The Beginning (63 page)

“I rather think a judge might buy that,” Georgina Simms said. “But as I said, however did you manage to even get accepted with this in your background?”

“I guess nobody made a big deal out of it.”

“I guess not.”

Before they all parted in the underground parking lot, Jimmy Maitland said to Savich, “Simms buys it because it sounds good and it is true, for the most part. However, what she doesn't know is that you've got the hots for Sherlock. What are you going to do about that? Are you two going to get married, or what?”

“Yes, but as they say, timing is everything.”

“But the point is, why did you ask for her for the Criminal Apprehension Unit in the first place?”

Savich didn't hesitate. “Because she was so damned good in Hogan's Alley. No, I didn't have the hots for her then, sir. I simply thought that she'd be one of the best I could get my hands on. I found out she'd turned down profiling because she said she couldn't stomach it, but she had all this great training and knowledge in forensics. No, sir, at that time, there was no lust scrambling my brains.”

Jimmy Maitland grunted. “Timing,” he said. “You're right. All of this will have to be controlled very tightly. You took care of the leak out of your unit?”

“All gone,” Savich said.

“I don't suppose you're going to tell me about it?”

“I would appreciate your not asking, sir, since there's no solid proof.”

They spent the rest of the day with local field office agents and police, seeing exactly what was going on with the manhunt. “It looks like everything's being done right,” Savich said to one of the cops on the newly formed task force. “And there's zero hint or word that Marlin Jones could have met up with someone?”

“Not an echo of a word,” Officer Drummond said. “My feet hurt. I think I've walked from one end of the zone to the other a good dozen times. I've spoken to every informant who's ever migrated to Boston or was born here.”

By eight o'clock that evening, Marlin Jones was still at large.

They decided to eat again at the Chinese restaurant on Newbury and walked there.

“I doubt he'll show, Sherlock.”

“I know. At least we're giving him every opportunity to make a move.”

“Okay. We'll keep walking everywhere and when the media catches up to us, we'll wave to our mothers and smile really big. Speaking of mothers, do you think your mother really saw Marlin kissing Belinda in the driveway?”

“Actually, I have no idea what she saw or if she even saw anything. I think you're right about the attention bids. My father was there and she wanted him to focus on her. It was an excellent way to go about it.”

“So you don't believe your father would ever try to run her down?”

“I don't know. But I think she loves him. I could be wrong. It's nuts, isn't it? Maybe she did see someone perhaps speak to Belinda in the driveway, but Marlin?”

“Do you think your father prosecuted Erasmus Jones fifteen years ago?”

“Oh yes. My father's firmly planted in the here-and-now, no matter how unpleasant it can get. He doesn't make stuff up. If he said Erasmus Jones was in his courtroom, then he was. The question is—Is it possible that Erasmus Jones has anything to do with this?”

Savich said slowly, “There's a tremendous resemblance between father and son. Is it possible that maybe your mother saw Erasmus with Belinda, not Marlin?”

“I have no idea. But she didn't have any reaction at all to Erasmus Jones's photograph.”

“No, she didn't.”

Over egg rolls and fried wonton, half with meat and half vegetarian, Savich said, releasing her hand, “Your fingers are cold.”

“All of me is cold.”

“Next summer we'll go to Louise Lynn Lake with Quinlan and Sally. I want to see you in a bikini. A blue one. I want to buy it for you. I want to put it on you and take it off.”

Next summer, she thought: a lifetime away from a Chinese restaurant in Boston where, she prayed, Marlin Jones was lurking somewhere, waiting for her to come out. Cops were stationed at short intervals all around the restaurant.

She gave Dillon a huge smile. “Thank you,” she said, stood on her tiptoes, and kissed his mouth. Then she sat down again, took a huge forkful of garlic pork, and chewed while Savich sat there, staring at her, bemused.

Princess prawns and garlic eggplant arrived. While Savich was spooning rice onto his plate, he said, “What do you think about Douglas?”

“I really don't want to think about him right now. I just want to eat.” She sighed as she speared a princess prawn on her fork. “Everyone is accusing everyone else of killing Belinda. We go down one passageway, then another.” She waved her fork, flinging rice onto the table. “The only thing I am sure about is that Isabelle didn't do it. My money would be on Candice if she'd only been around seven years ago.”

