The Maze
Page 29
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"Sherlock."
She raised her face, her fingers stilling on the computer keyboard. "Good afternoon, sir. You just get here?"
"Yes. Call me Savich. Or Dillon."
"Yes, sir. Dillon."
"Would you please come in my office? In say ten minutes?''
She nodded, nothing more, just a defeated nod that she tried to hide from him.
When she walked into his office, he said immediately, "I don't like lies or liars."
She just looked at him hopelessly.
"Your mother's sister lives in San Diego. You have three cousins, none of them older than thirty-five, all living on the West Coast. You don't even have a third cousin in Boston. Also, there's nary a trace of Alzheimer's in anyone in your family."
"No, I guess there isn't."
"Sit down, Sherlock."
She sat.
He watched her pull her skirt to her calves. She sat on the edge of her chair like a child ready to be chastised. Only she wasn't remotely a child.
"Don't you think it's about time you leveled with me?"
"Not until I call Chico and take a dozen or so lessons."
Humor from her. He appreciated it. At least she had her balance, if nothing else. "I could still wipe up the floor with you. I'm an old hand at karate and other things as well. Speaking of hands, I played right into yours when I requested you for my unit, didn't I? You must have thought God was looking out for you when Petty told you you didn't have to go to L.A."
It didn't matter now. He probably knew everything. At least she didn't have to lie anymore. "It's true I wasn't interested in bank robbers. I told you that the day you first interviewed me."
"Oh no, that's for sure. What you wanted was the chance to track down the serial killer who murdered your sister seven years ago. Her name was Belinda, wasn't it?"
10
SHE TOOK THE BLOW, BENDing slightly inward to absorb the pain of it, the unbearable nakedness of it spoken aloud. She knew she'd blown her chance to hell and gone. It was all over for her now. But maybe it wasn't. He was in Boston. She would simply resign from the FBI and move to Boston. She had no choice.
She didn't stir, just looked at him and said, "They named him the String Killer. Isn't that a stupid name? String! Something hardly thicker than a thread, a piece of skinny hemp he used to torture the women, all seven of them-psychological torture-and the media reduced it to string, to make it sexy and clever."
"Yes, I remember the case well. And now he's struck again after seven years, in Boston this time. In fact, it's seven years to the day."
She just sat there, looking at him, and said in that flattened voice of hers, that held no surprise at all, "How do you know?''
"I went into your computer, saw what you'd accessed, and downloaded. I saw that you'd used my password to get into a couple of specialized data banks. Odd, but I never thought one of my own people would steal my password. You just looked over my shoulder one day?''
She nodded, didn't say anything, which was smart. He was very angry.
He drew a deep breath, tamping down on the anger. "I checked the security log. You spent three and a half hours here Monday night. You read the paper Tuesday morning and left for Boston the same day. I bought a Boston Globe. The story was on the third page."
She rose slowly, like an old woman. "I'll clean out my desk, sir, then go see Mr. Petty."
"And what will you tell Petty?"
"That I lied, that you discovered it, and I've been dismissed. I'm really sorry, sir, but I had no choice."
"I haven't canned you. If you think I intend to let you loose on the Boston Police Department, you're mistaken, Sherlock. But you've already spoken to them, haven't you? They kissed you off, right? No matter, don't tell me just yet. I'll call Ralph Budnack."
She looked as if he'd struck her. Then she gave him the coldest smile he'd ever seen. Her chin went up. "I know how the killer got into the nursing homes in Florida to strangle those old ladies."
He realized in that instant that he admired her brain. Was she trying to bargain with him? Make a deal? Gain some kind of leverage? "I see," he said easily, sitting back in his chair, fiddling with a pen between his fingers. "I give you something and you give me something in return?"
"No. I guess I want to show you that I'm not a complete fool, that I do care about something other than the man who murdered my sister. I really don't want any more old ladies to die. I just wanted to mention it before I forgot and left."
She raised her face, her fingers stilling on the computer keyboard. "Good afternoon, sir. You just get here?"
"Yes. Call me Savich. Or Dillon."
"Yes, sir. Dillon."
"Would you please come in my office? In say ten minutes?''
She nodded, nothing more, just a defeated nod that she tried to hide from him.
When she walked into his office, he said immediately, "I don't like lies or liars."
She just looked at him hopelessly.
"Your mother's sister lives in San Diego. You have three cousins, none of them older than thirty-five, all living on the West Coast. You don't even have a third cousin in Boston. Also, there's nary a trace of Alzheimer's in anyone in your family."
"No, I guess there isn't."
"Sit down, Sherlock."
She sat.
He watched her pull her skirt to her calves. She sat on the edge of her chair like a child ready to be chastised. Only she wasn't remotely a child.
"Don't you think it's about time you leveled with me?"
"Not until I call Chico and take a dozen or so lessons."
Humor from her. He appreciated it. At least she had her balance, if nothing else. "I could still wipe up the floor with you. I'm an old hand at karate and other things as well. Speaking of hands, I played right into yours when I requested you for my unit, didn't I? You must have thought God was looking out for you when Petty told you you didn't have to go to L.A."
It didn't matter now. He probably knew everything. At least she didn't have to lie anymore. "It's true I wasn't interested in bank robbers. I told you that the day you first interviewed me."
"Oh no, that's for sure. What you wanted was the chance to track down the serial killer who murdered your sister seven years ago. Her name was Belinda, wasn't it?"
10
SHE TOOK THE BLOW, BENDing slightly inward to absorb the pain of it, the unbearable nakedness of it spoken aloud. She knew she'd blown her chance to hell and gone. It was all over for her now. But maybe it wasn't. He was in Boston. She would simply resign from the FBI and move to Boston. She had no choice.
She didn't stir, just looked at him and said, "They named him the String Killer. Isn't that a stupid name? String! Something hardly thicker than a thread, a piece of skinny hemp he used to torture the women, all seven of them-psychological torture-and the media reduced it to string, to make it sexy and clever."
"Yes, I remember the case well. And now he's struck again after seven years, in Boston this time. In fact, it's seven years to the day."
She just sat there, looking at him, and said in that flattened voice of hers, that held no surprise at all, "How do you know?''
"I went into your computer, saw what you'd accessed, and downloaded. I saw that you'd used my password to get into a couple of specialized data banks. Odd, but I never thought one of my own people would steal my password. You just looked over my shoulder one day?''
She nodded, didn't say anything, which was smart. He was very angry.
He drew a deep breath, tamping down on the anger. "I checked the security log. You spent three and a half hours here Monday night. You read the paper Tuesday morning and left for Boston the same day. I bought a Boston Globe. The story was on the third page."
She rose slowly, like an old woman. "I'll clean out my desk, sir, then go see Mr. Petty."
"And what will you tell Petty?"
"That I lied, that you discovered it, and I've been dismissed. I'm really sorry, sir, but I had no choice."
"I haven't canned you. If you think I intend to let you loose on the Boston Police Department, you're mistaken, Sherlock. But you've already spoken to them, haven't you? They kissed you off, right? No matter, don't tell me just yet. I'll call Ralph Budnack."
She looked as if he'd struck her. Then she gave him the coldest smile he'd ever seen. Her chin went up. "I know how the killer got into the nursing homes in Florida to strangle those old ladies."
He realized in that instant that he admired her brain. Was she trying to bargain with him? Make a deal? Gain some kind of leverage? "I see," he said easily, sitting back in his chair, fiddling with a pen between his fingers. "I give you something and you give me something in return?"
"No. I guess I want to show you that I'm not a complete fool, that I do care about something other than the man who murdered my sister. I really don't want any more old ladies to die. I just wanted to mention it before I forgot and left."
