Bureau to replace his drivers license and pick up his car at the Hall. Nights he spent decimating the rat population on the Embarcadero, feeding the little drained corpses to the bay.
Not a way he liked living, though. Last night he came close to being caught by a watchman…making him crouch behind crates with breath held until the man walked out of sight. He needed a way to hunt less often and lower his risk of discovery.
Serruto frowned at the evaluation. “I don’t know what the man’s thinking. But the shrink still has to weigh in. Two o’clock, right? Don’t miss it.”
“I won’t.” Not a lie. He wanted to work…to hunt down Lane. “Do you mind if I hang out here until time to see Leonard?”
Finally Serruto smiled. “Go ahead.”
He went to his desk, sitting back-to-back with Harry’s. Unlike the medical exam, the shrink worried him. Was passing a simple matter of hypnotizing the man and telling him:
Harry looked across from ending a phone call. “Relax, Mik-san. Leonard isn’t going to eat you.”
His nerves showed? He sighed. “Maybe he will.”
He expected Harry to tell him he would do fine. Instead, Harry said, “If he doesn’t okay you for duty right away, it isn’t the end of the world. Go visit your folks. Visit your son.”
Garreth frowned. “You think I won’t pass?”
Harry hesitated a moment, toying with the phone he still held in one hand, a finger of his other hand on the switch hook. “Let’s face it; you’ve been strung tight since the attack. You pick at your food, even things you’ve always loved. You hardly talk. It’s like you’re looking over your shoulder. Some rape victims have this fear the rapist will come back after them. Is that what’s going on, you’re feeling Barber’s going to come back and finish the job on you?”
Garreth stared at him. Looking over his shoulder…yeah…good guess. Just not for Lane, though it had been like rape…forcing herself on him, stealing a kind of innocence, tearing his life apart as savagely as his throat, but with no hope of healing.
Harry released the switch hook and dialed a number. At her desk on across the room, Evelyn Kolb pulled her thermos from the knee hole of her desk and pumped herself a mug of tea.
Garreth eyed the thermos. What size was that…a quart maybe? Filling a bigger version of something like that with blood would take care of him for…three, four, five days? Except he needed to keep the blood from clotting. He picked up his own phone and dialed the Crime Lab.
“I’ve got a question. If a suspect wants to keep blood from clotting so we’ll think it’s fresher than it really is, what could he use? Heparin?” He remembered Marti mentioning that.
The blood specialist they passed him to said, “Probably not. Sodium citrate is cheaper and available at almost any chemical supply house. Plus it isn’t a drug, so it’s not controlled.”
“How much would he have to use?”
“Let’s see.” Garreth heard pages turning and mumbled calculations, then finally: “It looks like a cc of a two and a half per cent solution preserves two hundred and fifty milliliters of blood. That answer your question?”
“Yes. Thanks.” Garreth hoped so.
As he hung up, so did Harry, eyes gleaming. “We’ve got a lead in your case. I’ve tracked down Barber’s agent.”
Barber’s agent? Garreth stood when Harry did.
Harry frowned. “What are you doing?”
“Coming with you.”
“Whoa!” Harry shook his head. “Even if you were back on duty, you can’t have anything to do with this case, not when you’re the victim.”
Yes, yes…but he needed to hear what the agent said! Who knew what clue it might give him, knowing what he did about Lane, but slip by Harry. He stared Harry in the eyes, quashing guilt at treating him this way. “I’m just riding along. Let me ride along.”
After a momentary blank expression, Harry said, “Well, all right. As long as you’re just riding along. I ask all the questions.”
Garreth nodded. “Absolutely. I’m just a shadow.”
8
Harry asked the questions. Not that the answers gave them much information. In the office in her home in the Mission District, Bella Carver — sleek, dressed in a power suit — told them, “I have no idea where Miss Barber is. She phoned a week ago Tuesday afternoon and told me not to book her any gigs for an indefinite period.”
So it
“She said her mother is critically ill and she intends to stay with her until the crisis is over.”
“You don’t know where her mother lives?” Harry asked.
“No.”
Harry frowned. “You mean you don’t have any personal information on your clients?”
The agent frowned back. “Lane has a veritable encyclopedia of personal information, a bio for every occasion. All probably imaginary. Look, Inspector, I find her gigs and she pays me ten percent. That was our agreement. She gives me no trouble by performing drunk or strung out, or not showing up at all, and she brings me a steady income, so I don’t pry into her life.” Carver paused. “Once or twice I asked her personal questions and she changed the subject. She looks like a hot, foxy kid, but she’s ice and steel underneath.”
No kidding, Garreth thought.
As they left, Harry shook his head. “I could have learned that much on the phone. Where do you want to eat lunch?”
The never ending problem of dodging meals. Garreth grimaced. “I’m on a diet, remember? We can eat anywhere you want, as long as I can buy a cup of tea there.”
Harry’s brows rose. “You’re serious about the weight this time.”
“Of course.” As though he had a choice.
“Well we’re in the Mission. I vote for Italian.” He smirked at Garreth. “You can have salad.”
Garreth sighed. “Fine.”
Not fine at all. The moment they walked in the door of the restaurant and he smelled garlic, his lungs froze. Panic flooded him as he tried to breathe and could not.
“Garreth! What’s wrong?” Harry shook him by the shoulders.
Garreth struggled desperately to suck in air, but he might as well have been trying to inhale concrete. He would suffocate in here! Half dragging Harry, half carried by him, Garreth bolted for the street.
Outside, the air turned from concrete to cold molasses. Garreth staggered up the sidewalk until the last foul taint of garlic disappeared. Only then did the air return to normal consistency. He leaned against a building, head thrown back, gulping air greedily.
“Garreth, what happened?” Harry demanded.
He had no idea what to say. Would mention of garlic start fatal thought trains? “I don’t know but I’m all right now.” As long as he avoided garlic. Put one more piece of the legend in the truth column. “It was nothing.”
“Nothing! That wasn’t nothing, partner. Let’s get you to — ”
From the direction of their car, a radio sputtered. “Inspector 55.”
Harry hurried back to the car to roger the call. Garreth followed with unsteady knees.
“Public service 555-6116,” Dispatch said.
Harry’s brows rose. “Sound familiar?”
Garreth shook his head.
They drove to the nearest phone booth and Harry dialed the number. Garreth could not hear Harry’s end of
