Which I had, thanks to Barnes. On his way to that first motel in GreenTree, he’d had the foresight to stop at a clothing store and buy some for me. Jeans, shirts, a thick sweater. He’d done a pretty good job guessing my sizes, too.
“Always be prepared,” he’d replied when I thanked him.
Like I said, Boy Scout.
After my shower, I stood in new jeans at the bathroom sink, scrubbing dirt and mud off my shoes. Shirtless, I couldn’t avoid looking at myself in the mirror. The ugly bruises, the still-raw redness of my ribs. Then there were the numerous cuts and scratches on my face from my trudge up to the gravesites. Not to mention the shadow of fatigue crowding my eyes.
“Talk about the walking wounded.”
It was Gloria, standing in the bathroom doorway, in sweats and a tee-shirt. Holding a roll of bandages.
As before, she quickly re-bandaged my ribs, then applied some arnica cream to my arms and shoulders. Another wise purchase by Lyle Barnes.
When she’d finished, I gingerly slipped into one of the new shirts and followed Gloria out of the bathroom. Barnes was waiting for us, sitting at the writing desk, resting his arm sling on its faded blotter. Next to it was a whiskey bottle and three plastic glasses. Motel issue.
He poured us each a drink, then I sat back on the edge of the bed and told them everything that had happened. After which, Barnes wearily shook his head.
“You’re lucky he didn’t kill you right there. Toss your body into the coffin with the manikin and re-bury the thing.”
“That actually occurred to me as I was driving back here. Which means he has something even better planned for me.”
“It’s weird, though,” said Gloria. “David Bowie, Warren Zevon. Christ, Scrubbing Bubbles?…Maddox sure loves his pop culture references. Mixed in with all that high-brow philosophy stuff. Probably thinks it makes him seem cool. Disarming.”
“Whatever.” Barnes turned to me. “By the way, what did you do with the shovel? Might be some useable forensics on it.”
“I figured the same thing, Lyle. It’s in the trunk of my car, wrapped in some plastic bags to preserve any evidence that might be lifted from it. Though Maddox said he bought it new.”
Gloria shrugged. “It probably doesn’t matter. He’s too smart to have left any traces on it.”
Barnes thumbed his chin. “That still leaves the question of your late wife’s remains. What he did with them.”
We exchanged sober looks. Given his many years profiling serial murderers and the like, I knew he’d seen and heard dozens of horrific stories about what happened to victims’ remains. Everything from the killers having sex with them, to eating them, to using them to fertilize their gardens…
Which was probably why he stayed silent now. To spare me any more images than my imagination had already given rise to.
I finished my drink and got shakily to my feet. The meds were doing their best to numb my physical pain, and my mind wanted to follow suit. After what I’d been through tonight, I craved nothing so much as numbness.
l l l l l
At her insistence, Gloria led me into her room, where I stripped down and climbed under the sheets. She did the same.
Holding me in her arms, she whispered, “I’m so sorry for what Maddox is doing to you, Danny. I wish I could help.”
“You’ve been wonderful,” I said. “I mean, I’m grateful for all that Lyle’s done, but you…I can’t even put into words what it’s meant having you here.”
She smiled warmly. “I bet you say that to all the female FBI agents.”
“Nope, you’re the first.” My eyes met hers. “And this isn’t just crisis sex. Not for me. And you know it.”
“Yeah, I know.” A shrug. “How about that old standby, ‘friends with benefits?’”
“What did I just say about not putting it into words?”
I gave her a brief kiss, then leaned my head back against the pillow. I could feel that sleep, blessed sleep, was coming.
She snuggled closer.
“By the way,” she said casually, “did I tell you my ex is getting married again?”
“No, but I remember you telling me about that guy. Sounded like a complete jerk. How do you know?”
“I saw it on his Facebook page a couple weeks ago. Lots of photos of him and the bride-to-be, on a beach somewhere. Blonde with big boobs. What a surprise.”
