“I don’t need you to, Elsa, although I’m convinced it would help you.”
Elsa said, “The fact is, I’ve remembered almost all of it.” She heard her husband’s quick indrawn breath, but didn’t pause. “The girl Claudia called him her sweet pickle. He was a filthy old man with a hacking cough. She tied my hands behind my back in that dirty old van, told me that he wanted to see her with a woman and that he picked me because she’d told him I looked like her, like I could be her mama and wasn’t that the coolest thing? Then he told her to pretend she was diddling her own mama. The old man blindfolded me and then the girl started.” She began to cry quietly. She swallowed hard and whispered, “
The oddest thing is that I didn’t feel the pain in my eyes until later, in the emergency room.”
“You were in shock, a good thing.”
“I suppose it was.” She lifted her glasses only enough to lightly daub the edge of a monogrammed white handkerchief to her eyes. She straightened her glasses again and said, “It doesn’t hurt so much anymore when I cry.”
Jon Bender said, “Tell them about the farmer, Elsa.”
“The farmer who found me. He visited me in the hospital every single day, brought me roses. He’d sit by my bed and tell me about how he grows barley and oats. Jon came late that night, and three days later, he brought me back here, to our old home, only I can’t see what they’ve done to it since I left.”
“Ask him, Elsa. Simply ask him.”
Jon Bender looked like he wanted to burst into tears. He said, “I didn’t do anything, Elsa.”
“Good.” For the first time she smiled a little. “I hate fussy things. I’m glad you left it clean.” She let Savich ask her questions for several minutes and gave the best description she could of Moses and Claudia. She agreed to talk to a sketch artist later in the day. She told Savich about how Claudia did indeed look like her daughter. She smiled toward her ex-husband. “Jon, give them that photo of Annie throwing the beach ball. Remember, I sent you a duplicate? The resemblance is really quite striking.”
While Mr. Bender was gone, she said, “Tell me more about your boy, Mr. Savich.” Her hand still rested comfortably between his.
“His name is Sean, and he’s a pistol.” He watched her face as he told her about Sean’s birthday party, where Savich’s sister Lily chased around twenty small children, her feet in gigantic clown shoes. He told her how Sean loved to barrel at him the moment he walked through the front door every evening. Hearing this, she was smiling, breathing easily.
Jon Bender broke in when he returned. “I’ve been trying to talk Elsa into giving me another chance, Agent Savich.”
The hand in Savich’s stiffened a bit, then relaxed. She wasn’t ready to let go of him yet, and that was fine.
“I’ve promised her over and over I won’t ever be an ass-hole again.”
And glory of glories, Elsa Bender laughed. She looked up in the direction of her ex-husband’s voice. “
Perhaps you won’t,” she said. “The kids seem to think you won’t. Perhaps.”
Sherlock looked closely at Jon Bender’s face, studied his eyes as he looked at Elsa. “You know what, Elsa? I think this guy of yours has learned what’s important to him.”
Ten minutes later, Savich clasped Elsa’s hands in both of his and pulled her slowly to her feet, letting the afghan pool at her feet. She wasn’t quite steady.
He said, “You’re going to be fine, Elsa. Jon is going to bundle you up and take you for a nice walk, maybe make some hot chocolate when you get back. It’ll put color back in your cheeks.”
IT WAS NEARLY nine o’clock Wednesday night when Savich knocked on Sheriff Noble’s front door. They heard Brewster’s big-dog bark, footsteps running to the front door before it was flung open, Rob and Rafe elbowing each other to be front and center.
“Hello, Special Agent Savich. Hello, Special Agent Sherlock. Did you shoot anyone today?”
“Oh yes,” Sherlock said immediately. “It was all blood and gore. Took me forever to wash it all off.”
“Dude! Really, tell us everything you did. Not just the boring stuff like Dad does, but the cool stuff?”
Savich smiled for the first time since leaving Washington hours before. He hugged both boys quickly, breathing in their excitement, their teenage love of anything gruesome. In ten years or so would Sean be asking the same things?
