David Wiltse - Bone Deep

As he glanced back he saw the headlights of his pursuer stop behind the driveway where he had left the Caprice. That would be Becker, Luv thought. He was quicker than Tee, smarter, far more dangerous. Which was fine with Luv. It was appropriate that he should be chased by the most dangerous, because he, Luv, was the most dangerous of all. Because he was the smartest. Because he was the best. I'm not afraid of Becker, he thought. But if he's as smart as he's supposed to be, he should be afraid of me. I can get to him in ways he never imagined.

The dog was going crazy now, barking and yapping as if Luv were in the house itself. That was excellent, it would make it impossible for Becker to hear whatever noise Luv made while moving through the woods.

When he reached the safety of his own house, Luv's wife was sleeping. He stood for a moment in the darkness of his bedroom, beaming triumphantly.

He grabbed his wrist and took his own pulse. It was rock-solid, as calm as sleep. I love it, he thought. I love it!

"There been one hell of a lot of women in that car," said Andreassi, head of forensics for the Bureau in the Stamford/ Bridgeport area. His team of specialists had swarmed over the Caprice for the better part of a day searching for prints, collecting fibers, hairs, lint, and debris of all kinds. "The passenger side has got enough hair samples to make a wig. Most of them are long, or longish, and all different colors, some of them dyed, sprayed with fixatives of one kind or another. Those little babies cling to upholstery, work their way into cracks, get under the seat. You'll never get all of them out with a vacuum, and believe me, he's tried. That is one clean car, at least to the naked eye. We'll check these hairs against the ones we have from the Appleseed girls and see if we can get a match. Funny thing, though. He hasn't had them in the back seat. None of them, I'd guess. There doesn't seem to have been anybody in the back seat, ever. Johnny wasn't balling them in the back, he was just driving them somewhere."

"We don't know that this is Johnny's car. How about prints?" Becker asked. He took the briefing in Tee's office, the afternoon following the fruitless chase of the Caprice.

"Not as many as you'd expect with all those passengers," said Andreassi.

"Some, but almost all of them from the passenger side. He cleans that car, and I mean cleans it. He knows how to wipe it down."

"Nothing from the steering wheel, the gearshift?"

"Oh, sure, something. We're pretty good at this, you know, John. We've got a few partials, he's not as clever as he thinks-but pretty close.

Either he wears gloves when he drives or he knew that somebody would be checking out the car someday. Of course, some of the prints from the passenger side might be his too, who knows? There's nothing around the trunk. I mean nothing in the way of prints. I'd say he worked that area over real good. There's some threads caught in the key slot, probably from the rag he used to wipe it down. There are fibers in the trunk, but nothing that's very exciting at first glance, nothing to get me jumping up and down."

"What would get you jumping up and down?" Tee asked.

"Something to work with. If this guy wore linen shirts, maybe you would have something to look for. But it's all cotton or a cotton and synthetic mix. The same shirts everyone else wears, in other words.

There is one area with plenty of prints though."

"Where's that?"

"The gas tank. There are latents all over the surface surrounding the tank opening, on the tank door, on the screwtop. "The sonofabitch,"

Becker said.

"That's what I figured," said Andreassi, nodding agreement.

"What are you talking about?" Tee demanded.

"You can bet money he doesn't pump his own gas," Andreassi said. "We'll check them all out, but I'd be willing to bet that all of those prints belong to gas station attendants. "Lot of different attendants too,"

Becker said. "So we waste time checking all of them out. A little diversion from Johnny."

"What makes you so sure?" Tee asked.

"This is a guy who doesn't want to be identified with this car. Thus the tinted windows, which certainly don't come as standard equipment.

The last thing he wants to do is be seen standing next to the car for five minutes while he fills up. So he sits in there behind the tinted glass and pays extra for someone else to do the work. And I'll bet he goes to many different stations to further reduce the chance that anyone will connect him with the car. Then he leaves the prints there, the only place he leaves prints, so we can find him and get a hard-on about finding a clue. You did get a hard-on, didn't you, Andreassi?"

"For about a minute, until I figured it out. It was fun."

"They usually are. How long before you can give me a final report?"

"A few days," said Andreassi. "I'll try to push it through for you as fast as I can."

After Andreassi left, Tee asked, "Can't Karen get them to make this top priority?"

"She could. But it's not. If the Caprice were top priority you'd have so many agents here you wouldn't be able to get into the men's room without a half-hour wait. But Karen's got other cases and other issues.

This is my top priority. And yours. Not the Bureau's.":,I saw him. You did too, didn't you?",Saw who?"

The driver of the Caprice. When he passed through our headlights, just for a second there, not very clear but you could make him out. I could."

"Why didn't you say so?"

"I wanted to be sure. I wanted to hear it from you, too, so I'd be sure it wasn't my imagination."

"Who did you see, Tee?"

"Who did you see, John?"

"I saw a shape, a suggestion of a man, nothing more."

"I saw him. I'm sure of it."

"Who?"

"You really didn't see him?"

"Who, — goddamnit?"

"McNeil."

"Oh shit, Tee. You wanted to see McNeil."

"You didn't see him?"

"No."

"Are you sure it wasn't him?"

"I can't be sure of who I saw."

"And then I called him. While you were chasing the Caprice I called McNeil's house. The phone rang four times before an answering machine picked up."

"He was asleep."

"Or he wasn't there. What kind of cop puts on the answering machine?"

"A Clamden cop? A tired cop?"

"How about a cop who's out running through the woods to get away from John Becker?"

"Maybe. Arrest him if you're so sure."

"With me as the only witness? He wouldn't even need a lawyer to walk on that one. You're sure you can't identify him?"

"That's not who I saw, Tee."

"You did see someone, then. Who did you see?"

"A shadow, a shape. A leap of my imagination. No one, nothing. Forget it. Have you done anything about your domestic problem yet?"

"Are we officially changing the subject then?"

"If I start chasing shadows, they're going to be my own, not yours," said Becker. "Until then, let's try for some evidence."

"You did see someone," Tee said accusingly. "Who?"

"I didn't see anyone, Tee. All right? I didn't see any recognizable face in the car. Neither did you."

"I saw what I saw."

"No, you saw what I saw and you want it to be McNeil and it's easy to make it McNeil because you hate him, you're fixated on him, and you didn't see a face clearly enough to be certain that it wasn't him."

"Piss on that whole train of thought, if I may speak to a federal agent in those terms."

"I wish you would… Have you left her yet?"

"Not yet," Tee said. He rubbed his face with his hands. "I'm not sure I can. Jesus Christ, John."

"It won't be easy. I know that."

"Have you ever been in this situation?" Becker hesitated. "No," he said at last. "Not really."

"Then what do you know about it? Let me rephrase that. What the fuck do you know about it?"