Bones

ago. Without the Moth’s warning, he might have missed seeing that. Well, yes, he could admit that he might have been caught — even if they caught him, he would escape again. The police could be touchy though, when one had killed one of their own. Strange how they all banded together like that, how dear they were to one another. He grinned a little, letting himself imagine just what that might imply.

But soon he was thinking of the Moth again.

The Moth had been useful in many ways.

There were still one or two matters in which his Moth might be of help, but everything in this place was drawing to a close, and when he was finished here, the Moth must join the other devoted ones. It was only right. The least he could do.

Perhaps one day he would return to the coyote tree and hang a unique tribute there, in honor of the Moth. And a special one to the Ice Dancer, who was, he had to admit, one of his more spectacular accomplishments. Ben Sheridan’s devastation was a thing of beauty. Oh yes, something special for the Ice Dancer, too.

Plans. There were always plans to be made. He loved plans. They kept his superhuman brain busy.

He had not expected the lair to be found at this point, but he was ready for anything — even the unexpected.

He had not expected, for example, that Irene Kelly could make him feel this combination of passion and anger from a distance. Usually, he needed to be much closer before his body reacted as it was reacting now. Her body was calling to his — calling, calling, relentlessly calling. He could feel it the way a deaf man can feel the beat of a bass drum, a pulsing, low, insistent vibration.

She would not leave him alone.

He could continue to outsmart the police as long as he chose to, of course, but he decided that it simply would not be healthy to wait, that she was obviously so longing to reach the sort of fulfillment that only he could provide, that he must be swift with his generosity. Tonight would be the night.

Deadline, he thought, and gave a daring little snort of laughter.

57

TUESDAY NIGHT, SEPTEMBER 26

Las Piernas

I arrived a little early, wanting to take time to answer some of my mail and e-mail, but I wasn’t given a chance to do more than find a place for Ben to sit. Shorthanded and bearing down on a drop-dead deadline — the final opportunity to make any major changes in the next morning’s edition — the newsroom was a hive of activity when I arrived. John Walters was hoping to get a late chase in on a story Mark Baker was covering — the police investigation of Phil Newly’s home. The building was already rumbling with the vibration of rolling presses. Page A-1 couldn’t be held up much longer.

One of Phil Newly’s neighbors had tipped the paper off, saying police were going door-to-door asking questions about whether anyone had seen the lawyer lately, or if they had noticed any cars other than Newly’s parked near the house, or in his driveway or garage.

Other phone calls started coming in, including one from Mark. After taking Mark’s call, John was pacing, barking out orders — most of the front page would have to be reset.

Inside Phil Newly’s garage, the police made a number of gruesome discoveries, including a bloodstained workbench and circular saw, bone fragments, and other tissue. Inside a large freezer in the garage, they found a sheet of plastic covered with frozen blood.

There was no sign of the lawyer.

Frank’s lieutenant was on the scene to handle contact with the press, and stated that Mr. Newly was sought for questioning. When asked if the lawyer was suspected of being an accomplice to Nick Parrish, the lieutenant said “not at this time.” When asked if Mr. Newly might be one of the victims, he said, “Our investigation here is in its very early stages. We do not know who the victims are or how many victims there may be; we are not ruling out the possibility that Mr. Newly may be one of them.” He gave a description of the lawyer and the lawyer’s car — a silver BMW. The car was missing.

Mark’s contacts within the department revealed other information. Two neighbors had seen a dark-colored Honda coming and going from the residence, although they had not been able to get a good look at the driver. The car had entered by using an automatic garage door opener.

Neither blood nor any signs of a struggle were found inside the house itself.

There were indications that Mr. Newly left the residence voluntarily — his toothbrush, razor, and other personal effects were missing. There were also signs that someone other than Newly — someone with blond hair, perhaps bleached — had been staying in one of the lower-floor guest rooms.

We got as many of these details into the paper as we could before the presses just couldn’t be held up any longer. As will happen once a drop-dead deadline has been reached, the newsroom emptied out. John stayed just long enough to allow me to formally introduce him to Ben and to tell me he was still working on getting my hours changed.

“Oh, and, Kelly — this business with the helicopter that I’m hearing rumors of? Not on day shift, should you return. Wrigley’s already scared enough of you, without thinking you’re going to come in here like something out of Apocalypse Now.”

He headed out to try to catch a few hours of sleep.

The nature of the beast; no matter how well we had done this evening, the process of putting a newspaper together would start all over again in the morning.

Still, it was much more excitement than I had expected on my late shift.

Not long after the newsroom emptied, Ben went with me up the stairs to the top of the building. “I tried calling Leonard, to get us into the elevator,” I said. “But he must be roaming around the building somewhere.”

I explained about the elevator access key. “Needless to say, employees forced to seek psychological counseling for throwing heavy objects at the boss are not given this special key.”

“I can manage the stairs,” he said. “They’re good practice for me.” It was lots of practice, all right.

As we reached the final door, Ben said, “That wasn’t so bad.”

It was another pleasant night. I made myself look up at the Box. Nothing. No lights, no movement, not even the sensation of being watched.