“Well, after being with you, he’s marrying down. Once a dick, always a dick. And that’s my clinical opinion.”
A fuller smile. “See, I knew there was a reason I liked you, other than your oral sex skills.”
I was too tired to manage a witty response, and within moments I’d drifted off to sleep.
And dreamed of that manikin in the coffin, dressed to look like Barbara. I was standing there, about to close the lid, when it sat up and spoke to me.
Yet when I awoke, around noon the next day, I couldn’t remember a word she’d said.
I mean, it said…
Chapter Thirty-four
While Gloria was in the shower, I went next door to Lyle’s room, where I found him sitting upright on the bed, reading from a thick paperback. Collected Poems of Pablo Neruda.
On the writing desk were a half-dozen Styrofoam cups.
“I did a coffee run,” he said, not looking up from his book. “If you’re hungry, the motel diner isn’t bad.”
“Thanks.” I pulled out a chair at the desk and sat. Lifted one of the coffee lids, blew steam off the hot contents.
“I’ve been thinking about your experience last night at the cemetery. Imagining what you must be thinking and feeling.”
“I’m still trying to sort that out myself.” I sipped the strong black coffee. “I keep landing somewhere between grief and rage. Which, I suppose, is exactly where Maddox wants me.”
Barnes gave me a sad smile. “I think Neruda has something to say about what you went through.” He flipped a page in the book. “Here it is: ‘The great roots of night grow suddenly from your soul, and the things that hide in you come out again.’”
I absorbed the words. “Sounds about right.”
We sat in silence for a few minutes, until my gaze fell upon Gloria’s laptop. The lid was open, still displaying Maddox’s grinning head shot.
Barnes noticed me noticing it.
“Gloria brought it over after you fell asleep. She knew I’d probably be up, so I’d be able to keep an eye on it in case Maddox made contact.”
“I didn’t think he would,” I said. “Not after the cemetery. Gloria’s right about one thing: even he has to sleep. Speaking of which, Lyle…”
He put down his book.
“Don’t worry, Doc. I take little cat naps. Not much REM, but better than nothing.”
“How are your symptoms?”
“Fine, thanks. How are yours?”
“I’m serious, dammit. If you’re relapsing, if the night terrors are increasing, you’ll need to—”
“All I need is to take down Sebastian Maddox. After that, I promise, I’ll sleep for a week, night terrors be damned. But no meds, and no clinical intervention from my favorite psychologist till then, capice?”
I shook my head. “I’m beginning to think that’s the only Italian word you know. Maybe I should teach you another one. Like capa tosta.”
“What’s that mean?”
“It’s slang for hardheaded. Stubborn.”
“Bet your father used that one a lot on you growing up.”
“Only on his good days. The rest of the time…”
I swallowed the last of my coffee. Despite how beat-up my body still was, and how stinging the cuts on my face, that nine hours of sleep had been remarkably restorative. At least I felt more or less human again.
“Listen, I’m going to call the hospital about Angie…”
“Good idea,” Barnes said. “I checked all the news channels an hour ago. There weren’t any additional details. At least nothing that Pittsburgh PD is willing to release.”
I fished in my pocket for Rosalind’s card, hoping that the nurse was on duty. I’d liked her immediately, and trusted I’d get the straight dope about Angie’s condition from her.
Using another of the prepaid cells, I called Mercy General and was transferred to the nurses’ station on the ICU ward. I was pleased when it was Rosalind herself who picked up.
“I thought I’d hear from you, Dr. Rinaldi. Seems like everyone else from the Mayor on down has come by to see the poor woman. Her husband and kids, too.”
“I’ll try to make it in today myself. But how is she?”
“The good news is she’s conscious and her vitals are good. But as of now, there’s extensive paralysis, I’m afraid.”
“Can she talk?”
