how her violin sounded deep underground?”
Dix asked about Erin’s professors, if she knew anyone living in Maestro. He told her to call him if she thought of anything at all, and because he realized she needed it, he spoke to her of Rob and Rafe, about their sledding on Breaker’s Hill and Rafe’s double helix project. She was smiling when they left ten minutes later.
Sherlock rose on her tiptoes and said into Savich’s ear, “I thought there for a while that she was going to jump you.”
He looked startled, automatically shook his head. “You are such an innocent.” Sherlock squeezed his arm, and then she noticed the twinkle in his eyes. “Dillon, I’m going to have to punish you for pulling my chain like that.”
“How long have they been married?” Dix asked Ruth as he opened the passenger-side door for her.
“Forever,” Ruth said. She watched Dix looking at Savich and Sherlock, his gaze unreadable.
CHAPTER 17
AT SIX O’CLOCK, as everyone filed into Dix’s kitchen to eat his homemade meat loaf, mashed potatoes, green beans, and a Boston cream pie from Millie’s Deli, Savich’s cell phone sang the opening lines of “Georgia on My Mind.”
Savich excused himself and walked to the kitchen doorway. He looked down at his cell phone screen. It read Private. He said, “Savich here.”
“Hello, boy, been too long since I checked in with you, now ain’t it? Hey, you miss me and my little pranks?” Moses Grace’s scratchy old voice sounded happy and so clear he could have been at Savich’s elbow.
Savich quickly stepped over to his laptop, MAX, sitting open on the sideboard in the dining room, and pressed ENTER.
Savich had been waiting for this, had expected Moses Grace to call again, and here he was, only four days since Savich had first heard the old man’s voice. He walked into the entrance hall, not wanting anyone to overhear the conversation. “So, you’re blocking Caller ID, Moses. That’s cute. Did you kill someone else for this phone?”
An obscene laugh sounded in his ear, ending in a phlegm-filled cough. “Hey, you’re the cop, boy, you’re the one who’s supposed to be able to pinpoint a flea on a sand dune. But you know what? You couldn’t find me if I drove up and waved in your face. You want a hint?”
“Yes, give me a hint.”
“Maybe I will. Hey, how’s that precious little wife of yours?”
A flash of rage poured through Savich. “She’s well out of your reach.”
“You really believe that? I was thinking about taking that little wife of yours and giving her a shove off a nice steep cliff, watch her roll over and over and pound herself into pieces, watch her sprawl out dead at the bottom. You can watch, too, from the top, boy.”
Savich hated this, hated it to his soul. But words couldn’t kill and he needed Moses Grace to keep talking. “You still sound pretty bad, Moses. I suppose you’re too far gone for any drugs to help you?”
“Me? Not well? Just a little tobacco cough, is all. For a sick man, I did pretty well against all of you comic FBI agents at Arlington. How about I go shoot up the FBI building?”
“Yeah, why don’t you? Or maybe you should first come after me again, you evil old bastard.”
The old man was silent for a moment.
“Me? Evil? Yeah, well, meybe so. Meybe my pa poured Drano in Mama’s mouth when she sassed him once too often. Always had a mouth on her, Mama did. Daddy socked her upside the head so many times it knocked her brains squirrelly, but she kept on mouthing off at him.
“Hey, what do I care if I’m evil, anyway? The good Lord can take care of His, and I’ll take care of my own. Ain’t you glad to hear from me, Special Agent Savich? Special Agent—I like that, like all you baboons are worth spit. Four whole days and none of you have gotten anywhere close to me and Claudia. She laughs and laughs whenever we drive by a cop, even flips some of ’em the finger. A finger from my cute little dolly always makes the cops gape at her—they can’t believe someone so young and sweet-looking would do such a vulgar thing. She pushes the envelope when meybe she shouldn’t. Meybe she’s not the brightest child in the world, but she’s mine.”
“What do you want?”
