There was still an orangish glow from the fire, a quiet crackling noise. I wondered how it could be so cold in the bedroom with the fire still going.
What my eyes saw, what my body was feeling, didn’t add up. I mulled on that for a few seconds.
I crawled under the covers and pulled them up to my chin. The glow reflected against the windowpane looked strange.
I thought about how odd it was to be there with Jezzie again. In the Middle of Nowhere. I couldn’t imagine ever not being with her now.
I was tempted to wake her. Tell her that. Talk to her about anything and everything. The Lady of the Lake. And the Black Knight. Sounded like Geoffrey Chaucer for the 1990s.
Suddenly I realized it wasn’t a glow from the fireplace that was flickering against the window.
I jumped out of bed and ran to take a look. I was witnessing something I had heard about all of my life, but had never expected to see.
A cross was burning very brightly on Jezzie’s lawn.
CHAPTER 73
A MISSING LITTLE GIRL named Maggie Rose.
Murders in the projects. The thrill-killing of Vivian Kim.
A psychopath. Gary Soneji/Murphy.
An “accomplice.” A mystery watcher.
A fiery cross in North Carolina.
When would the pieces finally fit together? Would the pieces ever fit? From that moment in Jezzie’s cottage until the end of everything, my head was filled with powerful, disturbing images. I couldn’t give up the case, as Jezzie had suggested. Events the following week added to my paranoia.
I came home late from work on Monday. Damon and Janelle swarmed all over me as I stomped the dozen paces from the front door to the kitchen.
“Phone! Phone! Phone!” Damon chanted as he romped along at my side.
Nana was holding the phone out to from the kitchen. She said it was Wallace Hart calling from Fallston Prison.
“Alex, I’m sorry to bother you at
home,” Wallace said. “Could you swing by here? It might be important.”
I was trying to peel my jacket off. I stopped—one arm in, one out. The kids were helping me. Sort of helping me, sort of trying to get me to throw out my back.
“What is it, Wallace? I’ve kind of got my hands full tonight.” I stuck my tongue out at Damon and Jannie. “Couple of little problems around the house. Nothing I can’t handle, though.”
“He’s asking for you. He wants to talk to you, and only you. Says it’s very important.”
“Can’t it hold until morning?” I asked Wallace. I’d already put in a long day. Besides, I couldn’t imagine anything new Gary Murphy could tell me.
“He’s Soneji,” Wallace Hart said over the phone. “Soneji wants to talk to you now.”
I was speechless. Then I managed, “I’m on my way, Wallace.”
I arrived at Fallston in under an hour. Gary was being housed on the prison building’s top floor. High-profile patients like Squeaky Fromme and John Hinckley had spent time up there. It was the high-rent district, just the way Gary wanted it.
When I arrived at his cell, Gary was lying face up on a narrow cot without sheets or a blanket. A guard watched him continuously. He was on “specials,” as one-to-one surveillance is called.
Wallace Hart said, “I was thinking of putting him in a quiet room for the night. Keep him on specials and seclusion for a while. Until we know what’s up with him. He’s flying, Alex.”
“One of these times he’ll fly apart,” I said, and Wallace nodded in agreement.