We were heavy-handed, let the media in on everything before we had anything remotely conclusive, and then we left the guy twisting in the wind. We took his reputation, his good name. Sir, we even took his Tup-perware. Let me finish properly with Marlin Jones. Just this week, sir. That's all I need, just this week.'
Reference to the Richard Jewell fiasco made Jimmy Maitland nearly chew clean through his cigar. 'You mean we could get burned in this?'
'It's possible, sir. As I said, I'll be going up on Tuesday and get everything settled. Maybe stay until the end of the week. Please, sir.'
'Who the hell tried to whack you, Agent Sherlock?'
She should have known he would home in on that. Mr. Maitland was a very tenacious man. 'I don't believe it was a whack job, sir, more like a threat, but it is one of the loose ends.'
'I don't like my agents getting whacked, Agent Sherlock.'
'No, sir.' As the whackee, she hadn't liked it either, but she didn't think Mr. Maitland would laugh if she said that. She moved even closer to the edge of her seat. Her head was aching. Her shoulder throbbed. She felt mildly light-headed. She wanted Dillon to kiss her. She saw him naked over her and choked on the sip of water she'd just taken.
'You okay, Sherlock?' Savich half rose in his chair, then at her look, he sat down again. What would he have done anyway? Hugged her? Yeah, that would have been a real treat for Maitland. He might have just stroked out on the spot. Savich prayed Maitland wouldn't ask any more questions about her attacker. He didn't have any convincing answers made up just yet. He didn't want to bring in her family, at least not just yet.
She said, 'Yes, sir, I'm just fine.'
She was red in the face; she wouldn't look at him. She was staring at the black tassels on her Bally loafers. If his boss hadn't been sitting six feet from him, he might have thrown her over his shoulder and carried her upstairs. He smiled really big at Jimmy Maitland. 'I'll go with her to Boston. We'll get it all wrapped up.'
'Marlin Jones is in jail. Who the hell attacked Agent Sherlock? Why?'
'We don't know yet, sir, but we're betting the answer lies with Marlin Jones.'
'You don't know that, Savich. It might be entirely unrelated.' No one said a word. Jimmy Maitland sighed and pulled himself to his feet. He was tired. He'd had too much beer to drink the night before at a retirement party for Bucky Hendricks, an old New York agent who'd been a terror in his day. Even the Mob had sent him a gold watch. He wanted to go home and watch the Redskins too. He said, 'Go on to Boston, then. I see you don't want to tell me you really have no idea if Marlin Jones is connected with this attack on Sherlock. There is one thing though, Savich. The young cop who messed up and let two of the old people go in that Florida nursing home murder-he has no idea. We were right-all old people look the same to him. Oh yeah, there's been a spate of murders in South Dakota, right in Elk Point, then the guy went over the border into Iowa. Nasty business. The police chief in Sioux City is frantic.'
'I'll deal with it tomorrow, sir.' Savich rose and walked Jimmy Maitland to the front door.
'This place,' Maitland said, taking one last sweeping look. 'I remember one night when your grandmother came down those stairs wearing this lemon yellow chiffon gown. Lord, she must have been at least seventy-five then but she was a queen. You've done well with it, Savich. Your brother the artist still pissed at you that she gave you the house?'
'Not too pissed now. He got over it.'
'I hate that modern stuff. Tell Ryan to go Impressionist, can't go wrong there. As for that dolphin of yours I bought, I still like it. Nice work. Oh yeah, take care of Sherlock.' He paused a moment, carefully wrapped his unlit cigar in a handkerchief and slid it into his jacket pocket, then walked to the front door. He lowered his voice. 'I suppose you know what you're doing.' He nodded toward the living room where Sherlock was sitting still as a stone, still staring down at her shoes.
'I sure hope so, sir.'
'It's been what? Five years since Claire died?'
'Yes, five years.'
'Sherlock is getting high marks in the Bureau.'
'She deserves them. I'm glad I was bright enough to latch onto her right out of training. She's a plus to the Unit.'
'I imagine she's also other things to you, but that's none of my business. Make sure it remains none of my business. You take care of her, all right, Savich? And yourself. And call when you need backup.'
'Yes, sir, I will.' Savich paused just a moment, then turned, smiled, and strolled back into the living room, whistling.
She said immediately, 'What dolphin was Mr. Maitland talking about?'
'I told you I whittled. The dolphin was a piece my sister stole out of here and put on consignment in the Lampton Gallery. She was all over me to quit the FBI when the piece sold. I didn't have the heart to tell her that my boss bought it.'
'I see,' she said slowly. 'Do you happen, by any chance, to have any more whittled pieces around here?'
'A couple.'
He was clearly uncomfortable. She just smiled at him. 'Have you ever carved teak?'
'Oh yes, but my favorite is maple.'
'You've been doing it a long time. Some of the scars on your hands look very old.'
'Since I was a kid.'
She said nothing more.
It was chilly in Boston, the sky a dull gray, the clouds fat with rain. The buildings looked old and tired, ready to fold in on themselves. Lacey shivered in the small interrogation room, waiting for them to bring in Marlin Jones. She would have given about anything to be in San Francisco at that moment, where everything was at least two hundred years newer and the chances were really good that it was sunny. Then she remembered what was in Boston and shook her head. Where was Marlin Jones? Naturally his lawyer, Big John Bullock, would be with him. She hoped she could talk him into leaving her alone with Marlin. Just five minutes; that's all she wanted. Dillon was close by, just outside, speaking with the two homicide detectives in charge of Marlin Jones's case. Lots of people behind the two-way mirror would be watching and listening.
She heard leg shackles pounding hard. She looked up. Marlin stood in the doorway. He looked hard and tough, all gentle edges carved off him. He stared at her for a very long time, not moving, not saying a word. Then, finally, terrifyingly, he smiled. He lifted his shackled hands and waved his fingers at her. 'Hey, Marty, how's your arm? I remember how that felt, throwing that knife at you, watching it hit you, dig right into your skin. It went in so easy. Still hurt from my knife, Marty?'
'No, Marlin, I'm just fine. How's your belly? Can you stand up straight yet? You got a big scar to show for my bullet?'
He grew utterly still. The vicious light in his eyes went out, leaving them dark and opaque. 'You've still got that smart mouth on you, Marty. That wasn't an act you put on for me. You need a man to teach you how to behave.'
'Be quiet, Marlin,' Big John said, lightly touching his fingertips to Marlin's forearm. Marlin shook him off.
Big John never stopped looking at Lacey. 'Forget it, Agent Sherlock. There's no way I'll leave you alone with him.' He sat down.
'You sit down now too,' a sergeant said, shoving Marlin into a chair. 'Don't move or I'll shackle you to the arms. I'm standing right behind you, boy. Just keep your hands on the tabletop. Don't even let your hair grow, you got that?'
Marlin didn't say a word. 'He's got it,' said Big John. 'Don't worry, Officer.'
'You and I did a lot of dancing when I was last in Boston, Marlin. You remember our last tango through your little maze, don't you?'
'I thought you were so pretty, so precious, but then you started saying those bad things. But you don't even have a husband, do you?'
'Nope, no husband.' She was holding her ballpoint pen, lightly tapping it on the tabletop. She said, 'You never saw me before I came into the lumber store, did you, Marlin?'
'Me? See you?' He paused a moment, then smiled at her. 'You think maybe that's possible?' Then he
