Michael Connelly - The Poet

"Shit," Thorson said. "What the fu-what was he doing with those books?"

"I assume by law the prison had to allow him access to them so that he could properly prepare his appeal," Doran replied. "Remember, he was pro se. He was certified in court as his own attorney."

"Okay, good work, Brass," Backus said. "That's a help."

"It's not all, either. There were two other books of note on the shelf. Edgar Allan Poe, the Poems and The Complete Works of Edgar Allan Poe."

Backus whistled his delight.

"Now, that's really starting to tie things up," he said. "I assume we can find all the quotes in these books?"

"Yes. One of these is the book Jack McEvoy used already to verify the quotes."

"Right. Okay, can you shoot us out a copy of that photo?"

"Will do, boss."

The excitement in the room and coming over the phone lines seemed almost palpable. It was all coming together, all the pieces. And tomorrow the agents were going to go out and get this son of a bitch.

"I love the smell of napalm in the morning," Thorson said. "Smells like…"

"Victory!" shouted those in the room and on every phone.

"Okay, folks," Backus said, clapping his hands twice. "I think we've covered enough for now. Let's keep sharp. Let's keep this spirit. Tomorrow could be the day. Let's say it is the day. And you people listening in the cities, don't stop for one minute. Keep working your end. If we get this guy, we'll still need physical evidence connecting him to the other crimes. We need to place him in every city for trial."

"If there is a trial," Thorson said.

I looked at him. The humor he had shown a moment before had now evaporated. His jaw was set. He got up and headed out of the conference room.

I spent the evening alone in my room, filling my computer with notes from the conference meeting and waiting for Rachel to call. I had paged her twice.

Finally, at nine-midnight in Florida-she called.

"I can't sleep and I just wanted to make sure you didn't have another woman with you in there."

I smiled.

"Not very likely. I've been waiting for you to call. Didn't you get my pages or are you just busy with another man?"

"No, let me check."

She put the phone down for a few moments.

"Darn, the battery's down. I've got to get another. Sorry."

"You talking about the pager or the other man?"

"Funny guy."

"So why can't you sleep?"

"I keep thinking about Thorson in that store tomorrow."

"And?"

"And I have to admit I'm fucking jealous. If he gets the arrest on this… I mean, it's my case and I'm two thousand fucking miles away from it."

"Maybe it won't happen tomorrow. Maybe you'll be back in time. Even if you're not, it's not going to be him. It's going to be the critical team."

"I don't know. Gordon's got a way of getting in there. And I have a bad feeling. It's tomorrow."

"Some people might call that a good feeling, knowing that this guy's going to be taken off the street."

"I know, I know. Still, why him? I think he and Bob… I didn't really get it clear from Bob why he sent me to Florida instead of someone else, instead of Gordon. He took the case away from me and I just let him."

"Maybe Thorson told him about you and me."

"I was thinking that. He would, too. But I don't see Bob doing what he did and not talking to me about it, not telling me why first. He's not that way. He doesn't take a side until he hears both sides."

"I'm sorry, Rachel. But look, everybody knows it's your case. And it was your break with that Hertz car that brought everybody to L.A."

"Thanks, Jack. But it was just one of the breaks. And it doesn't matter. Making the arrest is like what you said about getting the story first. Doesn't really matter what's happened before."

I knew I wasn't going to be able to make her feel better about the situation. She had brooded over it all night and there weren't enough words for me to change her mind. I decided to change the subject.

"Anyway, that was good stuff you got today. It seems like everything is coming together. We haven't even caught the guy and so much is known about him."

"I guess. After hearing everything Brass said, do you have sympathy for him, Jack? For Gladden?"

"The man who killed my brother? Nope. No sympathy at all."

"I didn't think so."

"But you still do."

She took a long time answering.

"I think of a little child that could have been a lot of different things until that man did what he did. Beltran set the child on the path. He's the real monster in all of this. Like I said before, if anybody got what he deserved, it was him."

"Okay, Rachel."

She started laughing.

"Sorry, I guess I'm finally getting tired. I didn't mean to be so intense all of a sudden."

"It's okay. I know what you meant. There is a means to every end. A root to any cause. Sometimes the root is more evil than the cause, though it's the cause that is usually the most vilified."

"You have a way with words, Jack."

"I'd rather have my way with you."

"You have that, too."

I laughed and thanked her. Then we were silent for a few moments, the line open between us, stretching two thousand miles. I felt comfortable. No need to talk.

"I don't know how close they'll let you get tomorrow," she said. "But be careful."

"I will. You too. When will you be back?"

"I hope by tomorrow afternoon. I told them to have the jet ready by twelve. I'm going to check out Gladden's mail drop and then get on the plane."

"Okay. Why don't you try to go to sleep now?"

"Okay. I wish I was with you."

"Me, too."

I thought she was about to hang up but she didn't.

"Did you talk about me with Gordon today?"

I thought about his comment, calling her the Painted Desert.

"No. We had a pretty busy day."

I don't think she believed me and I felt bad about lying.

"I'll see you, Jack."

"Okay, Rachel."

I thought about the phone conversation for a while after hanging up. Our conversation made me feel kind of sad and I couldn't pinpoint the true reason. After a while, I got up and left the room. It was raining. From the doorway of the hotel I checked the street and saw no one hiding, no one waiting for me. I shrugged off the fears of the night before and stepped out.

Walking close to the buildings to avoid as much of the rain as I could, I went to the Cat amp; Fiddle and ordered a beer at the bar. The place was crowded despite the rain. My hair was wet and in the mirror behind the bar I saw dark circles cut under my eyes. I touched my beard the way Rachel had caressed it. When I was done with the black and tan I ordered another.

The incense had long burned away by Wednesday morning. Gladden moved about the apartment with a T-shirt tied around his head, covering his mouth and nose, making him look like a bank robber from the Old West. He had sprinkled perfume he had found in the bathroom on the shirt and around the apartment, like a priest with holy water, but just like holy water, it didn't help him much. The smell was still everywhere, haunting him. But he didn't care anymore. He had made it through. It was time to leave. Time to change.

In the bathroom, he once again used a pink plastic razor he had found on the bathtub ledge to shave. He then took a long, hot and then cold, shower and afterward moved about the apartment naked, letting the air dry his body. He had taken a mirror off the wall of the bedroom earlier and propped it up against the living room wall. He now practiced walking in front of it again, back and forth, back and forth, watching his hips.

When he was satisfied he had it down, he went into the bedroom. The processed air chilled his naked body and the smell nearly made him convulse. But he stood his ground and looked down at her. She was gone now. The body on the bed was bloated, and had lost all recognizable values. The eyes were coated in a milky caul. Bloody decomposition fluids had purged from everywhere, even the scalp. And the bugs had her now. He couldn't see them but he could hear them. They were there. He knew. It was in the books.