It's nuts, isn't it? Maybe she did see someone perhaps speak to Belinda in the driveway, but Marlin?"
"Do you think your father prosecuted Erasmus Jones ten years ago?"
"Oh yes. My father's firmly planted in the here-and-now, no matter how unpleasant it can get. He doesn't make stuff up. If he said Erasmus Jones was in his courtroom, then he was. The question is-Is it possible that Erasmus Jones has anything to do with this?"
Savich said slowly, "There's a tremendous resemblance between father and son. Is it possible that just maybe your mother saw Erasmus with Belinda, not Marlin?"
"I have no idea. But she didn't have any reaction at all to Erasmus Jones's photograph." "No, she didn't."
Over egg rolls and fried wonton, half with meat and half vegetarian, Savich said, releasing her hand, "Your fingers are cold."
"All of me is cold."
"Next summer we'll go to Louise Lynn Lake with Quinlan and Sally. I want to see you in a bikini. A blue one. I want to buy it for you. I want to put it on you and take it off."
Next summer, she thought: a lifetime away from a Chinese restaurant in Boston where, she prayed, Marlin Jones was lurking somewhere, waiting for her to come out. Cops were stationed at short intervals all around the restaurant.
She gave Dillon a huge smile. "Thank you," she said, stood on her tiptoes, and kissed his mouth. Then she sat down again, took a huge forkful of garlic pork, and chewed while Savich just sat there, staring at her, bemused.
Princess prawns and garlic eggplant arrived. While Savich was spooning rice onto his plate, he said, "What do you think about Douglas?"
"I really don't want to think about him right now. I just want to eat"' She sighed, as she speared a princess prawn on her fork. "Everyone is accusing everyone else of killing Belinda. We go down one passageway, then another." She waved her fork, flinging rice onto the table. "The only thing I am sure about is that Isabelle didn't do it. My money would be on Candice if she'd only been around seven years ago."
"I find myself still going back and back yet again to your nightmare, to your experiencing exactly what happened to Belinda."
"I try not to anymore. It's too scary. It makes me sweat. Do you think we could go work out after dinner?"
He grinned at her over a forkful of garlic eggplant, which had been nicely prepared. "My soul mate," he said. "Your delts still need work. Your thighs are really nice, though. Those triceps of yours make me hard."
"I love it when you talk gym to me."
They didn't fly back to Washington until the next afternoon. Not a single sign of Marlin Jones. He was still at large.
They stopped off to see Captain Dougherty at the station on their way to Logan International. "It seems to me that someone has to be helping him," Savich said.
"Yeah," said Captain Dougherty. "Everyone is coming to that conclusion now. There haven't been any murders or robberies that haven't checked out. Since Marlin didn't have any money, he would have to get some if he remained alone. He didn't so far as we know. So, someone must be helping him. Someone's hiding him, a someone who has enough money to keep him out of sight. But who? We've checked with the people at the lumberyard where he worked. He didn't have any close friends that they knew of, at least no one close enough to go out on this long a limb for him."
Lacey handed Captain Dougherty the eight-by-ten photo of Erasmus Jones. "This is his father. You might want to distribute this photo."
"They sure do look alike. You think his old man might really be in on this thing? Do you think he's the ohe helping
Marlin?"
"We have no idea. We don't even know if he's dead or alive. It's just an idea, something we can sink our teeth into." They rose. "We're going back home, Captain, Keep us informed and good luck."
"Douglas told me he's being followed. Damn you, this has got to stop."
Candice Madigan spoke angrily from behind them as Savich was unlocking his front door.
Lacey's hand was already on her Lady Colt, Savich was already in a crouch. He took a deep breath. "I suggest you never do anything like that again, ma'am. Sherlock could have shot you and I could have broken your neck. May I inquire what the hell you're doing here?"
"Waiting for you."
"How did you know I'd be here?" Lacey asked, stepping directly under the porch light.