“I find myself still going back and back yet again to your nightmare, to your experiencing exactly what happened to Belinda.”

“I try not to anymore. It's too scary. It makes me sweat. Do you think we could go work out after dinner?”

He grinned at her over a forkful of garlic eggplant, which had been nicely prepared. “My soul mate,” he said. “Your delts still need work. Your thighs are really nice, though. Those triceps of yours make me hard.”

“I love it when you talk gym to me.”

 

THEY
didn't fly back to Washington until the next afternoon. Not a single sign of Marlin Jones. He was still at large.

They stopped off to see Captain Dougherty at the station on their way to Logan International. “It seems to me that someone has to be helping him,” Savich said.

“Yeah,” said Captain Dougherty. “Everyone is coming to that conclusion now. There haven't been any murders or robberies that haven't checked out. Since Marlin didn't have any money, he would have to get some if he remained alone. He didn't so far as we know. So, someone must be helping him. Someone's hiding him, a someone who has enough money to keep him out of sight. But who? We've checked with the people at the lumberyard where he worked. He didn't have any close friends that they knew of, at least no one close enough to go out on this long a limb for him.”

Sherlock handed Captain Dougherty the eight-by-ten photo of Erasmus Jones. “This is his father. You might want to distribute this photo.”

“They sure do look alike. You think his old man might really be in on this thing? Do you think he's the one helping Marlin?”

“We have no idea. We don't even know if he's dead or alive. It's just an idea, something we can sink our teeth into.” They rose. “We're going back home, Captain. Keep us informed and good luck.”

 

“DOUGLAS
told me he's being followed. Damn you, this has got to stop.”

Candice Madigan spoke angrily from behind them as Savich was unlocking his front door.

Sherlock's hand was already on her Lady Colt. Savich was already in a crouch. He took a deep breath. “I suggest you never do anything like that again, ma'am. Sherlock could have shot you and I could have broken your neck. May I inquire what you're doing here?”

“Waiting for you.”

“How did you know I'd be here?” Sherlock asked, stepping directly under the porch light.

Savich unlocked the door and shoved it open. “Everyone might as well come inside. You first, Mrs. Madigan. I'd as soon keep you in front of me.” He said over his shoulder, “I hope you have frequent flier miles. What is this? Your second or third trip to Washington?”

“Of course I have frequent flier miles,” she said. “Do you think I'm a fool?”

If Candice was blown away by the inside of Savich's house, she didn't show it. Her eyes never left Sherlock. “Did you hear me, Lacey? I know it's not the San Francisco cops. Judge Sherlock found that out for me. So it has to be the FBI following him. It's your doing, isn't it? No, you don't have that kind of authority.” She turned on Savich. “You'd do anything for little miss sweetness, wouldn't you? Even have my husband followed. Are you trying to blame Douglas for Belinda's murder? Stop it; he's going nuts. I won't have it.”

“You know,” Savich said easily, waving Candice into the living room, “when you pause to think a bit, Douglas had a very good motive for killing Belinda. He wanted out of the marriage but she wouldn't give him a divorce. He knew if he tried to get one that Judge Sherlock would have ruined him. He was trapped. So he used the String Killer's M.O. and killed her. What do you think? Sound good?”

Candice lunged at him.

He caught her wrists and held her away from him. She kicked at him. He quickly turned to the side. Then he began shaking her, saying in his low calm voice, “Stop it, Mrs. Madigan. For a woman of some sophistication, you're not playing the part.”

“Give her to me,” Sherlock said. “I'm sick of you, Candice. You want to fight, then come here. I'd love to take you down.”

“You'd wreck my living room,” Savich said, looking at a red-faced Sherlock, and smiled. “Will you try to keep some control, Mrs. Madigan? I'll protect you from Sherlock if you'll mind your manners. Will you?” Slowly, she nodded. Savich let her go. She stood there, rubbing her wrists. Then, slowly, she turned to face Sherlock, but she said over her shoulder to Savich, “Did it ever occur to you that she killed Belinda? Talk about crazy, look at her family. Every gene coursing through her is nuts, just plain nuts.”

There was dead silence except for Candice's heavy breathing.