Rob said, “We waited dinner for you until Dad said he was going to gnaw on his elbows if he didn’t eat. We had bouillabaisse, Ms. McCutcheon brought it over because she knows Dad likes it. It was okay if you like fish.”
“Dillon, come on in the living room,” Ruth called out, before appearing in the doorway, Dix at her shoulder. “We’ve got some delicious tea, some scones that Millie of Millie’s Deli made herself, just for the Feds, and Dix and I had something really interesting happen today, but never mind that just now. Boys, bring in the Federal agents and let’s eat.”
“So how was your day?” Dix asked as he handed out scones.
Sherlock smiled as she took a cup of tea from Ruth. “Actually, our afternoon was great. We took Sean out to build a snowman, poured hot chocolate down his gullet, and listened to him talk nonstop about his grandmother’s new puppy.” She rolled her eyes. “I have a feeling there’ll be barking in our house very soon now.”
“Dogs are good,” Dix said as he gave Brewster a pat. “This little guy keeps my neck warm at night.”
Rob and Rafe finally went off to bed after nearly an hour and four more scones, Savich and Sherlock having filled their ears with horrifying, thoroughly fictional tales of mayhem in the suburbs of Philadelphia. Dix waited another couple of minutes until he was sure it was quiet upstairs, then nodded. “Okay, they’re down for the count. Tell us what really happened in Philadelphia. Could that poor woman tell you anything about Moses Grace and Claudia?”
Savich said, “Yeah, she did. Her name’s Elsa Bender. She’s going to be all right. I mean, I think the future looks pretty good for her.” Savich looked over at Dix and Ruth, who were sitting on the sofa opposite him and Sherlock, Brewster sleeping between them. He pulled a photo out of his shirt pocket. “
This is the Bender daughter, Annie. She’s seventeen in the photo—tall, slender, nearly white-blond hair, big blue eyes. Elsa Bender says she looks like Claudia.”
Ruth studied the photo. “She looks like a cheerleader whose biggest problem is deciding who to go out with after the football game on Saturday night. You’ve already got this photo out all around the Beltway, haven’t you, Dillon?”
“Oh yeah.”
Sherlock said, “Elsa said Moses Grace is as old as he sounds, at least seventy. His face is all leathery from too much sun, which suggests he could have spent a good deal of his life on a farm, an oil rig, a chain gang—take your pick. Elsa said he’s lean and wiry, but he didn’t look fit, he looked sort of gray. She said Claudia’s voice was sweet one minute, shrill the next, with a midwestern accent. As for Moses, we’ve heard his deep drawl, the excessive bad grammar that simply doesn’t feel right. Elsa also said he had a hacking cough, and was always spitting up. That was two months ago. He sounds much worse now.”
Dix sat forward, cuddling Brewster in his arms. “You had a productive day—”
Ruth cut in, the enthusiasm bubbling out of her. “But maybe not as exciting as ours. You’re going to love this. I’ll start you off with Ginger Stanford, and then move on to lunch with Chappy and the little rascals.”
“Then,” Dix said, “our piece de resistance—Helen Rafferty.”
CHAPTER 21
“…WHEN WE GOT to Stanislaus, we took Helen Rafferty into the employee lounge. Ruth didn’t give her a chance to settle, to get herself ready. She asked her point-blank about Dr. Holcombe and Erin Bushnell.”
Ruth smoothly took up the tale, as if they’d worked as a team for a very long time. “She actually started crying, and only got ahold of herself after I reminded her how important it all is, now that Erin is dead.”
Dix said, “After she dried her eyes, the first thing she did was ask us if we’d like some coffee. I said yes to give Helen some time to collect herself.”
Ruth said, “She apologized to Dix because she knew Dr. Holcombe was his uncle, but she had thought about it, and had to let it out. The bottom line is, Helen Rafferty admitted she and Dr. Holcombe—that’s how she always referred to him—were lovers for perhaps three months about five years ago. She said it was in the summer, when there weren’t many students around. He broke it off, told her that being with her drained him. You’re going to like
