Stirred (25 page)

April 1, 6:00 P.M.

I
didn’t bother fighting it.

Not this time.

I let Herb wield his power, and the Chicago Police Department checked me and Phin into the Congress Hotel under fake names. McGlade got the room next to mine. They put two officers in plainclothes down in the lobby to monitor all coming and going.

Phin and Harry had gone back to my house for my clothing and sundries, to ship Duffy the dog to Duffy the person in NY, and to set up Mr. Friskers with the portion-controlled food and water dispenser and automatic litter box cleaner. Once again I tried to talk to Phin about the proposal, but he’d folded his arms and shut me down with a “Not now.”

Hell hath no fury like a bank robber scorned.

That made me wonder if the engagement ring had been purchased with ill-gotten gain, which made me wonder how far said ring had traveled through Duffy’s digestive tract. I felt my blood pressure skyrocket at the thought of Phin taking Duffy for a walk before driving him out to the airport. Worst-case scenario, I’d borrow a metal detector from McGlade and spend a few hours hunting through my backyard for buried treasure.

I sat on the queen-sized bed and picked up the phone on the nightstand. Herb had already given me an unneeded lecture about using my iPhone. A techie from the crime scene team had cloned my number, so the cops and Feds would receive every call I did, in an effort to pinpoint Luther’s location if he called again.

I knew the inherent difficulty in tracing cell phone calls and didn’t hold out much hope. But I didn’t want the Feebies recording my private conversations.

I called Duffy the guy and was relieved when he picked up, which made me realize how few friends I had. I wondered if that was by choice, or if I was simply an unlovable workaholic.

“FedExing the beast my way?” he asked.

“Phin is right now. I’ll send you the arrival info when I get it. Also…there’s a problem with Duffy.”

“Is he licking himself too much? That’s not a problem so much as a lifestyle choice.”

“Phin proposed to me, and Duffy ate the ring.”

“Off your finger?”

“It wasn’t on my finger yet.” I felt awful saying it, and Duffy was kind enough to let it slide.

“So you need me on poop patrol?”

I let out an exasperated sigh. “I’m sorry, Duffy.”

“No sweat. My hound, Al, once ate all of my keys. They were on a leather keychain, which he digested. Then he pooped them out one at a time. Took me eight days to get my car key back. I had to take a cab to a boxing match, which cost more than the purse I won.”

“What kind of purse was it? Gucci?”

“You sure you’re a cop and not one of those stand-up comics?”

“Thanks again, Duff. I really owe you for this.”

“No biggie, Jack. Maybe one day I’ll need you to pick through some of my dog’s poop. You never know.”

I thanked him again and hung up.

Then I used my iPhone to access Google and read up on
Roe vs. Wade
.

John Doe and Jane Doe are often used in the legal system as placeholder names for anonymous or unknown defendants. When plaintiffs are anonymous, the names used are Richard Roe and Jane Roe. In 1970, Roe filed suit against Henry Wade, the Dallas district attorney representing the state of Texas. The case eventually went up to the U.S. Supreme Court, which deemed abortion a fundamental right under the Constitution.

Though the hotel room was warm and a bit stuffy, I shivered. If Herb was right, and Luther wanted to kill my baby, I wasn’t sure what point he was trying to make. Surely a serial killer like Luther wasn’t pro-life. Maybe this was just a coincidence?

I Googled “Roe” and “Chicago” and came up with hits on the late patent attorney’s office, a used office furniture company, and the Regional Office of Education on the Illinois State Board. The cops already had people stationed at both the furniture store and the State Board, but neither of these felt right to me. It didn’t seem to be the direction Luther was pointing me.

Next I tried “Wade” and “Chicago” only to be inundated with articles about the Miami Heat basketball player Dwayne Wade, who was born in the Windy City.

Finally, I tried “Roe” on its own.

Roe was the name for fish eggs and business speak for Return on Equity. The Environmental Protection Agency also had a Report on the Environment which they called ROE.

Perhaps Luther was going with the first name instead of the last this time, so I tried “Chicago” and “Peter.”

Nothing concrete.

I added “landmark” to the search, hoping Google would reveal a Peter building, park, or museum.

Nada. Zip. Zilch.

I rubbed my eyes. The screen was getting blurry, probably from squinting at the small text. The rubbing didn’t make things any clearer, and I had a sudden attack of vertigo, the room beginning to spin. I held onto the armrests of my chair so I didn’t fall off, and then willed myself not to pass out.

When the dizziness finally passed, I went back to Google.

For some reason, Luther kept alluding to Dante’s
Inferno
.

I did some additional surfing on the work.

Inferno
was the first part of
The Divine Comedy
, and it concerned Dante’s encounter with the spirit of the Roman poet Virgil, who takes him through the nine circles of hell to witness the suffering of various sinners. The torments those poor souls endured had been fodder for Christians going all the way back to the fifteenth century, since the Bible was oddly lacking in any detailed descriptions of hell. We had Dante to thank for fire and brimstone and demons who tortured the damned.

Ultimately,
Inferno
is about the path to enlightenment. Dante is lost at the beginning, and witnessing the suffering of those who had sinned helps to put him on the path of righteousness.

Or some bullshit like that.

I wasn’t a religious person, but I found the whole idea of a God who allowed people to be boiled in oil for eternity in direct conflict with an all-powerful, all-loving creator. Hell was a concept that helped church officials exercise control over the masses, and ultimately, make money.

Though I didn’t believe in hell, I wouldn’t have minded a little enlightenment in my life. But I was doubtful I’d get it from anything written centuries ago.

I yawned, rubbing my eyes again.

Then I tried rereading the excerpt from
Blue Murder
, but the picture I’d taken of the Kindle screen was too small to make out. That led me to buying another overpriced Andrew Z. Thomas e-book and searching for the location Luther had bookmarked.

