William Bernhardt - Dark Eye

O’Bannon looked up from the thirty-page document he held in both hands. “Good report, Susan. Damn good.”

I fluttered my eyelashes. “Well, I try. Do you mean you’ve actually read it?”

“Twice. And I plan to read it again tonight. I get something new out of it each time. I’m giving you a special commendation for it.”

“Well, be sure to give Patrick credit, too. He came in late, but he’s been a huge help.”

“Whoever did it, it’s brilliant. I think you’ve nailed him.”

“I think so, too.”

“Has the lab said whether that heart belonged to Fara Spencer or not?”

I sat on the opposite corner of his desk, facing him. “At this point all they can say for certain is that it came from an adult female of approximately her age. But they’re planning a DNA analysis-compared against a sample taken from her daughter’s corpse-as soon as possible. And of course it was pretty sliced up. In addition to all the other exclusionary factors in Edgar’s profile, I think we can rule out the possibility that he’s a trained surgeon.”

“And the coded message? The one in the bottom of the box.”

“To my astonishment, Darcy wasn’t able to solve it instantly. But he’s working on it. Apparently Edgar made this one even more devious than the previous ones.”

O’Bannon folded his hands in his lap. “The boys tell me you’re seeing Patrick Chaffee. Socially. True?”

I squirmed. “Sorta.”

He nodded. “Fine man. Solid. Far as I can see. He’d be good for you.” He nodded again, then turned his eyes toward the window. “Don’t hurt my boy.”

I rose to my feet. “I’ll take care of him, Chief. Promise.”

We were in a classroom setting-a private conference mandated by O’Bannon between me and all the detectives on Granger’s team. I didn’t know what the point was, with Granger so openly hostile to my work. When he was with his boys, at any rate. O’Bannon told me he’d seen Granger after hours marking up a copy of my report with a yellow highlighter.

“So we’re looking for some freak who’s talking to himself?”

“Well, perhaps,” I said, with a degree of tolerance that startled even me. “And there are other markers, too. The fake accent. The assumed Victorian sensibility. The obsession with the works of Poe.”

“How could we search for any of that?”

“Well,” said one of Granger’s new lieutenants, “we could check the libraries. See who’s been reading Poe.”

“Or the video stores,” suggested another. “Aren’t there a lot of Poe movies?”

“Both good ideas,” I said, giving them the verbal pat on the back I knew they’d never get from Granger. “And don’t forget this little prank he’s playing with the bodies, depositing them in faux graveyards. How many of those can there be?”

“A good Internet search could tell us,” said the first lieutenant. “I’ll get on that immediately.”

“Even if you don’t find him, any action that disrupts his usual patterns could be valuable. Remember-we’ve gotten more information from his last little escapade with Fara Spencer than all his previous murders put together. Why? Because that crime wasn’t part of his plan. For once, he acted impulsively. He saw an opportunity and he took it. If we can get him to do that again, he may make another sloppy mistake. He may be smart, but he’s still working under some handicaps.”

“Like what?”

I gave the class a little smile. “He’s nuts.”

If I wasn’t mistaken, my lawyer’s office was in one of the high-rises Howard Hughes used to live in while he was hiding out in Vegas, before he took up semipermanent residence at the Sands in 1966. Everyone seemed to think he’d lived here forever, maybe even died here, but in fact he was only in Vegas about four years, made some bad investments, split. From publicity hound to Vegas recluse-although I suppose the hermit routine was another way of generating attention. But while he was here, he influenced world politics-and football games-consorted with (and according to some, bribed) both LBJ and Nixon, got progressively balmier, and tried to buy ABC to prevent miscegenation on The Dating Game (true!), all the while protected from the world by his bubble of loyal attendants. Until he died. But hey-he got a parkway named after him, one you just about had to use to get to the airport. Could be worse.

When we arrived at the courtroom, I saw that the Shepherds were looking their usual saintly selves. He was wearing a plain-vanilla suit and tie; she was wearing a cotton print maxi. Did they always dress like that, I wondered, or was this a courtroom ploy to show how different they were from me? Particularly in dullness. I would’ve preferred to avoid them altogether, but I didn’t want to be rude. The judge’s bailiff or someone might be watching.

“Nice to see you again,” I lied. “Rachel couldn’t come?”

“The judges prefer not to have the minors present at these hearings,” Mrs. Shepherd explained. “If the judge wants to talk to her, he’ll call her to his chambers. Besides, she has basketball practice.”

“Rachel?”

“Yes. She’s joined the school team.”

“Rachel is playing a team sport?”

The woman was so tiny she seemed to bob when she spoke, like one of those mechanical storks you saw at truck stops poised over the rim of a glass. “She’s enjoying it. Making new friends.”

“Is she any good?”

“Well,” Mr. Shepherd explained, “she’s inexperienced. She hasn’t played as long as most of the other girls. But she has the height, and she’s not without talent. I think she has some natural athletic gifts. I’m surprised you didn’t encourage her to play.”

“Well, I… didn’t… I… thought it best to focus on academics.”

“Her first game is Monday night. You should come. I think she’d like that.”

“I’ll try. I’ve been busy with this investigation.”

“Of course.”

Delacourt shot me a look, and I amended, “But I’m always ready, willing, and able to spend time with Rachel.”

Goddamn those Shepherds, anyway. Did they do it on purpose-always making me feel inferior to their pedestrian middle-class blather? I threw myself into my chair. At least they hadn’t turned her into a cheerleader. Yet.

“You know the judge will be watching you,” Delacourt said to me quietly.

“Is it my hair or this new Wonderbra?”

“He’ll be watching your demeanor. Trying to judge whether you’re capable of raising Rachel. I told you this already, remember?”

“You also said nothing would be decided today.”

“That doesn’t mean he can’t start thinking about it.”

“And he can tell what kind of parent I’d be from looking at me?”

“He can tell a lot. He’s been doing this for thirty years. He can tell if you’re drunk, which thank God you don’t appear to be. He can tell if you’re able to control your temper.”

“So I will.”

“Then we have nothing to worry about.”

The first fifteen minutes of the hearing were boring beyond belief. Lawyers talking lawyerspeak to other lawyers. Occasionally I’d hear my name and my interest level would increase. But after another ten seconds or so of parens patriae and guardian ad litem my head would be in another place.

“Ms. Pulaski?”

I was pretty stunned to realize the judge was talking to me. I rose to my feet. “Yes, Your Honor?”

“Do you agree with what the counsel for NDHS said?”

I hated these memory tests. Especially when I hadn’t been paying attention. But I figured if the lawyer who wanted to give Rachel to the Shepherds had said it, it couldn’t be good. “No, Your Honor, I certainly don’t.”