William Bernhardt - Dark Eye

DEATH:Massive bodily trauma

WEAPON:Automobile

POD:Hotel parking lot

BODY FOUND:Hotel parking lot

Security guard at Transylvania Hotel. Killed by impact of his own car. Died instantly.

VICT5-Fara Spencer

WF, DOB: 10-16-61 DOA: 10-17-04

STATUS:Unknown

Mother of Vict2. Abducted after car incident with Vict4. No witnesses. Unidentified partial forefinger print possibly attributable to assailant.

Pretty damn thin, when you got right down to it. I thumbed through the additional material attached to the cover report. Not much there. Was it any wonder we hadn’t caught this clown yet? About the only thing this report didn’t cover was the phone call I’d gotten from Edgar-great, now they had me calling him that-and his present. And I received a detailed analysis on those barely an hour later.

“The lab found nothing useful on the box, the wrapper, or the teeth,” Tony Crenshaw explained. “Neither did Latent Prints.”

“Voiceprints?”

“Nothing. We have a pattern now we can compare against any future communications. But even maximum volume magnification failed to turn up any useful background noises. There were few clues in his language other than the obvious one- neon. No distinctive patterns. Southern accent, to be sure, but the experts think he was affecting that.”

“Because he wants to be like Poe. But he isn’t really from Virginia.”

“That’s our guess. Other than that, no real clues. He chose his words carefully. Probably rehearsed what he was going to say before he called.”

That would be consistent with the organized sociopath I had in my head. “I’d like a copy of the tape of the phone call.”

“Sure.” Tony seemed hesitant. “You know he was trying to rattle your cage, right? Talking about your bad habits and all. Doesn’t mean he knows anything. It was an easy shot. Everyone has some secret. He wants to scare you. Chase you off the case.”

Did he? Maybe. But to me, it seemed more like he was trying to impress me. To win me over.

“But you’re not going to let him get to you, right?”

My eyes lifted. “What’s this? A trace of concern? For moi ?”

His eyes darted to the carpet. “Granger doesn’t speak for the whole department, Susan. You still have friends around here. Lots of them.”

Well, that was cheering. “Thanks, Tony. I appreciate it.”

“All the guys loved David. You know that. And we think what happened… wasn’t right. The way you were treated.”

“Tony, I really don’t care to-”

“Just wanted you to know.” He gave me a mock salute. “Back to the trenches.”

I thrust my nose into my paperwork, trying not to be resentful. Of course, that was what it would be about. David, not me. Everyone had loved David. Everyone.

I’d loved David, too, damn it. But that wouldn’t bring him back.

I was on the phone with my lawyer, which is about as unpleasant as life gets.

“If the judge isn’t going to decide anything, why do I have to be there? I’m in the middle of a major investigation.”

“Do you want custody of Rachel or not?”

“That’s why I got this job! On your advice.”

“Then you must be there. Dressed conservatively. Sparing makeup. You need to sit next to me and be untempermental, cool, and well mannered.”

“In other words, exactly not like myself.”

“Whatever.”

“I can’t believe this judge is so shallow he’s going to make a decision based upon whether I wear red.”

“He might not do it consciously. But judges are influenced by their subconscious impressions, just like everyone else in the world. The most important part is that you remain calm. NDHS will try to convince the judge that you’re unreliable. You have to show him that you can be restrained and responsible, fit to raise your niece. You have to tell him you’ve sworn off booze and you’re working to stay clean.”

I felt an itching in my chest that wouldn’t go away. “I can do that.”

“Good. See you there.”

Damn everything. As if I didn’t already have enough on my plate. Now I was going to have to deal with the American legal system. The tenth circle of hell.

“Eureka!”

I glanced up. Darcy was standing at the edge of my desk, grinning like a sheepdog.

“Eureka!” he repeated.

“Okay, I’ll bite. What are you talking about?”

“Eureka means ‘I found it.’ Did you know that historians say that’s what Archimedes said when he discovered about the displacement of liquid? He jumped out of the bathtub yelling, ‘Eureka! Eureka!’ ” Darcy giggled. “He was strange.”

“Thanks for the ancient Greek perspective, Darce. Why are you telling me this?”

“It’s the name of a thing by Edgar Allan Poe.”

“What? I read his complete works-”

Darcy corrected me as gently as possible. “I think maybe you read his Complete Stories and Poems. That’s what everyone reads. No one reads Eureka. Even my dad doesn’t have a copy.”

“Then how do you know-”

“I ran that code message that the bad man left with the teeth through the Internet.” I swore silently. I should have thought of that myself. “Even Dad says I’m good with computers. Do you Google? I love to Google. You never know what you’ll get. This one time-”

I cut in. “So what is it?”

“Poe called it a prose-poem.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

Darcy’s face reddened. “I don’t know. It’s like about stars and stuff.”

“Stars?”

“Science. Where the stars come from. Planets. Heaven.”

I was thoroughly confused, and Darcy wasn’t making it any better. “Can you get me a copy?”

“I could not find the whole thing on the Internet, only some parts. Then I went to the library, but they don’t have it.”

“Keep trying. And Darce-I owe you a custard.”

“When do you think that will be? Sooner than a blue moon, I hope, because a blue moon-”

“I remember. We’ll do it, Darcy, promise. But first I think I need to read that book.”

He left, and a few minutes later my phone rang, as it always seems to do at the most annoying and least convenient times. “Yeah?”

“You look lovely in a black turtleneck. You should wear that more often.”

Him.

I stood up, waved at the boys on the lower floor. I pointed to the receiver, trying to get the message across. Men can be so slow-witted. Eventually enough ribs were jabbed and the tracing began.

“Uh, sorry. I was… distracted.”

He laughed. “Have they instigated the trace now? Can we talk?”

I tried to concentrate. I had to learn as much as possible. And I had to keep him talking. “I don’t suppose you plan to stay on long enough for us to trace the call, so why bother?”

“Oh, you never know, dear. I might give you a sporting chance.”

Damn straight of you. “Look, I don’t know what to call you.”

“The FBI agents call me Edgar, don’t they?”

And how the hell did he know that? “Is that okay?”

“It’s as good a name as any.”

“Is that who you are?”

Another pause. “I’m an acolyte. Not a prophet.”

Oooo-kayyy. “Can you explain to me what that means?”

“I’d like to. Because you don’t have to remain behind, mired in this miserable life you’ve made for yourself. I can help you. I have only your best interests at heart.”

I knew my goal-not only to keep him talking, but to keep him off whatever prepared script he had in his head. The more he extemporized, the more likely he was to tell us something useful. “Have you hurt Fara Spencer?”