was there watching a game show on TV, the next minute she was gone. I’d gone down to the kitchen for a cup of tea.”

  She looked at her father. He seemed remote, watching the woman who had been his wife for nearly thirty years. What was he thinking? Did he expect her to say something against him when she regained consciousness? “Father, tell me what happened.”

  “I was backing out of the driveway to go to the courthouse. I heard this loud bump. I’d hit your mother. I never saw her. The first thing was to get her to the hospital; then I called the police. It was a Sergeant Dollan who found a witness to the whole thing. His name’s Murdock.”

  “What did he tell them?”

  “That she ran out into the driveway. He said he couldn’t figure out why she’d do such a stupid thing.”

  She had to go talk to this Mr. Murdock herself.

  “You don’t believe your mother’s crazy tale that I tried to run her down, do you?”

  “No. You’re not stupid.”

  He’d been tense before but now he relaxed. He even smiled. “No, I’m not stupid. Why did she do that?”

  “Probably to get your attention.”

  “Now that’s nuts, Lacey.”

  “Maybe more of your attention would be a good thing.”

  She looked down at her mother. She was so still. Here she was lying in a hospital bed with a squirrelly brain and no spleen.

  “I’ll think about what you said. Where are you going?”

  “To talk to Mr. Murdock. No, Dad, I don’t doubt you. I need to hear him tell it. Maybe it will help us both understand her a bit better.”

  Sherlock left her mother’s hospital room and stopped again at the nurse’s station.

  “Mrs. Sherlock will be fine,” Nurse Blackburn said. “Really. She’ll be asleep for another three or four hours. Come back to see her later, about dinnertime.”

  Sherlock called the precinct station. Ten minutes later, she was driving to a Mr. Murdock’s house, three doors down from her parents’ home on Broadway. It was a fog-laden afternoon, and very chilly. She felt cold to the marrow of her bones.

  It wasn’t nearly dark yet, but a light was shining in the front windows of his house. A desiccated old man, stooped nearly double, answered the door just when she was ready to give up. Standing next to him was a huge bulldog. Mr. Murdock nodded to the dog. “I walk him at least six times a day,” he said first thing. “Bad bladder,” Mr. Murdock added, patting the dog’s head. “He needs more potty time than I do.” He didn’t invite her in, not that she wanted to step into that dark hallway behind him that smelled too much like dog and dirty socks.

  “You saw an accident, Mr. Murdock? A man in a car struck a woman?”

  “Eh? Oh that. Yes, I did see the whole thing. It happened yesterday afternoon. This real pretty woman I’ve known by sight for years is standing kind of bent over in the thick oleanders. I start to call out to her, you know, I thought she must have some kind of problem, when she suddenly steps out into the driveway. I hear a car hit her. It was weird. The whole thing was weird. That’s what my nephew said too when I called him about it. What do you want, Butchie? You got bladder needs again? All right. Go get your rope. Sorry, little lady, but that’s all I know. Either the woman ran out into the car’s path on purpose or she didn’t, and that makes it an accident, plain and simple.”

  Lacey walked slowly back to her rental car. Why had her mother done such a ridiculous thing? Was it really that she wanted more attention from her husband? That was far too simple, but maybe it was a place to start. She hadn’t understood her mother for nearly all her life. Why should she begin understanding her now?

  HER father came back to the hospital at seven o’clock that evening.

  “She’s the same,” Sherlock said.

  He said nothing, walked to the bed and looked down at his wife.

  He said, “Did that old man tell you that I didn’t try to kill your mother?”

  “Yeah, he did. Look, Dad, you know I had to go talk to him, hear everything in his own words.”

  “You’re my kid. I can understand that. I called a new psychiatrist to come talk to your mother tomorrow. I told her what had happened, what you thought. We’ll see. I’m glad you didn’t think I was stupid enough to try something like that.”

  “Oh no.”

  “I’ve found myself wondering if I could have done i
t. Maybe, if it had been dark and we’d been in the Andes with no possible witnesses who spoke English.”

  “You’re joking.”

  “Yes, I’m joking.” He looked at his watch. “I’ve got to be in court early tomorrow. I’ll see you at lunchtime, Lacey.” He paused in the doorway. “You know, it’s easy to fall into certain ways of thinking, of behaving. You know that your mother could irritate a saint into wickedness. We’ll see.”

  She spent the night in her mother’s hospital room on a cot an orderly brought in for her. She lay there, listening to her mother breathing, thinking about Dillon, and wondering, always wondering where Marlin was.

  She got a call from Dillon at nearly eleven o’clock, which made it two o’clock A.M. his time.

  “I was going to leave you be, at least for tonight, but I couldn’t. How’s your mom?”

  “She’ll make it. I personally interviewed a witness who told me that my mother appeared to be hiding in some bushes, then dashed out when my father was backing out of the driveway. I had a good talk with my dad. He’s bringing in a new psychiatrist to see her tomorrow. I mentioned that maybe she was trying to get his attention. Should I have opened my mouth? What do you think?”

  “I still think it sounds like your mother really wants something she’s not getting from your father. You’re the daughter. Of course you should say what you think. You know, she might really be mentally unstable.”

  “As my dad said, ‘we’ll see.’”

  “You hanging in there?”

  “Yes, don’t worry about me. Any word on Marlin Jones?”

  “No. It’s driving everybody crazy. It’s as though he’s just disappeared off the face of the earth. Oh yeah, Hannah called me about an hour ago. She wanted to come over and talk. When I said no, she told me how you’d attacked her in the women’s room this afternoon. She told me you’d accused her of blackmailing me so I wouldn’t fire her. She said you were furious that we’d slept together.”