“Let’s stop there a moment,” Sherlock said. “Please think back, Leigh. You were speaking on the hotline. Did you hear anything? A voice? Breathing? Did you smell anything, an aftershave, a cologne?”
Leigh shook her head. The door in her mind remained firmly closed. “I’m sorry, Agents, but all I can tell you for sure is that I was speaking and then I felt a horrible pain on my head, and I was gone. I woke up here to see Danny standing over me.”
Savich said, “Not a problem. The agent on the hotline said you identified the belt buckle as belonging to Mr. Henry.”
She nodded. “That’s right. It’s strange I’d be the one to see it and no one else. Why didn’t he show it to other people, too?”
Lulie said, “We don’t know why, Leigh, but you seem to be the only one who ever saw the Star of David belt buckle. Chief Christie said you were the only one who called in about it.”
Leigh thought about this a moment. “How odd Mr. Henry never showed Mrs. Chamberlain his precious belt buckle, and here they were lovers for years. I guess because I was only a twenty-watt bulb, he thought it was safe to show me. But why would it be such a big mystery?”
Sherlock leaned close. “You’re going to help us find out. Leigh, when did you first see the belt buckle?”
“I saw it only one time, not long before Mr. Henry died—well, he was brutally murdered, wasn’t he?” She stopped when she heard her mother’s indrawn breath. “Mom, of course I knew about it, no one talked about anything else for weeks. I wasn’t a total moron. I listened and heard everything.” She shook her head. “Poor Mr. Henry, it’s hard to believe some monster would do that to him. My godfather—that’s Chief Masters—he took a lot of grief when he couldn’t find the murderer. He still feels guilty, bless him. Everyone seemed to like Mr. Henry so much, but obviously that wasn’t the case. Someone wanted to make him suffer. What had he done? It must have been really bad.” She paused, lightly touched her fingertips to the bandage again, and seemed to pump herself up, forcing herself to continue. “You wonder where I saw the belt buckle. That, I remember. I’d gone to his big house to take him a chocolate cake Mom had made for his birthday. His name was in cursive in thick red frosting all across the top. He’d given her another loan for new equipment for the bakery, and she wanted to thank him.
“Mrs. Boilou, his housekeeper, told me he was in his study, and she took me there. She said he’d be really pleased to get that cake, since he had a real sweet tooth. She said she’d bring plates and forks and he could enjoy it right away.
“Mr. Henry was seated at his big mahogany desk and he was polishing something. He looked up, and I saw he was startled at the sight of me. Then he smiled when I held out the cake for him to see. He smiled and laughed, told me he couldn’t wait. Mrs. Boilou came in, and Mr. Henry cut us all pieces of cake. She left, and he and I ate ours together.
“When he finished, he tapped his stomach and sighed. Then he told me to come over to him. He showed me an odd-looking belt buckle. It shined gold, like it was from heaven. He told me I was the only one he’d shown it to, the only one who’d ever seen it before. He said it was unique. ‘Just imagine, it’s a Star of David.’ He laughed, said he wasn’t even Jewish, but it didn’t matter, it was his pride and joy.
“He held it out to me, and I took it. It was heavy, and I asked him if it was pure gold. He said yes it was, and he polished it every single week, made it shine bright as the sun. He said it brought back wonderful memories, precious memories he’d cherish forever. He told me sometimes he would hold the belt buckle and remember how incredible he’d felt when he took it. It was his now, and it would always be his. Then he brought his face close to mine—I remember his breath smelled like sugar and Mama’s cake—and he whispered the belt buckle was to be a secret between him and me and that meant I wasn’t to tell anyone about it. Before I left, he made me promise again not to tell anybody about seeing it, even my mama. It was our secret, only ours. I never told a soul, until—”
“—until Chief Christie found the belt buckle at the bottom of Lake Massey along with dozens of bones,” Sherlock said. “Your memory of all of that is incredible, Leigh.”
Lulie said, “It was five years ago, Leigh. How could you remember everything in such detail?”
Leigh looked briefly baffled, then she smiled. “It surprised me, too, Mom. All I did was think about that afternoon, and it was crystal clear, the words he spoke, everything that happened, the expression on his face.”
