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I banged my fist into the dirt, catching a bunch of burrs that punctured through the latex into my flesh.
I had not reacted as a professional, but as a hysterical civilian. Now I needed that professional core to return and save me.
Scooping up the fresh evidence I was about to conceal, I carried it to the car and laid it in the trunk. I peeled off the sweat-filled, blood-and-burr covered evidence gloves and tossed them in, too. Then I waited in the car, blasting the air-conditioning on my face, for another half hour. The cell phone didn’t ring again, no matter how loudly I shouted at it. Not one car appeared on the sidestreets. Finally, I pushed the anger inside and felt very cold. I called Peralta but went to his voice mail. Two things seemed clear: more than one individual was involved, the man who called me and at least one more piloting the airplane. And I needed to get into Grace’s flash drive, find out what was so valuable.
There was nothing more I could do but drive back home, Yeats still in my ears, his great gloom in my mind.
An intellectual hatred is the worst.
I would find who did this.
And then kill them all.
The chilled numbness I felt deepened on the doorstep. The door was unlocked. I had gone off in such a hurry that I hadn’t even set the alarm. If they were looking for the flash drive, they had come to the right place. I could walk back to the car and get help, but didn’t. If they were careful, they had already seen me through the picture window. I had five bullets on my side against their automatic weapons or Claymore mines. Maybe they weren’t careful and I would catch them searching. We would settle accounts.
I stepped inside. Heather Nova was on the stereo. I thought about Frank Sinatra’s quip about committing suicide listening to Sarah Vaughn. Heather wasn’t bad background music to die by.
“Is that you, Dave?”
Lindsey Faith Adams Mapstone was in the kitchen, on her knees scrubbing the floor in front of the refrigerator, her brown-black hair in her face. She rose and hugged me, and, after a long time, I put my arms around her, too.
Her voice was a whisper in my ear. “I have messed up so bad.”
“Me, too.”
21
I heard the engine of Peralta’s truck roaring up Cypress before he walked in the door without knocking. He hugged Lindsey and I took him outside to the Prelude.
“I told you she’d come back,” he said.
I ignored that and told him about the call, the runaround, the airplane, and its bombing run. The caller had referred to me as “Doctor Mapstone,” exactly as Felix had done. He knew about me, the failed historian and the failed lawman. The newspapers had written up some of the big cases I had broken, but this wasn’t an innocent informed reader. He had done some homework. On top of that, he admitted that he had set off the Claymore. All I needed to tie it up in a bow was for him to confess to killing Felix. Unfortunately, the only bow I had was the twine from the package with the bloody doll.
I opened the trunk. Sheltered by the shade, the heat left us alone.
Kicking at the driveway, I said, “The baby’s dead.”
He slipped on a fresh pair of evidence gloves and carefully examined the bloody doll.
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” He leaned in, reading off the brand of the doll, noting the quality of the wrapping paper and twine. “Where’s the flash drive?”
I told him about the hiding spot in the library.
“It must have something important if he’s willing to put on this show,” Peralta said.
I told him about my inability to get past Grace’s pre-recorded greeting.
Half of his upper lip tilted up, a wide smile for him. “Lindsey can take care of that.”
“Tell me we’ll find these guys.”
He raised up and studied me. “We will.”
I followed him back to his truck, where he produced a garbage bag, then we returned to the Prelude, where he slid the evidence inside. I didn’t want Lindsey to know about this bloody baby doll and what it implied. Anyway, was she visiting? Was she back for good? I didn’t know. This case could only deepen her grief.
“Should I call the FBI?”
“No,” he said. “In an hour, you’ll have twenty agents setting up shop in your living room. Any chance we have will be lost.”
