“We’ll be down there,” Teddy said, pointing toward the intensive care unit.
The cop seemed annoyed, but nodded. Then Teddy led Nash down the hall.
“I’ve already checked,” Nash said. “She’s still in critical condition, but expected to pull through. Packing her in ice was the deciding factor. According to the doctor, you saved Rosemary’s life.”
Teddy spotted the exit and pushed the door open. Cold air swept past them as they stepped outside. There was an ashtray on the landing. Teddy pushed the IV rack over, reached into his pocket for the pack of cigarettes the ambulance driver had given him, and lit up.
“What did the doctor say about me?”
Nash grinned at the sight of him smoking with an IV in his arm. “Your situation’s hopeless,” he said.
They traded warm smiles. Nash bummed one from the pack. As Teddy held the flame to the end of the cigarette, he gazed at the man’s eyes. They looked so gentle, even sad.
“Westbrook’s called three times from Washington,” Nash said. “It sounds like they’re gonna make you an offer.”
Teddy drew on the cigarette. He didn’t have any interest in working for the FBI.
“What about the skin?” he said.
They were sixteen floors up. Nash turned to the view of the city and leaned against the rail.
“They found a collection of tattoos in his freezer. They were wrapped in plastic and packed in Tupperware.”
“Any idea how many other victims there might be?”
Nash shook his head slowly. “Not yet,” he whispered.
Teddy looked down at the sidewalk. A woman was getting into a car with a man dressed like Santa Claus. They were giggling and kissing each other, in the peace of their own world and headed home.
“When do you think Andrews knew it was Trisco?” Teddy said after a moment.
Nash shrugged. “My guess is that the day you found Valerie Kram in the river will be the day prosecutors use as their starting point. She was a student at the College of Art. Knowing what Andrews knew about Trisco should’ve triggered something in his head.”
“How could he expect to get away with it?”
“You tell me,” Nash said.
Teddy had been wrestling with the question since he opened the door and saw the district attorney standing over Trisco with the gun. After killing Trisco, Andrews would’ve had to murder Rosemary and dump her corpse in order to keep his mistake a secret. He obviously didn’t know that the remaining bodies were hidden in the lake, and if they were ever found, that they would point back to Trisco in a heartbeat.
“His world was unraveling,” Teddy said. “He was desperate. He wasn’t thinking clearly. What’s ahead will be a circus.”
“I expect so,” Nash said. “A district attorney charged with the murder of a serial killer. I’m not sure that’s ever happened before. But I guess in this world there’s a first time for everything.”
A moment passed with Teddy thinking about his role in the trial as the prosecutor’s chief witness.
“Did you talk to Powell?” Nash asked.
Teddy nodded.
“When will Holmes be released?”
“Tomorrow afternoon,” Teddy said. “I’m driving him home.”
Nash turned back to the view. Then he flicked his cigarette over the rail, watching it land on the sidewalk sixteen floors below.
SEVENTY-ONE
Teddy spotted the news vans as he turned onto Lakeview Road. He’d borrowed an old Ford wagon from his mother’s friend, Quint Adler. In spite of his wealth, Quint drove old cars. This was something Teddy had always liked about the man, perhaps because it reminded him of his father. Quint didn’t feel the need to wear who he was on his sleeve. In fact, both men pretty much hid their identities from the world.
He found a place to park, but kept the engine running as he listened to an update on KYW news radio. The shock waves from what the
The two reporters interviewed on the radio said they smelled blood in the water and worked through the night. What Teddy and Jill had found on the Internet had only been the beginning. Apparently, more than fifty percent of the contributions made to the district attorney’s campaign were from employees at the Trisco’s various corporations. Several people came forward, confirming what everyone guessed. They’d been forced to write checks to Andrews and were later reimbursed by the corporation in the form of a matching bonus. Details would be published in tomorrow’s papers. Eddie, Jr. and his stone-faced wife didn’t have time to mourn the death of their infamous son. They were in a legal jam of their own now. Together with Andrews, they’d become the world’s next three lepers in a city that didn’t really want any.
Teddy switched off the radio, reaching across with his right hand to open the driver’s-side door. As he moved, a stabbing pain bit into his shoulder, then relaxed its jaws. He got out of the car, lit a cigarette like a real user, and started for the press line. The two cops working behind the crime scene tape saw him approach and helped him through. Reporters were shouting questions, photographers snapping up pictures and asking him to smile.
He started down the drive, not sure how to handle the press. They needed the story, and he had one to tell. He just wanted a little time to sort things through. Trisco was dead, and Andrews locked up. In spite of this, it didn’t feel like it was over. They were still mopping things up. Each new discovery left a bad taste in his mouth, opening memories of his childhood like clams thrown down on a hot grill.
He saw Powell in the distance, standing on the boat launch with a group of men. One of the beneficiaries of last night had been Powell’s immediate resurrection in the district attorney’s office. She was clearly in charge. As Teddy passed the house, he spotted three vans from the medical examiner’s office backed up to the barn like dump trucks waiting for their payload from hell. Crime scene techs were walking in and out of the house and barn. A photographer with spiked hair was getting shots of the brake fluid in the snow, while two techs waited off to the side with their evidence kits ready to go.
He turned back to the lake, following the crime scene tape to the bottom of the hill. The ice had been cut away from the shoreline with chainsaws, and divers were braving the frigid water in their wet suits. The operation was a joint effort between city, local, and state police departments. Teddy looked about for Vega and Ellwood but didn’t see them. Of the men standing with Powell, Teddy only recognized two. They’d met the other night in Nash’s office. Both men worked out of the FBI’s field office in the city. The investigation was running down a single track now.
The agents nodded. The others gazed at him with a certain reach in their eyes. Everyone knew who he was.
Powell turned and gave him a look. She was bundled up in that ski parka, wearing jeans and a pair of leather boots. He knew she’d missed another night’s sleep. Still, her blue-gray eyes were bright and steady and he noticed the hint of a sleepy smile buried in her will. Powell looked good-anytime, anywhere, no matter what.
“They let you out,” she said.
Teddy nodded. “I don’t see Vega or Ellwood.”
“Our warrants came through. Vega’s over at Andrews’s house. We’ve got another team going through the Trisco’s estate in Radnor. Ellwood’s in the water with the camera. He dives.”
Teddy followed her eyes to a small TV lying in the snow. He hadn’t noticed it because the monitor was wrapped in a blue canvas tote case with a hood shading the screen from the stark, winter sun. The monitor was attached to a video recorder. A yellow cable ran from the back of the recorder into the water.