She looked up to see Agent Porto and Chief Christie come into the cubicle. It was a tight fit.
Sala said, “You’re looking good, Leigh. Chief Christie and I were standing outside the cubicle. I hope you don’t mind we were listening. Mr. Henry said he took the belt buckle. Do you know what he meant? Did he say who he took it from?”
Leigh said, “No, sorry, but I’m sure that’s what he said. Do you think he might have stolen it?”
“We don’t know yet,” Ty said. “How do you feel?”
“Better than I did yesterday.” She smiled at them both, then said to Ty, “You were looking for that poor woman’s body, and you found this, too.”
Ty nodded. “Indeed we did.”
“You’ve met my father?”
Sala nodded. “We met Congressman Mellon last night.”
“My mom says I might as well vote for him now. As far as she knows, he’s one of the honest politicians on Capitol Hill.”
Andrew laughed, amused by his daughter’s insult. “Your mom’s right, kiddo. I’m sure you can see my brain’s working a mile a minute to come up with ways to seduce you into voting for me.”
“Keep my mom happy and keep your promises. But then again, maybe what you said was spin, and that would make you a very good politician.”
Lulie stared at the poised young woman, still trying to come to grips with the fact that she was Gunny.
“Thank you, Leigh. A deal like that is a good start.”
Sala said, “Do you remember speaking to Mrs. Chamberlain?”
Leigh shook her head. “Poor Mrs. Chamberlain, she always tried to be kind and patient, even when I see now she wanted me to go home and never darken her door again. When I told her about the belt buckle, she didn’t believe me about seeing it, very understandable, of course, given who and what I was. Then I left.”
Savich said, “Can you tell us what you did then, Leigh?”
“I remember walking, trying to decide who to tell or if I should tell anyone at all. I mean, Mr. Henry was long dead. Then I remembered the hotline and knew I had to call. I remember I turned into the alley next to Kim’s Dry Cleaners. I had my cell phone in my hand, I called the hotline, then nothing. The door’s still closed.”
“How did you know the number?” Sherlock asked.
She shrugged. “I guess I must have memorized it. Sorry, I can’t remember anything else, even now that I don’t seem to be Gunny anymore.”
Savich said, “What do you mean, you no longer seem to be Gunny?”
The air seemed to go out of the room. No one made a sound, all eyes were on Leigh.
51
* * *
Leigh looked surprised, then thoughtful. She said slowly, “Before, the world always surprised me. It seemed to keep changing. I thought I was beginning to understand something, and then I suddenly forgot what it was, forgot even what everyone was talking about. I tried, but somehow I couldn’t seem to finish a lot of things, couldn’t say what I really felt before things suddenly slipped away. It was like I was waking up again and again, and no one else had gone to sleep. I thought it was normal for me, normal for Gunny.
“I could never get things to fit together. What I was thinking would be gone before I could focus on it, make it mean anything. I had this sudden ‘all gone’ feeling and suddenly I was confused again.” She shrugged again and smiled. “Now, I guess I’m like everyone else. I can think and talk and make sense like you do. I’m a different me now, but what’s great is I’m here all the time n
ow. Mom, don’t be scared. I’m not crazy. Think of it this way—it’s like I’ve rebooted my computer and now I’ve got lots more gigabytes.”
Savich lightly laid his hand on her forearm, above the IV line. He felt warmth and strength, and awareness. Because she’d been struck on the head? Or because of something the surgeon did during surgery? He liked what she’d said: I’ve rebooted. She was staring at him, and he felt in that moment that she was looking into him, aware of his thoughts, his feelings. To his shock, she whispered, “You’re very worried about something, aren’t you, Agent Savich? It’s like a black slick of grease over every thought you have.” She squeezed his fingers.
Savich opened himself to her, but all he felt in return was a comforting warmth. He closed his hand over hers and slowly, he nodded. “Yes, you’re right. I am very worried.”
She said matter-of-factly, “You’ll find the killer, Agent Savich. You’ll find him for us.”
“Thank you.” Savich slowly rose. “If that door opens, Leigh, call me.” He handed her a card, smiled down at her. “I like the reboot, but you know what? I would have liked you as Gunny, too.”
