Squatting, she studied the bones for less than a minute. “Detective Kier.”
He came into the room. “Yeah?”
“The bones aren’t human.”
“Say that again?”
She rose and stripped off her gloves. “Not human. I’d say a bear’s hind claw.”
“What?”
Paulie snorted his laughter.
“Don’t feel bad,” the doctor said smoothly. “It has the distinct appearance of a human hand when stripped of the flesh.”
Malcolm rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. “Shit.”
“What about the other bones?” Angie said.
“Appear to be animal.”
“Why have the bones?”
“From what I remember from my trip to the museum, Mr. Talbot was an avid hunter. This likely was one of his kills.”
Garrison appeared in the doorway of the unit. Malcolm had faxed museum employee files as well as the names of the board members. It had surprised Malcolm to see that Louise Cross served on the board of the Talbot for a brief time. “You found Gentle Ben?”
“It was his little brother.” Malcolm figured he’d never hear the end of it. He’d learned long ago to let the jabs of other cops roll off his back. The more defensive he got, the more they circled, like sharks around blood. “You find anyone of interest?”
Garrison motioned him out into the hallway. “So far, I contacted eight of the thirty names, and all had either died or moved out of the D.C. metro area. Starting to feel like I’m chasing ghosts. Sinclair is running down the last names.”
Malcolm glanced back into the room at Angie. He dropped his voice a notch when he asked, “What about Louise Cross?”
Garrison pulled a pack of gum from his pocket. “Her position on the board would have meant she knew the players of that time. But she and the boys were in Europe for that entire summer.”
“But she knew Blue, Frank, and Darius. And I’ll bet money she knew Fay.”
“Do you really believe she’d talk to us?” Garrison said.
“No,” Malcolm said. “But she would talk to Eva.”
“We’ve been through this. I won’t put her through that.”
“She’s a big girl,” Malcolm said.
“I see what no one else sees,” Garrison said. “Louise Cross left her with emotional scars that will never heal. And now that she’s pregnant …”
“She’s pregnant?”
Garrison let some tension ease. “Yeah. We’re getting married as soon as we can arrange it.”
Malcolm nodded. “I didn’t think you had it in you, old man.”
“I manage from time to time.” Garrison’s mood darkened. “I want her to have no contact with that woman.”
“Garrison is right,” Angie said as she approached.
“What, do you have dog ears?” Malcolm said.
“Just about,” she said. “Eva is to be kept out of this.” The steel in her voice promised one hell of a fight if anyone tried to do otherwise.
“We need to talk to Louise,” Malcolm said.
“She might settle for the next best thing,” Angie said. “Me.”
Malcolm shifted. “You?”
“I’ll talk to Louise and ask her any questions you want. Set it up.”
It was Malcolm’s turn to worry. “It won’t be easy for you. I promise if she knows something about your father she will use it against you.”
Angie shook her head. “Let her try.”
“So I can set it up?” Garrison said.
“As soon as I talk to Micah,” Angie countered.
“Him? Why?” Malcolm didn’t hide his frustration.
“I need to offer full disclosure. Besides, Micah cooperated fully with police last year. I doubt he’ll have an issue with the visit.”
“And if he does?”
Her lips flattened. “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”
“I don’t like it.”
“Detective Kier, if it was your mother you’d want to know.”
“My mother runs a restaurant. She isn’t a serial killer serving three consecutive life sentences.”
“You’d care even if your mother had three heads. You’re the kind of guy who built his world around family.”
“Maybe.” Yes.
“Nearly thirty years is a long time for a killer to remain dormant.”
“It’s rare but not unlikely.” He stared at her, searching for any trepidation. “You aren’t afraid to see her?”
“Please. I am the master of mind games. I’ve interviewed my share of prisoners.”
“She’s different.” He leaned forward and dropped his voice a notch. “We both know it. She might be the key to an active murder case, and you are the key to her.”
“So, I play into her fantasies about Eva and then see if I can get her to open up. We have nothing to lose.”
He had to agree. “Right now I got nothing on this case. Nothing. I need to take the chance that she will talk.”
She shoved out a sigh, turned, and crossed the room to a desk by the window where she’d left her Black-Berry. She checked her calendar. “When do you want to go?”
He crossed, keeping the distance between them at a minimum. “It’s a two-hour drive. Would Monday morning work?”
“I’ve got a seven p.m. meeting with Cross this evening. That will give me the chance to get his approval. You a morning person?”
“I’m any kind of person I need to be.”
“How about six a.m. on Monday? I’m not in court and can make up the work at night.”
“Okay.”
“You look surprised, Detective.”
“I’m used to you throwing up road blocks, not solving problems.”
“Believe it or not I do have a soul.”
His laugh rang genuine this time. “That’s what all the Children of the Night say.”
Charlotte arrived at the offices of Wellington and James at six-fifteen. She and Angie were scheduled to have a seven p.m. meeting with Micah Cross to discuss the contract she’d drawn up.
Charlotte liked to arrive early. It gave her time to prepare and run through her checklist. Doors locked? Windows secured? Closets bad-guy free? She could refrain from the routine when Iris or Angie were here, but when she was alone she checked all the places bad guys could hide.
Stupid. Illogical.
In fact her therapist would encourage her to have a “conversation” with the empty spaces and ask them why they scared her so much.
“Well,” she muttered, “because three years ago a lunatic had slipped into my office and shot me in my gut.”
The absurdity of her train of thought would have made her smile if it all wasn’t so pathetic. She raised her finger to the keypad on the front door, a grocery sack filled with cookies and fruits dangling from her arm. She’d ventured into the grocery and bought a few refreshments for today’s meeting.
It was a good and polite thing to offer guests refreshments. It was something she’d never done naturally— sharing always went against her grain. But she’d learned that refined women offered tea and cookies.
She pushed open the door. The alarm dinged its countdown as she moved across the room to the keypad and punched in the code: Mariah.
Setting her bags down, she turned to relock the front door and get ready for her meeting. To her surprise, Micah Cross stood in the doorway. He wore a camel coat that cut him mid-calf, a dark suit, and a white turtleneck. His highly polished shoes reflected the porch light.
In one fluid move, Charlotte jumped, screamed, and dropped her grocery bag. The sound of glass breaking signaled that the bottle of honey she’d bought had broken. “Micah!”
He held up his smooth hands in surrender. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I thought you heard me call your name from across the street.”
Her heart pounded so hard she feared it would crack through her chest. “I didn’t hear.”
Breathe. Breathe. Shit!
&nbs
p; “I scared you.”
“No. Just startled me.” She kept her fears in close check. But right now they ran rampant like marauding Huns, laying waste to all good sense.