Long. This… this is extremely'-useless, he thought but didn't wish to insult-'extremely helpful.'
'BS, Detective. It's all medium… everything about the guy was medium, even his nose. When they showed me those books of collected ears, noses, eyes, chins, shit…all I kept picking out was the medium ones,' Stu continued nonstop as if on speed, his shoulders rising and lowering as if on automatic. 'I'm for damn sure going to be more observant in the future.'
'Not at all, Stu,' replied Meredyth, waving him down. 'Thanks for taking the time going in and giving the artist what you could.'
'Did you notice any odors clinging to the man?' asked Lucas out of the blue.
'Odors… hmmm… That's interesting you should ask.' Long bit his lower lip, contemplating this. 'On account- a-there was something… something odd like…like…can't place it now.'
'Detective Stonecoat is a great believer in the power of the olfactory nerves to bring back visual memories, Stu. Being a psychiatrist, I'd have to agree.'
'It is, after all, the first sense used in tracking an animal,' Lucas commented.
'I tell you, there was something odd clinging to this guy …….'
'Go on,' urged Lucas, 'an odor like the inside of a really raunchy pair of old sneakers perhaps?'
'No…not exactly.'
'Or the back room of a moldy tenement?'
'Yeah…mold, only…only a little different than that…something like…like mildew, only added to a faintly nauseating chemical odor.'
'Chemical odor?'
'You know, like you smell in a hospital.'
'Excellent,' said Meredyth. 'You do remember something, Mr. Long, and it's more than a medium memory.'
'Oh, and there's something else I remember that was unusual about the guy now,' replied Long. 'He had this mole right here on his left cheek.' Long pointed to the spot. 'Like…like that kid character in the Waltons, John Boy? Only…only there was a nasty hair growing out of this mole. Damn, I didn't tell that to the sketch artist.'
'Anything else?' pressed Lucas.
'Keep recalling that odor on his clothes, on his skin,' added Meredyth. They both knew that recalled odors brought back more recall in the visual imagery centers of the cortex.
Long announced, 'His eyebrows were black.'
'And so how is that important?' urged Meredyth.
'Well, his hair was blond…maybe dyed. Maybe that was the smell coming off him? I told the artist he had blond hair, but now I think about it, the roots were dark, and definitely the eyebrows were dark brown or black. Didn't get that detail into the sketch either.'
Lucas asked, 'You sure it wasn't a wig?'
'Could've been…I suppose.'
'Did the sketch artist give you his card?'
'Yeah, she did. I'll give her a call. In the meantime, Dr. Sanger, you'll want to see the early edition of the Chronicle.' He held the newspaper in his hands up to her. 'I swear I had nothing to do with this. I like my job too much.'
Meredyth took in the front page headline: 'SHRINKING IN HORROR-Killer Sends Victim's Eyes, Teeth to Police Shrink.'
'Damn,' she moaned, shaking the paper. 'They've got the story already.'
With Stu Long helping passing residents at the door, Lucas read over Meredyth's shoulder. The details remained sketchy, and the reporters had used no names, but she and Lucas knew they'd soon be reading follow-up, in-depth pieces, and that radio and TV news would soon be airing the story as well-with all the gusto and details their crack reporters could muster.
'Who the hell're these unnamed sources?' she wondered aloud.
'Probably Bye-bye Byron?' His suggestion fell flat.
'No…not Byron.'
'Why not? His fifteen minutes of fame?'
'He wouldn't, that's all.'
'Like you know him well enough to know?'
She went to her mailbox, opened it, and snatched out several bills and junk mail.
'Mere, you didn't expect him to run outta the condo and leave you holding the bag either, but he did.'
'Lucas, he's not going to be allowed back into my bed, all right? Satisfied?'
'Then why're you hanging onto his letter?'
'It's trash and I don't litter. I'll bum it upstairs if you like, but I won't be convinced that he's talking to the press.'
'Even if he isn't talking to the press, they're likely tailing him right to you.'
'Drop it, Lucas!'
'Whoever the unnamed sources may be, it won't be long before the hounds sniff out news of the severed hand,' he replied. 'And once it becomes public…about where this connected incident occurred, anyone might surmise the central characters in the story are you and me, Mere.
'I'm so glad my parents are out of the country.'
'It's likely just what this certifiable creep is looking for, his fifteen minutes of fame,' he suggested, dropping the newspaper back onto the information desk.
Lucas turned to find her gone. He had to dash to keep pace. Meredyth had stiffly stalked off, rushing through the posh lounge area, pushing through an inner door, and now she leaned into the elevator call button. He caught up with her there, still talking. 'It's the new American way. Mere- do anything, go anywhere for a fleeting moment before the new idol in the desert.'
'What the hell're you onto now, Lucas? Have you been into your stash this morning already?'
'The golden calf's now the golden camera, and you Anglos have created your own nightmare,' he said, ignoring her question.
'What's that supposed to mean, Lucas?' she fired back, reminding him of how fragile their relationship really was.
'In a culture that can award an Emmy nomination to the Osbornes for best TV reality programming,' Lucas began as she boarded the elevator and he stepped in behind, 'a culture that rewards a sniper killer with literally millions of minutes of air time and creates an event out of the most wanted man in America, a cowardly murderer, it should come as no surprise that some nutcase thinks he can make prime time by turning a murder into a game show for a perverse idol-himself.!'
Moments before the elevator doors closed, an elderly woman with a schnauzer came aboard, the little dog yip- ping at Lucas as he continued lecturing Meredyth. 'Look at our case, Mere. The media attention is already in full swing. What body part will next appear? Ears, toes, arms, what? Odds-makers in Vegas and on the Internet will be making book on it, believe me, and Real 7V'll have their cameras rolling.'
The dog continued barking, and the white-haired lady hugged the dog protectively in the folds of her coat, cooing his name, soothing him. 'Pudgy-woo, pudgy-coo…it's all right, baby.' She gave a disapproving look in Meredyth's direction. 'Really, Dr. Sanger, there's been so much disruption in our building of late.'
'I'm sure everything's going to calm down now, Mrs. Chandler. You and little Pudge don't have to worry.'
'I've had inquiries, you know, from all sorts of people, but as I tell them, I know nothing of what's happened in the building.'
The elevator doors opened on her floor, and Mrs. Chandler and Pudge alighted from the cab.
Lucas and Meredyth rode up the rest of the way in silence, each contemplating what lay between them and ahead for them, dividing their thoughts between a lunatic who had targeted them and their struggling relationship.
As they now approached Meredyth's door, they saw there was no eerie little package left in her doorway. 'This is crazy… like walking through a minefield just to get home,' she complained.
Lucas thought the analogy apt, that the killer had put them through an emotional minefield.
Opening her door, stepping inside, they found stains still on the carpet. 'I have a cleaning service coming in
