Линкольн Чайлд - Bloodless

“Where did you grow up?”

“None of that!” Miss Frost resettled herself on the chaise longue. “It’s my turn.”

Again, something in the way this was said made Constance wary.

“I’ll give you a handicap,” Frost said. “I’ll make only a single observation about you. If I’m wrong, you win. But if I’m right... then you have to explain.”

Constance waited, uneasy.

“Ready?”

She nodded.

“You’re older than you look,” Miss Frost said. “And not just measured in weeks, or months, or years... but much, much older.”

Constance said nothing.

“Don’t care to answer?” the old lady prodded. “Or perhaps you’re wondering how I know. Because I do know; there’s no guessing involved. At first, I thought it was some caprice of my imagination. After all, how could your knowledge be as deep as, or deeper than, my own, which I’ve spent eight decades acquiring? So I began salting our conversation with little traps. ‘Springes to catch woodcocks,’ as Shakespeare put it.”

“What traps were those?” Constance asked, trying to keep her voice steady.

“You not only knew the exact year absinthe was declared illegal, but you understood what I meant by ‘smothering a parrot’—an expression that hasn’t been used in a hundred years. You use archaic words. The very structure of your sentences is nineteenth-century, and you knew what I meant by a ‘snickersnee.’ You recognized who crafted my antiques, who painted my paintings — even when you didn’t voice a name, I could see it in your expression. You can run circles around me in Latin and ancient Greek.” The old lady leaned in slightly. “No one can absorb so much knowledge in twenty-odd years. But what really betrayed you, my dear, were your eyes .”

“What about them?”

“They are not the eyes of a young woman. Your eyes could be those of an old woman — they could be mine — except they reflect even deeper experience. They are the eyes of... a sphinx.”

Constance had no answer.

“So,” Miss Frost went on, “I’m fascinated. Captivated. Entranced. I want to know the mechanism. I want to know how you did it.”

Quite abruptly, Constance stood up.

“Are you forfeiting, Miss Greene?” she asked. “There’s still so much we can learn — from each other.”

Constance remained motionless. Then, slowly, she sat down again.

“You owe me an answer, my dear,” Frost said.

“The answer is...” Constance stopped for a moment. “True.”

The old woman’s eyes went wide. “ Really! ”

Constance volunteered nothing else.

“Go on. As I said, I want to know the mechanism.” When silence was the only reply, she said: “It’s only fair—”

“My life span was unnaturally extended by a scientific experiment — one that took place over a century ago.”

This was said in a completely expressionless voice. Frost’s eyes went wider still. She looked like a medium who’d just discovered that her fake crystal ball did, in fact, have magical properties. “Oh, my good Lord.” Then, summoning her wits again, she asked: “And were you grateful for this gift?”

“The doctor who extended my life killed my sister while perfecting his experiments. He was... more successful with me.” And with that, Constance stood up again — even more abruptly — turned her back on Frost, and exited the woman’s chambers.

“We’ve got a bit of a shitshow on our hands,” Delaplane told the group assembled in the Savannah PD briefing room. Sheldrake was at her side, and Coldmoon sat unobtrusively with Pendergast in the back as the commander reviewed the case. “You saw, or heard about, the scene at the cemetery. And no doubt you saw the national news this morning, with those ghost photos on every news channel. We need to show some progress here, people.”

They were pretty damn unsettling pictures, Coldmoon thought, and he wondered how that German guy, Moller, had pulled off that level of fakery. Assuming they were fakes. He’d caught the beginning of Moller’s dog-and-pony show in the cemetery, before Pendergast had dragged him away. Now he wished they’d stuck around.

Delaplane went through a brief summary of the case so far, making notations on a whiteboard. Sheldrake spoke for a few minutes about its unusual and contradictory aspects — including a brief mention of the logistics of moving the victims from where they were attacked to where the bodies were found.

As they were finishing up, there was a stir at the door. Coldmoon glanced over. A group of men in dark suits had walked in, led by a boss man in dark glasses. He’s either a politician or mobbed up , thought Coldmoon as the man strode toward the front of the room as if he owned the place. A camera crew also appeared in the doorway and were filming — not the jackasses doing the documentary, but another crew evidently towed in by the boss guy.

Delaplane stared at the intruders and then — in a voice that wasn’t exactly warm with welcome — said: “Welcome, Senator.”

“I hope I’m not interrupting,” said the man, turning to the group of police officers and flashing a smile of the whitest, straightest teeth Coldmoon had ever seen. He sported an artificial tan, hair implants, and, Coldmoon guessed, a face lift. The man was built like a linebacker, his suit straining at the seams, movie-star handsome, midfifties. His only drawback was a nose with a spiderweb of veins. “I’m here in my capacity as the senior senator of the great state of Georgia to offer our assistance in getting this heinous case solved.” He looked at the camera with a smile. “I’m a strong supporter of local law enforcement, one hundred percent.” He turned again and addressed Delaplane. “How is the investigation going, Commander?”

“We were just finishing a briefing on new developments in the case,” she said.

“ Are there new developments?”

“We’re working on a number of lines of inquiry,” said Delaplane evenly.

“I’m glad to hear that, because naturally I’ve been concerned.” He paused. “As you know, I’ll be holding an outdoor campaign rally in Forsyth Park tomorrow night.”

“We’re well aware of that, Senator. We’re providing security.”

“That’s the issue right there: security . I know you’ve all been working overtime on this case, but as you can see, it’s now become a national story, and it isn’t exactly casting a favorable light on either your city or our state. We need to see some real progress on getting this solved— before the rally. Am I clear, ladies and gentlemen?”

Coldmoon could see that the rank and file of the SPD were not at all happy with the senator barging into their meeting. A chilly silence filled the room.

“I just wanted to say that you’ve got my support,” the senator went on, raising his voice. “I’m going to make sure that, up in Washington, we’re going to throw all our resources into solving these heinous murders. So whatever you need, Commander, just call and let me know. We’ve got your back, I promise you that.”

“Thank you, Senator,” said Delaplane.

“Thank you . Ladies and gentlemen of law enforcement: God bless you all!”

He made a quick hand gesture and the cameras stopped filming. The smile instantly vanished. He turned and headed back toward the door with his entourage. But instead of leaving, the senator detoured and came up to where Pendergast and Coldmoon were sitting. “Could I see you two gentlemen outside?”

Pendergast rose without a word and Coldmoon did likewise. They exited the police station into the parking lot, baking in the heat. The senator’s black SUV was parked illegally in front of the station, along with several other staff cars.