Jeffery Deaver - The Devil's Teardrop

"Hey, there you go."

"What do you mean."

"That's just what she'd say. Aren't you two a pair…"

"Cage, take a break."

"Look, Margaret's only agenda is collaring perps. There's a ton of ego in her, sure, but it's good ego. She's the second-best investigator I know." Parker ignored the glance that accompanied this sentence. Cage thought for a moment. "You know what's good about Lukas? She takes care of herself."

"What does that mean?"

"I'll tell you. Couple months ago her house got broken into."

"Where's she live?"

"Georgetown."

"That happens there, yeah," Parker said. As much as he enjoyed the District he'd never live there, not with the children. Crime was terrible.

Cage continued, "She comes home from the office and sees the door's been jimmied. Okay? Her dog's in the backyard and-"

"She's got a dog? What kind?"

"I don't know. How do I know? Big black dog. Lemme finish. She makes sure her dog's okay then, instead of calling it in, she goes back to her van, puts on body armor, takes her MP-5 and secures the house herself."

Parker laughed. The thought of any other thin, attractive blonde stalking through a townhouse, armed with a laser-sighted machine gun, would have seemed absurd. But for some reason it was perfectly natural with Lukas. "Still don't get your point, Cage."

"No point. I'm only saying Lukas doesn't need anybody to take care of her. People being together, Parker, you know, men and women, don't you think it works out best that way? Nobody taking care of anybody else? That's a rule. Write it down."

Parker supposed the agent was talking about Joan. Cage had seen Parker and Joan together a number of times. And, sure, Parker had been drawn to his ex-wife because she was looking for someone to take care of her, and Parker-newly orphaned when they met-was desperate to nurture. Parker thought back several hours, Lukas addressing the troops in Gravesend. Maybe that was what had stirred him so much, listening to her: not so much her expertise as her independence.

They drove in silence for a moment.

"MP-5?" Parker asked, picturing the heavy black Heckler & Koch machine gun.

"Yep. Said her biggest worry was if she had to light up the perp she might ruin some of her wall decorations. She sews too. Makes these quilts you wouldn't believe."

"You told me that before. The perp-she bag him?"

"Naw. He'd booked."

Parker recalled her anger in Gravesend. He asked Cage, "Then what do you think it is? Why she's been on my case?"

After a moment the agent answered, "Maybe she envies you."

"Envies me? What do you mean?"

But he wouldn't answer. "That's not for me to say. Just hold that thought and when she gives you any static cut her some slack."

"You're making no sense, Cage. She envies me?"

"Think of it like one of your puzzles. Either you figure it out or she'll tell you the answer. That's up to her. But I'm not giving you any clues."

"Why would I want to know the answer to Margaret Lukas?"

But Cage only skidded around another canyon of a pothole and said nothing.

Evans closed his phone, poured himself another cup of coffee from the thermos. It must have held a half gallon of coffee. This time Parker accepted the offered cup and drank several sips of the strong brew.

"How's the family?" Parker asked him.

"I owe the kids big time." The shrink smiled ruefully.

"How many do you have?"

"Two."

"Me too," Parker said. "How old?"

"In their teens. They're a handful." He didn't give any details and didn't seem to want to say anything more. He asked, "Yours?"

"Eight and nine."

"Ah, you've got a few years of peace and quiet."

Cage said, "Grandkids are the best. Take it from me. You play with 'em, get 'em all dirty, let 'em spill ice cream on themselves, spoil 'em crazy and then you send 'em home to their parents. You go have a beer and watch the game. How can you beat that?"

They drove for a few moments in silence and finally Evans asked, "That incident you mentioned. With your son? What happened?"

"You ever hear about the Boatman?" Parker asked.

Cage glanced at Parker warily. Then back to the road.

Evans said, "Remember something from the papers. But I'm not sure."

Parker was surprised; the killer had been featured in the news for months. Maybe the doctor was new to the area. "He was a serial killer in Northern Virginia, Southern Maryland. Four years ago. He'd kidnap a woman, rape and murder her and leave the body in a dinghy or rowboat. The Potomac a couple times. The Shenandoah. Burke Lake in Fairfax. We had leads to this guy who lived in Arlington but we couldn't make a case. Finally I was able to connect him to one of the murders through a handwriting sample. SWAT arrested him. He was convicted but he escaped on the way to federal detention. Well, around that time I was in the middle of the custody battle with my ex. The court had awarded me temporary custody. The kids, the housekeeper and I were living in a house in Falls Church. Then one night, around midnight, Robby starts screaming. I run into his room. There's the Boatman, trying to break in."

Evans nodded, frowning in concentration. His eyes were pale and they studied Parker closely.

Even now, years later, Parker's heart trembled at the memory: not only at the image of the square, glazed face looking through the bedroom window but at his son's distilled terror. The tears streaming from his huge eyes, his shaking hands. He didn't tell Evans and Cage about the five minutes-they seemed like hours-of absolute horror: shepherding his children into the housekeepers room, guarding the door while listening to the Boatman stalk through the house. Finally, with the Fairfax County cops still not there, he stepped into the hallway, his service revolver in hand.

He realized that Evans was looking at him even more closely. He felt like a patient. The doctor noted Parker's expression and looked away. He asked, "And you shot him?"

"Yes. I did."

The gun is too loud! Parker had thought manically, as he fired, knowing how the explosions were adding to Robby's and Stephanie's terror.

The gun is too loud!

As Cage pulled up to headquarters Evans shoved the thermos back into his backpack and put a hand on Parker's arm. He gave the document examiner another close look. "Know what we're gonna do?"

Parker lifted an eyebrow.

"We're gonna catch this son of a bitch and both of us get back home to our families. Where we ought to be."

Parker Kincaid thought: Amen.

Inside the document lab at headquarters the team was reassembled.

Margaret Lukas was on the phone.

Parker glanced at her. Her cryptic look toward him in return brought to mind Cage's comments in the car.

Maybe she envies you…

She looked back down at the notes she was scribbling. He noticed her handwriting. The Palmer Method. Enviable precision and economy. No nonsense.

Hardy and C. P. Ardell stood nearby, also speaking on cell phones.

Parker set the glass sheets on the examination table.

Lukas shut off her phone. She looked at Cage and the others. "The safe house's completely gone. PERT's going through it but there's nothing left. The computer and the disks were totaled."

Cage asked, "How 'bout the building the Digger shot from?"

"As clean as the Texas Book Depository," she said bitterly. "They got shell casings this time but he wore-"

"Latex gloves," Parker said, sighing.

"Right. When he loaded the clips. And leather when he was in the apartment. Not a bit of trace."

A phone rang and Lukas answered. "Hello?… Oh, okay." She looked up. "It's Susan Nance. She's gotten more information back from Boston, White Plains and Philly about the other attacks Czisman was telling us about. I'll put her on the speaker."