The expression on her face was of shock and disbelief, as if she could not fathom what could cause this depth of violence from her own flesh and blood.
Lee straightened up to face Butts, who was staring down at Mrs. Hughes.
'He finally killed the person he meant to kill all along,' Lee said.
'So we finally got our guy,' Butts remarked.
'Except that we don't have him yet,' Lee reminded him. He touched her dead hands. Rigor mortis had already begun to set in, indicating the time of death was probably some hours earlier.
'Do you think it means anything that he skipped over part of the prayer?' Butts asked, looking down at the body. 'I mean, should we be lookin' for more vics to turn up?'
'Judging by this, he's spinning out of control, becoming more disorganized. I think he's on the run.'
Bundy had gone on the run at this point, fleeing all the way down to Florida, where his killing became unhinged-he attacked five young women on his final, orgiastic night of slaughter.
'I'll call it in,' Butts said, getting out his cell phone.
'Okay,' said Lee. 'I'm going to look around.' There was a slight chance Samuel was still here-very slight, Lee thought, given the circumstances. The killing of his mother represented the culmination of his violence, the final-and most authentic-act of retribution in what had until now been symbolic slayings. This would make him more vulnerable, but also far, far more dangerous.
Lee stepped from the foyer into a small but tidy living room adorned with religious icons. He caught a flash of white disappearing around the corner-a cat, probably. He looked around the room. Statues of Joseph and the Virgin Mary graced either side of the mantelpiece, and one wall had a kitschy portrait of Jesus looking heavenward with tragic, soulful eyes. But the most striking icon was the heavy gold cross above the fireplace. A suffering carved Christ was nailed to it with what looked like real nails, and he was dripping blood from every pore. The carving was so realistic that it made Lee's flesh crawl. The furnishings evoked a Victorian parlor-dark furniture covered with fringed antimacassars and lace doilies.
'Okay,' Butts said, lumbering into the room, 'they're on the way. Hey-look at that, will ya?' he said.
Lee followed his gaze. There, sitting on a small round table, next to an old-fashioned dial telephone, was a white plastic inhaler, the kind used by asthmatics. Next to it was a slip of note paper. Lee picked it up and read the hastily scrawled handwriting. Amtrak› Philly 3:35 pm Penn Station
He glanced at his watch. The train had left from Penn Station an hour ago.
'Philly?' Lee said. 'Why would he go to Philly?'
'Here,' said Butts. 'Take a look at this.' He thrust another crumpled receipt in front of Lee, this one for the Adam's Mark Hotel, just outside downtown Philadelphia.
Lee stared at the receipt. Suddenly his ears were ringing, and there was a roaring sound in his head. He realized why Samuel Hughes was going to Philadelphia.
Next time I'll strike closer to home.
He's after Kathy. Panic rose in his throat, choking him. He grabbed Butts by the arm, dragging him to the door.
He wasn't sure what he said or did, but somehow he managed to get Butts out of there. They rushed down the street, the stubby detective trundling a few years behind him as he sprinted toward the subway. There were no yellow cabs cruising this neighborhood, and he reasoned that an express train would be faster anyway.
'What's goin' on?' Butts asked, panting as he tried to catch up with Lee. 'You trying to give me pneumonia or something?'
'I've got to get to Philadelphia!' Lee called back over his shoulder.
'How are you gonna find him in a place like that?' Butts yelled as they charged down the steps to the train, dashing through the turnstiles just in time to catch an express headed for Manhattan.
'Okay,' Lee said as they threw themselves down onto the plastic seats, panting heavily, 'listen carefully. I'm going straight to Penn Station. I want you to contact Chuck Morton and tell him that I've gone after Samuel Hughes, and that he's our man.'
'Oh, man,' Butts said, struggling to breath through a sudden coughing fit. 'Have you gone loco on me? How do you figure to find this guy in goddamn Philadelphia?'
Lee told him what he feared-that Hughes was going after Kathy now-and that that was the reason for his trip to Philadelphia.
'Oh, jeez,' Butts said. 'Let me come with you!'
'No, I need you to talk to Chuck first, and explain everything. Then maybe he can get in touch with the cops in Philly and get me some backup. It's tricky, though. We don't really have anything concrete on this guy, so they might not want to stick their necks out. And he might not want to risk asking them, either. They may all think I'm crazy.'
'Okay, okay,' said Butts. 'Where are you gonna be?'
Lee gave him the addresses of Kathy's father's house, and the Vidocq Society.
'If you can, call both those places and leave a message for her or her father to stay put until I arrive. There's no guarantee he'll show up either of those places, though,' Lee said, looking at his own cell phone. The battery only had one bar left on it. He turned it off-he wouldn't be able to charge it again before reaching Philadelphia.
'So what do you think he's gonna do?'
'I don't really know.'
And that was what frightened him most of all.
Chapter Sixty-three
The Adam's Mark was the kind of hotel built for conventions and large groups of people. Easily accessible from I-95, it stood twenty-five stories high, a hulking monolith on the outskirts of downtown Philadelphia. After catching a cab from the train station to the hotel, Lee walked into the lobby and told the young desk clerk he was there to see Samuel Hughes. To his surprise, Samuel was registered under his own name.
The lobby was full of fantasy and science-fiction fans-large, oddly dressed people with pasty skin and pale, intelligent faces. Some wore medieval tunics and tights. Others wandered about dressed in jeans and T-shirts with dragon emblems on them. One nerdy-looking man with greasy black hair wore a vest covered with buttons with sayings like MY MOTHER IS A KLINGON, and MY OTHER CAR IS A MILLENNIUM FALCON.
The desk clerk refused to give Lee the room number until he presented his ID, showing his identity as a civilian consultant to the NYPD. It looked exactly like the ID a cop might carry, except that the background was red instead of blue. Fortunately for him, she was too young to know that this position gave him no legal authority-and, in any case, the NYPD had no real jurisdiction in Pennsylvania. She dispatched a porter with a master key to follow Lee to the room.
When their repeated knocks on the door received no answer, the bellboy unlocked the room to let Lee inside. Lee thanked him and sent him away with a ten-dollar tip. He didn't know what he would find inside, but he didn't want anyone else around when he found out. He pushed the door open, stepped inside onto the plush carpeting, and closed the door behind him.
The first thing that hit him when he entered the room was the smell of death-and fear. The air was heavy with the scent of panicked sweat. It was dark inside, and his first impression was that he was alone in the room.
But then he saw, silhouetted in the yellow light of the street lamps coming in through the window, the body hanging from the wooden rafters.
It swung back and forth, moving in the air currents created when Lee entered the room. He switched on the overhead light, and looked at the face. It was indeed the same thin, ascetic young man he had seen at the funeral in Westchester. An overturned footstool lay on its side underneath his feet. By all appearances, he had hanged himself from the strong oak beams that straddled the ceiling of the room.
Technically, Lee knew, he should call the hotel security staff and alert them, but instinct told him that something wasn't right. He didn't know what it was yet, but something. He moved around the room, careful not to touch anything-to keep the crime scene pure, but also to avoid leaving evidence that might lead to him needing to