Savich unlocked the door and shoved it open. "Everyone might as well come inside. You first, Mrs. Madigan. I'd just as soon keep you in front of me." He said over his shoulder, "I hope you have frequent flier miles. What is this? Your second or third trip to Washington?"
"Of course I have frequent flier miles," she said. "Do you think I'm a fool?"
If Candice was blown away by the inside of Savich's house, she didn't show it. Her eyes never left Lacey. "Did you hear me, Lacey? I know it's not the San Francisco cops. Judge Sherlock called in and found that out for me. So it has to be the FBI following him. It's your doing, isn't it? No, you don't have that kind of authority." She turned on Savich. "You'd do anything for little miss sweetness, wouldn't you? Even have my husband followed. Are you trying to blame Douglas for Belinda's murder? Stop it, he's going nuts. I won't have it."
"You know," Savich said easily, waving Candice into the living room, "when you pause to think a bit, Douglas had a very good motive for killing Belinda. He wanted out of the marriage but she wouldn't give him a divorce. He knew if he tried to get one that Judge Sherlock would have ruined him. He was trapped. So he used the String Killer's M.O. and killed her. What do you think? Sound good?''
Candice lunged at him.
He caught her wrists and held her away from him. She kicked at him. He quickly turned to the side. Then he began shaking her, saying in his low calm voice, "Stop it, Mrs. Madigan. For a woman of some sophistication, you're not playing the part."
"Give her to me," Lacey said. "I'm sick of you, Candice. You want to fight, then come here. I'd love to take you down."
"You'd wreck my living room," Savich said, looking at a red-faced Sherlock, and smiled. "Will you try to keep some control, Mrs. Madigan? I'll protect you from Sherlock if you'll mind your manners. Will you?" Slowly, she nodded. Savich let her go. She stood there, rubbing her wrists. Then, slowly, she turned to face Lacey, but she said over her shoulder to Savich, "Did it ever occur to you that she killed Belinda? Talk about crazy, just look at her family. Every gene coursing through her is nuts, just plain nuts."
There was dead silence except for Candice's heavy breathing.
"Well? What do you have to say to that?" Lacey smiled, an awesome feat she told Savich later, but she managed it. "Candice, why are you really here?"
"I told you, someone's following Douglas. It's got to be the FBI. I want it stopped. So I came to make you do it."
Lacey said, "Why didn't you just call? It sure would have been cheaper. No answer to that? Just maybe you wanted to hire that guy again to terrorize me? Maybe you wanted to try to run me down again?"
"I don't know what you're talking about. As for you," she continued, looking at Savich, "you're blind. Douglas was too, but just for a little while. Now he realizes what she is." Can-dice gave them a triumphant smile and sat down on the beautiful sofa. "Well?"
"Well what, Mrs. Madigan?"
"Will you have the FBI stop following my husband?" Savich sighed. "Sure, Mrs. Madigan. The thing is, though, we have an agent following him in order to keep him safe. Marlin Jones is still on the loose. It's possible he plans to go back to California. It's possible that he would want to see Douglas, maybe even kill him. That's why we have an agent on him, ma'am, to protect him."
"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 the hell 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 pro
blem." Savich calmly picked up the phone and dialed a number.
"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 just 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," Lacey 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."
Lacey 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 walked to the phone, dialed, then 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 Lacey. "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. "She is one strange woman," he said. "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 srpot Can-dice, but now, looking at Dillon Savich, she felt relief pouring through her. "Let's go."
32
MARLIN JONES WAS STILL free on Thursday at noon. His photo was shown on TV special bulletins throughout the day and evening. Hundreds of sight-ings 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 Lacey, 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 all hooting when they walked into the conference, 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 just 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. Lacey 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.
Lacey 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'll 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-bye, Hannah."
Ollie was waiting outside for her. He said only, "I just 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 Martin 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 just 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 the gate. "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 just 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 that she was well trained. She was a professional. Even if his guts twisted whenever he thought of her going into the field, he'd just 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 Lacey 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.
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