“That’s the same thing every cop who’s been in here keeps asking. I mean, shoot, I hate to sound like Dr. Hilvers, but the answer is, not yet. We’ll just have to wait and see.”
I took a moment to digest this.
“I appreciate your being candid with me, Rosalind.”
“And I appreciate your respect. Not a lotta that going on around here, if you’re a lowly nurse. And yet—”
“Don’t worry, I know what keeps a hospital going. And the patients thriving.”
A wry chuckle. “Now you’re just tryin’ to blow smoke up this black girl’s behind.”
I got some information about visiting hours, and when Dr. Hilvers would be making his rounds on the ward, then hung up.
As I did, there was a brisk knock on the door, then Gloria let herself into the room. Both she and Barnes were practiced at using credit cards to jimmy open the locked motel room doors. But in Lyle’s case, it didn’t matter, since he’d used duct tape to cover the locking bolt on his door. The way he’d explained it, since Gloria and I would be coming in and out, why bother? As for security, by the time anyone would be able to pick the lock or break in, he’d be more than happy to shoot them.
Gloria, in sweats and a sleeveless tee, her wet hair bundled up in a towel, came to sit next to me at the desk.
“I just heard that last part. How’s Angie doing?”
“Conscious, at least, but it’s too soon to know how much her movement or speech has been affected.”
She reached up and stroked my cheek. Fingers playing lightly on the scratches there.
“And how are you feeling?”
“Better than I look, at least. But not by much.” I picked up the cell again. “Meanwhile, it’s time I checked in with my voice mail again.”
Gloria took that as her cue to get up and go sit next to Barnes on the bed. When she saw the book in his hand, she leaned closer and started reading over his shoulder.
There were only three messages on my voice mail. The first was from an old patient wanting to schedule an appointment. He said he “needed to make a pit stop.” The next call was from a journal editor I knew, asking if I’d like to contribute a paper for the fall edition. The last, to my surprise, was from Jerry Banks, Harry Polk’s temporary partner.
“Hey, Doc, this is Detective Banks. Me and the Sarge are trying to get a hold of you. We’ve been to your house and to your office, but you weren’t at either place. I hope you’re not outta town or something, ’cause Lieutenant Biegler wants us to interview you about this Angie Villanova thing. Since you’re a close relative, he figures you might have some idea about who’d want to harm her. It’s just routine. But between you and me, the Lieutenant wasn’t too happy when we said we couldn’t find you. So give us a call when you get this, okay? Then we can set something up.”
When I relayed the message to Barnes and Gloria, neither supported the idea of my going down to the precinct.
“What if Maddox is watching the place?” Gloria said. “We already know he’s probably hacked the PD’s system.”
Barnes agreed. “Which means he might know if you call downtown and arrange a time to meet with the cops. He could be waiting for you when you go in.”
“At police headquarters? I doubt it.”
“He’s done it already, Doc. When he grabbed Angie right outside the precinct.”
“I know that, Lyle. But she wasn’t on the lookout for anyone. I will be. Plus, if I don’t get back to them, it’ll look suspicious. Biegler’s already pissed. It’s a weekday, and they know I’m usually seeing patients now. If I’m not home sick, then where the hell am I?”
I could see that my argument made sense to the two of them. But it didn’t make them happy.
Not that I was too thrilled with the idea, either.
l l l l l
An hour later, I was sitting in Lieutenant Stu Biegler’s office. Not the conference room, nor an interview room. His own office, facing him across his desk, where he sat stiffly in front of a wall plastered with framed photos of civic events he’d attended. Shaking hands with the Mayor, the DA, the president of the Pittsburgh Chamber of Commerce. Plus a visiting movie star or two, from one of the many film productions that the city now attracts.
It was all very impressive, if you’re impressed by that sort of thing.
Joining us was Sergeant Harry Polk and Detective Jerry Banks, the former on the chair next to me, the latter leaning against a wall to our left, arms folded.
