The Poet (36 page)

“Always keep one for emergencies,” she said with a smile in her voice.

We made love after that. Slowly, smiling in the shadows of the room. I think of it now as a wonderful moment, perhaps the most erotic and passionate hour of my life. In reality, though, when I strip the gauze from the memory, I know it was a nervous hour with both of us seemingly too eager and willing to please the other and perhaps thereby robbing ourselves of some of the true enjoyment of the moment. My sense of Rachel was that she was craving the intimacy of the act, not as much the sensual pleasure as the closeness with another human being. It was that way for me as well, but I also found a deep carnal desire for her body. She had wide and dark areolas on small breasts, a lovely rounded stomach with soft hair below it. As we found each other’s rhythm her face flushed and became warm. She was beautiful and I told her so. But this seemed only to embarrass her and she pulled me down into an embrace so that I could not see her face. My face in her hair, I smelled the scent of apples.

Afterward, she rolled onto her stomach and I lightly rubbed her back.

“I want to be with you after this,” I said.

She didn’t answer but that was okay. I knew that what we had just shared was genuine. She slowly pulled herself up into a sitting position.

“What is it?”

“I can’t stay. I want to but I can’t. I should be in my own room in the morning in case Bob calls. He’ll want to talk before the meeting with the locals and he said he’d call.”

Disappointed, I wordlessly watched her dress. She moved about in the darkness skillfully, knowing her way. When she was finished, she bent down and lightly kissed me on the lips.

“Go to sleep.”

“I will. You, too.”

But after she was gone I couldn’t sleep. I felt too good. I felt reaffirmed and filled with an unexplainable joy. Every day you fight death with life and what is more vital in life than the physical act of love? My brother and all that had happened seemed far away.

I rolled to the side of the bed and picked up the phone. Full of myself, I wanted to tell her these thoughts. But after eight rings she didn’t pick up and the operator answered.

“Are you sure that was Rachel Walling’s room?”

“Yes, sir. Three twenty-one. Would you like to leave a message?”

“No, thanks.”

I sat up and turned on the light. I turned on the television with the remote and flipped back and forth for a few minutes, not really watching. I tried her number again and still no answer.

Getting dressed, I told myself I wanted a Coke. I took change off the bureau and my key and went down the hall to the alcove where the vending machines were. On my way back I stopped by 321 and listened at the door. I heard nothing. I lightly knocked and waited, knocked again. She didn’t answer.

At my door I fumbled to use the key and turn the knob while holding the can of Coke. Finally, I put the can down on the rug and was opening the door when I heard footsteps and turned to see a man coming down the hallway toward me. The hall lights were dimmed because of the hour and the bright lights from the elevator alcove cast the approaching man in silhouette. He was a large man and in his hand I saw he carried something. A bag maybe. He was ten feet away.

“Hiya, sport.”

Thorson. His voice, though recognizable, spooked me and I think he saw it in my face. I heard him chuckle as he passed by me.

“Pleasant dreams.”

I said nothing. I picked up the can and moved into my room slowly, continuing to watch Thorson move down the hall. He passed by 321 without hesitation and stopped at a room further down the hallway. As he was opening it with a key he looked back down the hall at me. Our eyes locked for a moment, then I slipped wordlessly into my room.

28

Gladden wished he had asked Darlene where the remote control was before he had killed her. It annoyed him to have to get up to switch channels. Every one of the Los Angeles television channels had picked up on the Times story. He’d had to sit right in front of the box, though, and manually change the channel to try to catch all the reports. He had seen what Detective Thomas looked like. He had been interviewed by all of the channels.

He lay on the couch, now too excited to sleep. He wanted to change the channel to CNN but didn’t want to get up again. He was on some cable channel on the nether reaches of the list. A woman with a French accent was preparing crepes filled with yogurt. Gladden didn’t know whether it was a dessert or a breakfast but it was making him hungry and he considered opening another can of ravioli. He decided against it. He knew he had to conserve his supplies. Still four days to go.

“Where’s the fucking remote, Darlene?” he called out.

He got up and switched the channel, then turned out the lights and returned to the couch. With the monologue of the CNN anchors as a calming background, he thought about the work ahead, his plans. They knew about him now and he had to be more careful than ever.

He fell into a doze, his eyes drooping and the TV noise lulling him finally to sleep. But just as he was about to drop off, his ears picked up on a report from Phoenix about the murder of a police detective. Gladden opened his eyes.

29

In the morning Rachel called me before I was out of bed. I squinted at the clock and saw it was seven-thirty. I didn’t ask why she hadn’t answered either the phone or her door the night before. I’d already spent a good part of the night brooding about it and decided she had probably been taking a shower during the times I phoned or knocked.

“You up?”

“I am now.”

“Good. Call your sister-in-law.”

“Right. I will.”

“You want to get coffee? How long till you’re ready?”

“I have to make the call and get a shower. An hour?”

“You’re on your own then, Jack.”

“Okay, a half hour. You’ve already been up?”

“No.”

“Well, don’t you have to take a shower?”

“I don’t take an hour to get ready, even on a day off.”

“Okay, okay. A half hour.”

As I got up I found the torn condom package on the floor. I picked it up and committed the brand to memory since it obviously was the one she preferred, then threw it in the bathroom trash can.

I was almost hoping Riley wouldn’t be home because I didn’t know exactly how to ask her to let people dig up her husband’s body or how she would react. But I knew that at five till nine on a Sunday morning there wasn’t much chance that she would be anywhere else. As far as I knew, her only appearances in church in recent years were at Sean’s funeral and her wedding before that.

