William Bernhardt - Strip search

"That's what they tell me."

He thumbed through the book till he found the passage he wanted. It was illustrated with pictures of pinecones, sunflowers, plant life. He pointed and read: "This numerical sequence occurs with such regularity throughout nature that entire journals have been dedicated to documenting these occurrences." It seemed that the numerical sequence occurred in the petal arrangement of flowers, the spiral arrangement of pinecones and pineapples, the turning of leaves about the stem of various plants. Even genealogical charts followed a Fibonacci pattern. The book referred to it as the Divine Progression.

"I can see how this would appeal to Esther," I said, "but what has it got to do with the placement of the bodies?"

Darcy crouched down on the backseat of my car, butt up in the air, hovering over a map of the city. He had placed pins at all the locations where the bodies were found. "Did you know that all these locations follow a Fibonacci pattern?"

"But-how? There are no numbers."

"There are numbers!" he said, his eyes dancing with excitement. "There are always numbers! The Fibonacci numbers move backward. The numbers are miles."

"Darcy…I know the FBI experts have been over a map just like this one, looking for a pattern. They didn't find one."

"That is because they did not know where to start. Also it is hard, because she never got to put your friend Amelia's body where she wanted to, so that left a big hole in the equation. I bet the Math Lady must have hated that. I know I would. The FBI men measure the distances from one location to another. But that is wrong. They needed to measure distances in miles from each drop-off place to the center point."

"The center point? What's that?"

"The center of the spiral. The place all the drop-off locations are dancing around. If you measure the distance between the body locations and the center point in miles, look what you get." He pointed at the place where the first body was found. "Twenty-one miles." He moved his finger to the next one. "Eighteen miles." Then thirteen, then eight, then five, each location describing a circle around the center point and coming increasingly closer, the distance in miles always perpetuating the Fibonacci relationship.

"All of this has been building toward the final stroke against the Sefirot," I said, the light slowly dawning. "All the mutilations have been moving toward her final cataclysmic act of destruction. And all the drop-off locations have been pointing toward her final target." Hearing it aloud made it seem more convincing, almost logical, in a perverse sort of way. "This time, she won't have to move the body. Or bodies. They'll already be there." I looked up at him. "This is more than just the center point, Darcy. This is Ground Zero." I yanked the center pin out of the map, then gasped. "The county courthouse?"

"I know. I thought that was very strange. Do you think that is strange? Why would she want to hurt a whole courthouse?"

I turned the ignition and peeled toward downtown. "She doesn't want to take out the whole courthouse. She has a more specific target in mind."

Esther broke the window and crawled into the room, careful not to cut herself on the broken glass. She'd already hurt herself once today; she didn't want to repeat the experience. Her illness made her weaker every day and she had to remain healthy-for her little girl's sake. She kicked the ladder away behind her, as soon as she didn't need it anymore. Sure, it would be found in time, if it wasn't destroyed in the explosion. But she would be long gone by then.

Esther preferred a more direct approach, but the metal detectors in the front lobby made that impossible. Still, security here at the county courthouse wasn't remotely comparable to that at the federal courthouse; it had only taken her a few visits, and some abstract mathematics, to figure out how she could get in undetected.

She smoothed her clothes and dusted off her all-important briefcase. Deciding how to dress had been a challenge. She had to look professional, so the baggy muumuus she had favored of late were out of the question. At the same time, her photograph had been in the newspaper; she was forced to dye her hair, wear glasses she didn't need, and shoes that made her taller. There was one detail that she couldn't disguise, of course, but she didn't think it would be a problem. No one was ever suspicious of pregnant women.

Esther stepped out of the storeroom into the main corridor. Eyes straight ahead, slightly intense, focused, as if she belonged here (which she did) and as if there was nothing unusual about her presence. She knew exactly where she wanted to go. All she had to do was get there without any interference.

"Excuse me, ma'am. May I see your badge?"

The security guard was strictly going through the motions and she knew it. She smiled and remained calm. "I don't have one yet. I've been appointed to act as guardian ad litem in the Merriwether juvenile case, but I haven't seen the judge yet." It was useful to have a little experience in these matters.

The guard nodded with understanding, or perhaps it was just intense ennui. "You'd better wait inside. I'll tell the judge's clerk."

Who would just assume the judge forgot to tell him about something and do nothing whatsoever. Esther compliantly entered the room as the guard directed-since it was exactly where she had wanted to go in the first place. The architectural plans she'd pulled off the Internet indicated this was the dead center of the entire family court division. The court system she knew all too well. The system that had shuffled her from one horror home to the next, never once caring about her, never honoring their supposed duty to act as parens patriae-to protect a friendless child.

They were the worse parents of all.

She left her briefcase under the table, then fixed the lock so that if anyone tumbled upon her little package too early…they would be sorry. And then, as unobtrusively as she had arrived, she left, smiling.

I'd driven as fast as possible, but it was still less than twenty minutes till four. While I broke every traffic regulation imaginable, Darcy called Dispatch to call off the manhunt for him, then tried to call Granger, then his father, but he couldn't reach either. Presumably because they were all still out looking for him. I called for backup to comb the courthouse, then parked illegally just outside the front steps.

"Darcy, I'm going in."

"I do not think that is a good idea."

Of course it wasn't a good idea, but I was going to do it anyway, and fast. I hadn't been here since the last custody hearing over Rachel; I'd forgotten how damn long it took to climb all these stairs. I was almost at the top before I realized that Darcy was dogging my steps.

"Darcy! Go back to the car!"

He rotated his hands in circles around themselves. "I think that maybe it would be best if I stayed with you."

"No! It's too dangerous."

"You might need me."

"I will not-" I grabbed him by the shoulders. "Darcy, you have been a great help to me in this case. But this is police work."

"I want to be a policeman."

"I know. But you're not! And you never will be if I let you get killed."

"No one ever wants to let me do anything, even though I help them over and over again. You are just like my dad."

"Darcy-" I glanced at my watch. Barely ten minutes till four. I had to hurry. "Darcy, I can't sit here and argue with you. I'll explain it all later. But for now-go!"

I turned my back on him and ran as fast as I could. We had only ten more minutes. But I knew where she would strike.

At least I thought I did.

I raced past security, flashing my badge and telling them not to let anyone leave the building. I knew the elevators would be too slow. I jumped into the stairwell and bounded up to the third floor, taking the steps three at a time. Long legs were occasionally an advantage, assuming you didn't kill yourself. I broke through the door and into the corridor leading to the family court division.