“I done told you,” Moses said, his drawl stretching out endlessly. “I wanted to check in with you—ah, ask you a favor. I want you to call Ms. Lilly at the Bonhomie Club, tell her what a lovely memorial party she threw for Pinky last night.”
Moses Grace and Claudia hadn’t been in the nightclub the night before. Six undercover agents were there, hidden cameras everywhere. But they were outside, watching who went in.
“Your boss, D.A.D. Maitland, looked really nice in his dark suit and that yellow tie with the black squiggles on it.”
“Yeah, tell me what James Quinlan was wearing.”
“Dark suit, red tie with blue triangles on it, looked pretty somber for someone carrying a saxophone. I enjoyed listening to him play. Surprised me—there were lots of folks weeping. It was affectin’, real affectin’.”
Savich drew a deep breath. They’d been talking a good long time now. Maybe long enough, but he wasn
’t sure. Best to keep him talking as long as possible, to make certain. “Tell me, Moses, why are you so interested in me? Me in particular? What did I ever do to you?”
Moses was silent for a moment. “So you think this is personal, do you, boy? Well, fact is, you’re right. I got more hate for you stored up inside me than Lucifer.”
“Why?”
“You hurt her, boy, hurt her so bad she was screaming with it.” He broke off. Savich heard the old man’s breathing quicken.
“Who was that, Moses?”
“I might tell you before you die, boy. You know my Claudia still wants you, don’t you?”
All right. Moses was not going to tell him. He decided to shake the old man. It might be the best way to keep him on the line. Savich said in an amused voice, filled with contempt, “You think I’d actually have down and dirty sex with that bug-eyed crazy teenage slut? I bet Claudia drools, she’s so far gone, particularly since she’s with you.” Savich laughed, vicious and nail-hard. “Hey, I’d kick that crazy bitch in the head before I’d let her get near me. What is she, old man, your granddaughter? Or is she some pathetic drugged-out teenager you picked up?”
Blank surprise, Savich heard it in the cold, dead silence. He waited, finally heard a wheeze, as if Moses Grace was going to start hacking. He’d been as crude as he could manage—was this teenage girl old Moses’s lover?
Then Moses Grace wheezed out a laugh that made gooseflesh rise on Savich’s arms. He said in that wet drawl, “Must have been real tough for you, boy, talking all dirty like that. Let me tell you, you’ll change your mind if Claudia has a shot at you. I’ve seen my little sweet cakes diddle a woman before I told her enough was enough and to dig out the old girl’s eyes then kick her out of the van.”
Yes, tell me more, you insane old man, yes. “Yeah, right, you old liar. That’s about as believable as Hollywood throwing a ticker-tape parade for Schwarzenegger.”
He looked up to see Sherlock standing ten feet away, watching him. He said very deliberately, “It must be tough for you, Moses, knowing you’re too decrepit, too diseased, to screw your own wife.”
Savich felt cold dead rage blasting at him. Then Moses Grace chortled, a disgusting, juicy sound. “I don’t like a dirty mouth on you, boy, it don’t seem right somehow. You know, Claudia’s got her fantasies about you and I’ve got mine. We’ll see what you say when I watch your life drain away. I’ll win and you’
ll know it. See you then, Savich.”
There was the silence of dead space. Moses Grace had disconnected.
Sherlock walked to him, nosed against his shoulder. “I’ve never heard you speak like that before.”
“It surprised old Moses, too,” he said as he saw Dix walking toward them. Savich nodded to him, then speed-dialed the communications center in the Hoover Building. “This is Savich. Did you locate Moses Grace’s cell phone?”
He heard a man shouting, “I need the location now!” Then a voice came back on the line, panting, “He’s within a two-mile radius of a semi-rural area west of Dulles, heading toward Leesburg. We just dispatched local police and agents to the area. He was moving, and unfortunately knew enough to turn the phone off, so we’ve lost his signal. You kept him going a long time, Savich, but he didn’t make it easy on us. He was using a different carrier than yours, so we had to track him down through Sprint’s Automatic Number Identification system, using your