“Let me be blunt, Rinaldi.” Biegler said this as though he’d ever been otherwise when it came to me. “We’ve had two significant crimes in the past few days, and you’ve figured in both of them.”
“I guess you weren’t blunt enough, Stu. I don’t get what you’re saying.”
“First of all, it’s ‘Lieutenant Biegler.’ I don’t recall giving you permission to use my Christian name.”
“That’s okay, I don’t recall asking for it.”
Harry elbowed me in the ribs, sending a sharp stab of pain up my side. Though I made sure not to show it.
“Your sarcasm isn’t helping you, Doctor.” Biegler sat forward, hands clasped on his desk blotter. “What I’m referring to is the rape and murder of Joy Steadman, as well as the attempted murder of Angela Villanova.”
“What about them? We’ve already gone over the Steadman crime, and established I had nothing to do with it. As for Angie, I’ve known her since I was a kid, we’re related, and I love her. Why the hell would I want to hurt her?”
He proffered a thin smile. “People kill their loved ones all the time, Rinaldi. In fact, they’re usually the prime suspects in homicides. And usually guilty.”
“If they have a motive. What’s mine?”
“At this point, we don’t know. But that doesn’t mean there isn’t one.”
I gave Polk a sidelong glance, then gazed again at Biegler.
“You know this is bullshit, right? Even you don’t believe I’m involved. You’re just busting my balls because you resent the hell out of me.”
Biegler laughed. “I’m not one of your pathetic patients, Doctor. So spare me your analysis. I have no agenda here, other than pointing out that you’re a common factor in both these crimes. Which is unusual, if nothing else. Beyond coincidental, some might say.”
Jerry Banks spoke up from his position against the wall.
“Plus we couldn’t find you. Where the hell have you been all morning, eh?”
I didn’t bother turning, but gave my answer to Biegler.
“Since neither crime occurred this morning, I don’t need an alibi for my whereabouts today. Aside from that, it’s none of the Department’s business where I was.”
Biegler’s face darkened. “You’re a goddam paid consultant, Rinaldi! If we want to know where you were, you sure as hell better tell us.”
“Nope. Unless it’s in the fine print somewhere, I don’t remember seeing any
thing like that in the contract I signed.”
Polk grunted loudly. “For Christ’s sake, Doc! Give us a break here and tell us where you were.”
“Yeah.” Banks again, also louder. “You say you’re on our side, one of the team. Fuckin’ act like it!”
Both Biegler and Polk stared icily at the young detective, who instantly shrank back against the wall as though wishing he could disappear into it.
“If you guys must know,” I said stiffly, “I was down at the Strip, getting some fresh fruits and vegetables. I used to work there when I was young, and I bumped into a couple guys who—”
Biegler held up his hands. “Okay, okay. Like I give a shit about your life story. But even you have to admit, you’re a common element in both these cases. How do you explain that?”
“Bad luck? Karma? Maybe I’m cursed.”
“Laugh all you want, Rinaldi.” Biegler’s tone deepened. “But we only have your word for it that you weren’t involved with Joy Steadman. And with neither she nor her boyfriend, Eddie Burke, around to corroborate that claim, I still think you’re a possible suspect in her death.”
Polk stirred heavily in his chair. “Jeez, Lieutenant, I really don’t think—”
Biegler ignored him. “As for Ms. Villanova, who knows what we’ll find when we explore each of your financials, or your working history? We’ll question people close to both of you, friends and extended relations. We’re sitting down later today with her husband, as well as her co-workers. If there was any bad blood between you and her, any personal or professional squabbles, contested inheritances or things of that nature, we’ll find out. Trust me, Doctor, we’ll find out.”
I sat up straighter. Keeping my own tone equally measured.
“Nice speech, Stu. And I’m glad you’re so excited about spending the Department’s limited resources on a wild goose chase. But it wouldn’t be the first time you’ve done that, and I bet it won’t be the last.”
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