According to Google, the line
They think not there how much of blood it costs
was another Dante quote. There was also mention of the intersection of Oak and Sycamore, but Chicago didn’t have any corresponding intersections, although there were about a hundred non-intersecting streets individually named Oak and Sycamore in Illinois.

I wasn’t feeling any traction there, had no idea what Luther was trying to tell me, and lacking any other ideas, I put my feet up on a pillow and dove into
Blue Murder
, trying to stay calm and focused in the face of knowing that someone was going to die horribly in—I glanced at my iPhone timer I’d programmed—seven hours and five minutes.

Unlike the stark realism of
The Scorcher
and
The Killer and His Weapon
,
Blue Murder
contained an element of the supernatural.

The plot concerned a man plagued with strange premonitions that kept coming true. I read for an hour, convinced that the hero wasn’t seeing into the future at all, but in actuality remembering horrific events from his past that he wanted to hide from himself, when I heard someone at the door.

In an instant, I had my Colt in my hand, my thumb on the hammer.

I heard Phin say, “It’s me,” before letting himself in.

He carried two suitcases, which he set on the floor next to the door.

“Did you ship off Duffy to Duffy?” I asked.

He nodded.

“Did he, uh, poop before you crated him?”

Phin raised an eyebrow. “No. Just pissed. Any particular reason we’re talking about your dog’s bodily functions?”

I noticed he said
your dog
rather than
our dog
, even though Duffy had taken a stronger liking to Phin than he had to me.

“I think he’s constipated,” I lied. “I’m just worried about him.”

Phin bent over, unzipping a pouch on my suitcase. He removed the blood pressure monitor and approached me. I was too preoccupied to have my blood pressure taken. But Phin had to touch me to do it, and I wanted to feel his hands on me, if only in a clinical way.

He wrapped the cuff around my forearm and pumped it up.

“I didn’t mean to treat you like that,” I said. “Your proposal caught me off guard.”

He made no response.

I put my hand on his.

“Please, Phin. Talk to me.”

“What would you like me to talk about, Jack? I proposed to the woman I love, and she still hasn’t given me an answer. ‘Will you marry me?’ isn’t a trick question.”

I took my hand back, unsure of how to reply, so I just went with, “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want apologies. I want a yes or a no. I think I deserve that.”

“It’s a bad time,” I said. “There’s too much going on.”

“Look, I know I’m not the most romantic guy in the world—”

“It’s not that.”

“—and the proposal could have been better. But I was nervous and wasn’t expecting to do it right then. I had it all planned out. I was going to take you out to that German place you love—”

My eyes welled up. “Phin, please don’t—”

“—get the tuba player to make the announcement. I was going to get down on one knee—”

“—it’s not that, Phin. I…I know it’s cliché…but it’s not you. It’s me.”

He waited for me to expound, plainly not convinced.

I did my best. “These past few months I’ve felt like an object, not a person. Something to be guarded at all times. Plus I’ve got a child growing inside me, which is pretty damn weird, and I’m still not sure how I feel about it. Aren’t mothers supposed to instantly bond with their unborn babies? Well, I haven’t. I feel more like a stranger has moved into my house, and I’m not sure I want them to stay.”

Phin studied me, staring hard.

I had no idea what he was thinking. Probably the same thing I was—
I’m a loser that no one can ever possibly love.

“I didn’t mean to add to the stress in your life, Jack.”

“Goddamn it, that’s not what I meant.”

He glanced at the digital readout. “One forty-five over ninety. Still high.”

Phin undid the Velcro, taking his hands back.

Then he walked over to the sofa and sat down, using the remote to turn on the television.

“Will you come to bed?” I asked.

“I’m not tired.”

“Then let’s go out. It’s been ages since we played pool together. A little nine ball?”

“It’s not safe. There’s a madman after you, and you need to rest.”

“Sex?” I tried. I’d never felt less sexy in my life, but I could at least take care of his needs.

“I’m tired, Jack. You aren’t the only one with a lot on your shoulders.”

“I…we should be supporting each other, not fighting.”

Phin sighed. “Yeah. We should be doing a lot of things.”

“Phin—”

“Can we talk later?”

“Sure,” I said, trying to sound upbeat.

I went back to
Blue Murder
, trying not to let Phin see or hear me cry.

Then I read until I could no longer hold my eyes open, finally drifting off to sleep, in bed alone.

April 1, 11:48 P.M.

A
ll the planning, all the preparation, all the money, all the hard work—everything comes down to a single moment: this one.

The truck is ready. The van is ready. The gurneys are ready. The remote is ready. The aerosols are ready. The fans are ready.

Luther tests them all one last time, except for the aerosols; he only has a limited amount of each gas, and testing them on himself isn’t conducive to healthy living. Or living at all.

He recalls the last time he filled up with gasoline, hearing some jackass at the pump loudly bitching about the $4.06 a gallon, calling it a gas crisis.

Chicago is about to have a gas crisis, that’s for sure.

But it won’t be what that fool was talking about.

In the course of his research, Luther has learned everything about the catalog of criminals Jack Daniels spent her lifetime hunting down. He’s even met a few of them. One of the standouts was a serial poisoner known as
The Chemist
. Much to be learned from that one. So much, in fact, that Luther took a shortcut. Rather than delve into the science of chemistry on his own, Luther simply kidnapped a chemist from a local lab and applied the necessary persuasion to get what he wanted.

What he wanted was gas.

Lewisite and QNB.

The lewisite was particularly nasty, and the experiments Luther conducted resulted in some spectacularly disgusting symptoms. The helpful scientist who cooked it for him met with a terrible death, being the first test subject for the lewisite, which was followed with a chaser of the potassium chloride he’d also concocted.