“But not in the same way, Agent Savich, not at all in the same way. There’s so much for me to learn now, to understand, to see.” She looked over at her mother, then her father, and finally, she smiled at Ty and Sala. “All of you, thank you. I will try to remember something that can help identify who hit me so you can find Mr. Henry’s murderer.” She paused a moment. “You’re all very kind.” She closed her eyes, and they watched her breathing slow, watched her relax. Odd, but Savich knew the moment her mind eased into sleep. The power dimmed, grew quiescent.
Savich said quietly to the group, “Let’s talk outside.”
When they’d stepped beyond Officer Diaz’s hearing, Lulie said, “She’s herself, but she isn’t. I don’t know what to do.” She shook her head, and a tear slipped out of her eye. Andrew pulled her against him. “Shall I bring in psychiatrists to examine her?”
Savich said, “No, no need to do that. Leigh seems fine. She’s dealing with all the changes she described, all by herself. She doesn’t need help. What she needs is time to integrate all the new facets of herself, to fully understand what it’s like to be normal. All the important parts of her, her kindness, her love for you, her empathy, they all seem to be there. I have no idea how this happened, but the result is remarkable, a miracle, if you wish.
“You should ask the neurosurgeon if he’s even seen anything like this or understands how or why this happened. But the fact is, it did happen. She’ll find her way, come to terms with her new self and her new abilities. She’ll be bringing a lot more awareness to bear on how she looks at people and the world. As I said, I know she will reintegrate herself in time into that new world.”
Sherlock said, “Ms. Saks, you can believe Dillon. Leigh will do fine, I promise you.”
“But how can you possibly know that? Neither of you is even a doctor.”
A bit of hostility, a bit of snark. Savich gave Lulie a blazing smile and said without pause, “No, we’re not, and you should certainly speak to them. But I think you’ll find we’re right about this.”
Lulie spurted out a laugh and shook her head. “Agent Savich, I saw something happen between you and my daughter. You somehow connected with her. I’m not sure how, but you did.”
Savich said, “Yes, I believe I did. Leigh’s in a good place. Congressman Mellon, it’s good to see you again. I’m very glad you came to your daughter.”
Mellon said, “After Lulie called me, I told my wife about Leigh, told her I was coming to see her. Glynn already knew about Lulie and Leigh. She’d known for a long time but had never said anything to me or anyone else. She patted my hand, told me I was doing the right thing. Then she flat-out floored me. She said she and the boys would welcome Leigh if I brought her to meet them.” He shook his head. “Now as for the politics of it, there’s no good way to announce it, spin it, as my daughter said. Still, it’s better I do it soon, rather than wait for the tabloids to do it.”
Savich said, “I’ve always found it’s best to be candid with the media, less chance for those with a political bias to twist your words.”
Mellon gave a crooked grin. “There is always political bias, Agent Savich, now more than ever. I’ve never met anyone in Washington who doesn’t have an agenda, but maybe, in this case, you might be right. It’s probably the best alternative.”
“You’ve already seen one miracle today, Congressman, namely Leigh. Maybe you’ll find yourself another.”
“Maybe so.” He shook Savich’s hand and turned to Lulie.
Lulie said, “I’m thinking your wife may not mind having me around after she tries one of my éclairs, Andrew.”
He regarded the woman he’d loved so madly thirty-one years before, remembered how he’d always enjoyed her wit. “Now, that’s a good possibility. I’ll take her a box.”
Savich said, “The door is still closed on Leigh’s memories of what happened immediately before she was hit on the head. I’d like to bring in Dr. Emanuel Hicks tomorrow morning. He’s an FBI psychiatrist and a renowned hypnotist. If she did see or hear anything, it’s possible she’ll remember it under hypnosis.”
Lulie looked at Andrew, then slowly nodded. “I’ll speak to her about it when she wakes up. I can’t imagine she wouldn’t want to try, Agent Savich.”
Ty looked down at her Timex. “Sala and I need to go speak to Leigh’s former employer, Susan Sparrow, at the Sparrow Crematorium, see what she has to say.”
“We’ll go with—” Savich was interrupted by Neil Diamond belting out “Sweet Caroline.”
