Jeffery Deaver - The Devil's Teardrop

"What on earth could you possibly want from me? I'm retired."

Cage said, "Uh-huh. Sure. Retired."

Lukas frowned, looked from one to the other.

Was this rehearsed? A good cop/confused cop thing? It didn't seem to be. Still, another important rule in his invisible parental Handbook was: "Get used to being double-teamed." He was on his guard now.

"You still do document examination. You're in the Yellow Pages. And you've got a Web site. It's good. I like the blue wallpaper."

He said firmly, "I'm a civilian document examiner."

Lukas said, "Cage tells me you were head of the Document Division for six years. He says you're the best document examiner in the country."

What weary eyes she has, Parker thought. She's probably only thirty-six or thirty-seven. Great figure, trim, athletic, beautiful face. Yet what she's seen… Look at those eyes. Like blue-gray stones. Parker knew about eyes like that.

Daddy, tell me about the Boatman.

"I only do commercial work. I don't do any criminal forensics."

"He was also candidate for SAC Eastern District. Yeah, yeah, I'm not kidding." Cage said this as if he hadn't heard Parker. "Except he turned it down."

Lukas lifted her pale eyebrows.

"And that was years ago," Parker responded.

"Sure it was," Cage said. "But you're not rusty, are you, Parker?"

"Cage, get to the point."

"I'm trying to wear you down," the graying agent said.

"Can't be done."

"Ah, I'm the miracle worker. Remember?" To Lukas he said, "See, Parker didn't just find forgeries; he used to track people down because of what they wrote, where they buy writing paper, pens, things like that. Best in the business."

"She already said you said that," Parker said acerbically.

"Déjà vu all over again," Cage observed.

Parker was shivering-but not from the cold. From the trouble these two people represented. He thought of the Whos. He thought of their party tonight. Thought of his ex-wife. He opened his mouth to tell lanky Cage and deadeye Lukas to get the hell out of his life. But she was there first. Bluntly she said, "Just listen. The unsub-"

Parker remembered: unknown subject. An unidentified perp.

"-and his partner, the shooter, have this extortion scheme. The shooter lights up a crowd of people with an automatic weapon every four hours starting at four this afternoon unless the city pays. Mayor's willing to and we drop the money. But the unsub never shows up. Why? He's dead."

"You believe the luck?" Cage said. "On his way to collect twenty million and he gets nailed by a delivery truck."

Parker asked, "Why didn't the shooter pick up the money?"

"'Cause the shooters only instructions're to kill," Lukas said. "He doesn't have anything to do with the money. Classic left-hand/ right-hand setup." Lukas seemed surprised he hadn't figured it out. "The unsub turns the shooter loose with instructions to keep going if he doesn't get a call to stop. That way we'll hesitate to cap the perp in a tac operation. And if we collar the unsub he's got leverage to work out a plea bargain in exchange for stopping the shooter."

"So," Cage said. "We've gotta find him. The shooter."

The door behind him started to open.

Parker quickly said to Lukas, "Button your jacket."

"What?" she asked.

As Robby stepped outside Parker quickly reached forward and tugged her jacket closed, hiding the large pistol on her belt. She frowned at this but he whispered, "I don't want him to see your weapon."

He put his arm around his son's shoulders. "Hey, Who. How you doing?"

"Stephie hid the controller."

"I did not," she called. "Didn't, didn't!"

"I was winning and she hid it."

Parker said, frowning, "Wait, isn't it connected with a cord?"

"She unplugged it."

"Stephie-effie. Is that controller going to appear in five seconds? Four, three, two…"

"I found it!" she called.

"My turn!" Robby cried and charged up the stairs again.

Once more Parker noticed Lukas's eyes follow Robby as he climbed to the second floor.

"What's his name?" Lukas asked.

"Robby."

"But what did you call him?"

"Oh. 'Who.' It's my nickname for the kids."

"After Wahoo?" she asked. "Your alma mater's team?"

"No. It's from a Dr. Seuss book." Parker wondered how she knew he'd gone to the University of Virginia. "Look, Cage, I'm sorry. But I really can't help you."

"You understand the problem here, boy?" Cage continued. "The only link we've got-the only clue at all-is the extortion note."

"Run it by PERT."

The Bureau's Physical Evidence Response Team.

Lukas's thin lips grew slightly thinner. "If we have to we will. And we'll get a psycholinguistic from Quantico. And I'll have agents check out every goddamn paper and pen company in the country. But-"

"-that's what we're hopin' you'd take over on," Cage filled in. "You can look at it, you can tell us what's what. Stuff nobody else can. Maybe where he lived. Maybe where the shooter's going to hit next."

Parker asked, "What about Stan?"

Stanley Lewis was the current head of the Bureau's Document Division. Parker knew the man was good; he'd hired Lewis years ago as an examiner. He recalled that they'd spent an evening drinking beer and trying to outdo each other forging John Hancock's signature. Lewis had won.

"He's in Hawaii for the Sánchez trial. Even in a Tomcat we can't get him back here before the next deadline."

"It's at four," Lukas repeated.

"It won't be like last time, Parker," Cage said softly. "That'll never happen again."

Lukas's head swiveled between the two men once again. But Parker didn't explain what Cage had meant. He wasn't talking about the past; he'd had enough past for one day.

"I'm sorry. Any other time, maybe. But I can't now." He was imagining what would happen if Joan found out he was working on an active investigation.

"Shit, Parker, what do I have to do?"

"We have nothing," Lukas said angrily. "No leads. We have a few hours until this crazy shoots up another crowd of people. There were children shot down-"

Parker waved his hand abruptly to silence her. "I'll have to ask you to leave now. Good luck."

Cage shrugged, looked at Lukas. She handed Parker her card, with the gold-embossed seal of the Justice Department on it. Parker had once had cards just like these. The typeface was Cheltenham condensed. Nine-point.

"Cell phones on the bottom… Look, at least if we have any questions, you mind if we call?"

Parker hesitated. "No, I don't."

"Thank you."

"Goodbye," Parker said, stepping back into the house.

The door closed. Robby stood on the stairs.

"Who were they, Daddy?"

He said, "That was a man I used to work with."

"Did she have a gun?" Robby asked. "That lady?"

"Did you see a gun?" Parker asked him.

"Yeah."

"Then I guess she had one."

"Did you work with her too?" the boy asked.

"No, just the man."

"Oh. She was pretty."

Parker started to say, For a lady cop. But he didn't.

Back here in Washington I live under a sorrowful pall, haunted as I am by visions of Potty on horseback…

Parker, back in his basement study, alone now, found himself thinking of the letter in front of him as Ql. FBI document lab procedures dictated that questioned documents were called Q's. Authentic documents and handwriting samples-also called "knowns"-were referred to as K s. It had been years since he'd thought of the suspect wills and contracts he analyzed as Q's. This intrusion of police mindset into his personal life was unsettling. Nearly as troubling as Joan's appearance.

Forget about Cage, forget about Lukas.

Concentrate…

Back to the letter, hand glass in front of his face.

He now noted that the author-whether it had been Jefferson or not-had used a steel pen; he could see the unique flow of ink into fibers torn by the nib. Many forgers believe that all old documents were written with feather quills and use those exclusively. But by 1800 steel pen points were very popular and Jefferson did most of his corresponding with them.