“Well? What do you have to say to that?”

Sherlock smiled, an awesome feat she told Dillon later, but she managed it. “Candice, why are you really here?”

“I told you, someone's following Douglas. It's got to be the FBI. I want it stopped. So I came to make you do it.”

Sherlock said, “Why didn't you just call? It sure would have been cheaper. No answer to that? Maybe you wanted to hire that guy again to terrorize me? Maybe you wanted to try to run me down again?”

“I don't know what you're talking about. As for you,” she continued, looking at Savich, “you're blind. Douglas was too, but for only a little while. Now he realizes what she is.” Candice gave them a triumphant smile and sat down on the beautiful sofa. “Well?”

“Well what, Mrs. Madigan?”

“Will you have the FBI stop following my husband?”

Savich sighed. “Sure, Mrs. Madigan. The thing is, though, we have an agent following him in order to keep him safe. Marlin Jones is still on the loose. It's possible he plans to go back to California. It's possible that he would want to see Douglas, maybe even kill him. That's why we have an agent on him, to protect him.”

“That's crazy,” Candice said slowly. “There's no reason in the world why Douglas would be in any danger from Marlin Jones.”

“Oh? Are you really so sure about that? Didn't Douglas tell you about Mrs. Sherlock seeing Marlin kissing Belinda in front of the house? Who knows what's going on in Marlin Jones's mind these days? But who cares, when all's said and done? Sure, I'll call off the FBI. Douglas can be on his own, no problem.” Savich calmly pulled his cell out of his jacket pocket and punched in numbers.

“Do you really think he could be in danger?”

Savich ignored her, waiting. Then he said, “This is Dillon Savich. Please connect me with James Maitland. Thank you.”

“What if this creep is after him? What if he does manage to get to San Francisco? Douglas needs help. You can't leave him alone like this. It's inhuman.”

“Sir, Savich here. Yes, we need to call off the protection on Douglas Madigan in San Francisco. Yes, I'm sure. There's no more need.”

“No, don't call it off! What if this Marlin Jones goes after Douglas? No, don't!”

“Yes, that's right. No need any longer. Thank you.”

Savich hung up the phone in time to block Candice Madigan from shoving him into the fireplace.

“That's it,” Sherlock said. She roared toward Candice, grabbing her arm and pulling her around. She sent her fist into Candice's jaw.

“Ow! That hurts, you mean little bitch!”

Sherlock hit her again, then groaned herself at the pain in her knuckles.

Candice looked at her, astonishment written clearly on her face, and slumped to the floor.

“Are you all right, Dillon?”

She was standing there rubbing her knuckles, asking him if he was all right. He could only shake his head. “Thank you for protecting me,” he said, laughing.

She'd rushed in to protect him. Life with Sherlock would never be boring. He hoped she hadn't hurt her hand.

“Could you come and kiss me, Sherlock? I'm feeling a little shaky.”

“Sure,” she said, smiling sweetly at him. She kissed his chin, ran her fingertips over his eyebrows, kissed his nose. “You're better now?”

“Getting there,” he said, and kept kissing her.

They stopped only when they heard Candice say from the floor, “If the two of you make out in front of me, I'm going to call the police. Then you'll both be arrested.”

Sherlock began to laugh; she couldn't help it. Savich said, “Would you like a cup of coffee before you leave, Mrs. Madigan?”

“What I want is for the FBI to protect my husband.”

“But you flew all the way here to get us off him.”

“Look, I know I haven't been really nice to either of you, but Douglas, he's different. He needs me. Please, if you truly believe he's in danger, protect him.”

Savich pulled out his cell again, punched in numbers, and said, “Reinstate the surveillance on Douglas Madigan. Yes, that's right. Thank you.” He hung up, then turned to Candice. “It's done.”

“Thank you,” she said. “Really, thank you very much.” Then she turned to Sherlock. “As for you, you're nothing but trouble. You're going to bring trouble to this very nice man who doesn't know you at all. Stay away from Douglas!”

With that, she was gone.

Savich stood there, looking toward the front door. “I guess she didn't want coffee.”

“Did you really have surveillance on Douglas?”

“Oh yes.”

“Did you take it off then put it back on?”