“Savich.”
Sherlock watched his face light up like a Christmas tree. “Thank you for calling me so quickly, Chief. We’ll be there as soon as we can.” He punched off and slipped his cell back into his jacket pocket. He wanted to pump his fist, but instead, he said, “Ty, Sala, Sherlock and I have to go.”
“Tell me it’s about Victor Nesser,” Sala said.
“It is indeed.”
52
* * *
WINSLOW, VIRGINIA
WEDNESDAY
Savich pulled the Volvo smoothly against the curb in front of the Winslow police station, set between a fire department and a big parking lot. He checked his Mickey Mouse watch. “Under two hours from Haggersville, excellent time.”
She patted his arm. “You did well. Buck up, you’ll have the Porsche back in a couple of days.”
“Can’t be too soon.”
“Suck it up.”
Together, they looked up and down the main street. Winslow was small, a dot on a map, High Milsom Street and three or four streets of set-back middle-class homes, most of the yards a lush Irish green from all the rain. It was hot, the humidity a killer, like a heavy wet cloud sitting on their heads.
They walked into a long, narrow room, cold as a refrigerator, and shuddered with pleasure. An older man in a dark green uniform looked up from his desk behind a high counter directly opposite the front door. “Can I help you? Oh, you must be the FBI agents Chief Pearly called. I’m senior deputy Hubie Pearly, the chief’s cousin. One of my boys, Dom, works here, too. He’s smart. He’ll move right up, and I reckon someday we’ll have another Chief Pearly. Right this way, Agents. The current Chief Pearly’s in the back with our young victim. Poor kid, on top of everything else, she’s got crappy parents. That sounds harsh, I know, but it is what it is.”
They followed Hubie Pearly past four empty desks, a unisex bathroom, a water cooler, and a small kitchen to a glass-walled office. Inside they saw a portly man in a brown uniform sitting opposite a young woman whose pretty face was leached of color, her eyes red from crying. She was wearing what was probably the chief’s leather jacket over a top and shorts, flip-flops on her narrow feet, her toenails painted a bright orange. The chief was holding her hands, speaking low to her.
Hubie tapped on the window and opened the door. “Anson, the FBI agents
are here. Fancy that, one of them’s a girl.” Hubie stopped cold, looked back at Sherlock, and stared. “Oh geez, sorry, ma’am—Agent—I shouldn’t have said that.”
“Probably not,” Savich said. “My wife, actually. Chief Pearly?” He identified himself and Sherlock, handed the chief their creds. Chief Pearly studied them. To their surprise, he handed their creds to Hubie, who studied them a full thirty seconds before he handed them back to Savich. “Yep, now I remember—your name, Sherlock. Imagine, here you are, in the flesh. You sure are pretty to be so tough. You’re famous among law enforcement around here, you know.”
No, Sherlock didn’t now, but she nodded.
“Well now, ’scuse me. I’ll leave you to it, Anson.” And Hubie was out the door.
Anson Pearly slowly rose to his feet, assessing them with clear, intelligent gray eyes. “Forgive my cousin, he sometimes runs off the rails a bit.” They all shook hands. He turned. “This is Ms. Cindy Wilcox. She might not be the heroine of JFK, but she is the heroine of Winslow today, saved herself from that maniac who blew up the cathedral in Falls Church. When she described the man who attacked her, told me he called himself Victor, I remembered the BOLOs, showed her his picture. She said it was definitely Victor Nesser, knew it even if he was wearing a disguise.”
Sherlock looked at the teenager huddled in a chair, her blond hair tangled around a pretty face. She was staring at them. “Ms. Wilcox?”
Cindy stared up at Sherlock. “Yes, I’m Cindy.”
Sherlock gave her a big smile and patted her arm. “You must be very resourceful and smart to escape Victor Nesser. I agree with the chief, you’re a hero.” Sherlock drew her up out of the chair and hugged her. “You’re alive, and I’ve got to say that makes me very happy. I know you’re still shaky with the shock of what you went through. Victor Nesser is a very scary man, but you survived, Cindy. You beat him. You’re here and you’re safe and you can talk to us. Can you tell us about him, tell us what happened?”
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