She answered on the second ring with a voice that seemed more cheerful than I’d heard in the last month. At first I wasn’t even sure it was her.

“Riles?”

“Jack, where are you? I was worried.”

“I’m in Phoenix. Why are you worried?”

“Well, you know, I didn’t know what was going on.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t call. Everything’s okay. I’m with the FBI. I can’t say a lot but they are looking into Sean’s death. His and some others.”

I looked out the window and saw the lines of a mountain on the horizon. The tourist pamphlet that came with the room said it was called Camelback Mountain and the name fit. I didn’t know if I was saying too much. But it wasn’t like Riley was going to go sell the story to the National Enquirer.

“Uh, something’s come up on the case. They think there might’ve been some evidence missed on Sean … Uh, they want to … Riley, they need to take him out of the ground to look at him again.”

There was no response. I waited a long time.

“Riley?”

“Jack, why?”

“It will help the case. The investigation.”

“But what do they want? Are … are they going to cut him open again?”

She said the last part in a desperate whisper and I realized how I had bungled the job of telling her.

“Oh, no. Not at all. Uh, all they want to do is look at his hands. Nothing else. You have to give them permission. Otherwise, they have to go through courts and it’s a long mess.”

“His hands? Why Jack?”

“It’s a long story. I’m not really supposed to tell you but I’ll tell you this. They think the guy … whoever did this, he tried to hypnotize Sean. They want to look at his hands to see if there are pinpricks, you know. That’s the test somebody might have given to see if Sean was really hypnotized.”

There was more silence.

“There was something else,” I said. “Did Sean have a cough or a cold? You know, back on the day it happened.”

“Yes,” she said after a moment’s hesitation. “He was sick and I told him not to go in that day. I was sick, too, and I told him to stay home with me. Jack, you know what?”

“What?”

“I must’ve felt sick because I was pregnant. I found out Wednesday.”

It caught me off guard. I hesitated.

“Oh, Riley,” I finally said. “That’s wonderful. Did you tell the folks?”

“Yes, they know. They’re very happy. It’s like a miracle child because I didn’t know and we hadn’t really been trying.”

“It’s great news.”

I didn’t know how to get back to the other conversation we had been having. Finally, I just bull-rushed her to the point.

“I’ve got to go now, Riles. What can I tell them?”

Rachel was in the lobby when I stepped out of the elevator. She had both her computer bag and her overnighter with her.

“You checked out?” I asked, not understanding.

“FBI rules of the road. Never leave anything in the room because you never know when you’ll have to fly. We get a break today, I’m not going to have time to come back and pack my things.”

I nodded. It was too late for me to pack and I had almost nothing to pack anyway.

“Did you call her?”

“Yes. She said fine. She said do it. For what it’s worth, she also said he was sick. The cough syrup was his. And I figured out why Sean was killed in his car and not at home like the others.”

“Why?”

“His wife, Riley, was home because she was sick, too. My brother would have done everything he could not to take this guy back to his house. Not with her there.”

I nodded sadly at my brother’s last and maybe bravest act.

“I think you’re right, Jack. It fits. But listen, there’s been a development. Bob’s just got word and called me from the FO. He’s delaying the meeting with the locals. We got a fax from the Poet.”

The mood of the conference room was decidedly somber. Only the agents from Quantico were taking part. Backus, Thompson, Thorson and an agent named Carter who had been at the first status meeting I had attended back at Quantico. I noticed Rachel and Thorson exchange contemptuous looks as we entered. I focused on Backus. He seemed lost in thought. He had his portable computer open on the table in front of him but he wasn’t looking at it. He looked fresh in a different gray suit. A bemused smile spread on his face and he looked at me.

“Jack, you get to see firsthand now why we were concerned about containing this story. A five-second video bite was all it took and the offender knows we are on his trail.”

I nodded.

“I don’t think he should be here for this,” Thorson said.

“A deal is a deal, Gordon. He certainly had nothing to do with the CNN story.”

“Still, I think it’s not-“

“Can it, Gordon,” Rachel said. “It doesn’t matter what you think.”

“Okay, let’s halt hostilities and concentrate on the problem,” Backus said. “I’ve got copies here.”

He opened a file and passed copies of the fax across the table. I got my own copy. There was silence in the room as we all read.

Dear Bob Backus, FBI agent, And hello to you, sir. I caught the news and saw you in Phoenix, you sly one. No comments to dim bulb reporters do not fool me. I know your face, Bob. You are coming for me and I anxiously await your arrival. But be careful, my friend Bob! Not so close! After all, look what happened to poor Orsulak and those others. They put Orsulak in the ground today, the end of a good job. But an FBI man of such stature as yours, now that would be a noble hunt. Heh, heh.

Not to worry, Bob. You are safe. My next intended has been anointed. I’ve made my choice and I have him in sight, even as you read these words.

Are you huddled with your masses now? Wondering what makes your opponent tick? It’s a terrible mystery, isn’t it? Bothers like a pinprick in the palm I suspect. I offer you one clue. (What are friends for?) I am the rotten apple of my Best Pal’s eye, who am I? When you know the answer, Bob, say it over and over again. Then you’ll get it. You’ll know. You’re a pro and I’m sure you are up to the challenge. I’m counting on you, Bob!

I dwell alone in the world of moan, Bob, and my work has just begun. And Bob? May the best man win.

I cannot sign my correspondence for you haven’t given me my name yet. What is it, Bob? I’ll watch for you on television and I’ll wait to hear my name. Until then I will close with this: Short and Tall-I killed them all!