Deluge

'Oh, yes,' she said. 'You think he killed Tim?'

Mac didn't answer.

Above them Laird the Loud shouted in gibberish and then let out a triumphant laugh. Rena looked up the stairs and then at Mac.

'Welcome to our life,' she said. 'Can I go be with my baby now?'

'Go ahead,' said Mac.

The mutilated corpse of Timothy Byrold was definitely the work of the same person who had killed Patricia Mycrant and James Feldt.

Before Mac had checked for prints or examined the body for strands of hair that didn't belong; before he had taken samples of blood or scraped under the dead man's fingernails; Mac had used a swatch of gauze dipped in alcohol to clear away just enough blood to read the letter A carved into Timothy Byrold's thigh.

Mac was not surprised. They had found Patricia Mycrant first, D. Then James Feldt, A, and now Timothy Byrold, another A. DAA. But that was not the timeline of the murders, just the order in which they had found the bodies. The actual sequence was ADA. The name Feldt had typed onto his computer was 'adam.' Rena Prince had seen a limping man go into Byrold's apartment. The man had identified himself as 'Don' or 'Dom.' Could it have been 'Adam'?

The killer with a limp was not finished. It was only three in the afternoon. Plenty of time left in the day and who could be certain that he would be finished when he had finished spelling Adam? Perhaps there was a last name too.

Maybe Sid Hammerbeck could come up with something more.

After he had talked to Dorrie and her mother, Mac's cell phone rang. It was Leonard Giles.

'You going to be back here in the reasonable future?'

'On my way,' said Mac.

'Good. Something interesting on the Stanwick Oil building security tapes from this morning.'

'A limping man,' said Mac.

'A limping man,' said Giles. 'I assume that was no prescient guess.'

'No.'

'No clear view of his face,' said Giles. 'Hooded. Guard doesn't know how the man with the limp got past him. Guard is seventy, wears significant glasses and requires frequent visits to the bathroom.'

'Thanks,' said Mac.

'You haven't heard it all,' said Giles. 'I played some computer games, videos from rehab centers of people with permanent leg trauma.'

'The limp,' said Mac.

'The limp,' Giles agreed. 'I looked at and did overlays of the videos and those of the man in the lobby.'

'And you found?'

'Our limping man has an artificial leg,' said Giles.

'You're sure?'

'I am acutely aware of the various causes of crippling trauma. An artificial leg is an awkward thing to hide, but it can be done with a great deal of patience and practice. All of which suggests that our limping man suffered his loss in the past year or so. He's still learning.'

'I'm on my way,' said Mac. 'Thanks.'

Mac picked up his kit and headed down the hallway, the ranting Laird's voice bellowing above. His phone rang again. 'Yeah.'

'Mac. What've you got?'

'Another corpse,' he told Flack. 'A suspect. You?'

'Something very interesting about Patricia Mycrant, a possible motive for her murder. And more.'

Flack told Mac what he had learned from Gladys Mycrant.

'Follow it,' Mac said.

'I will,' said Flack. 'You inside or out?'

'In, going out.'

'Surprise waiting for you on the street,' said Flack. 'The rain stopped.'

* * *

'So what have we got?' Danny asked, looking at the computer screen.

The head and neck of a man with a rod sticking out of his neck and another protruding from his eye almost filled the screen. Danny worked the mouse and the head began to slowly turn. He worked the mouse again and the rods turned red. The depth of the intrusion of the rods was clearly visible.

'Neck wound, the one that killed him, the first blow, is at a thirty-degree angle from back to front,' said Danny. 'Conclusion?'

Lindsay made a fist with her right hand and reached over. She made a thrust toward Danny's neck.

'If the killer was right-handed,' she said, 'and struck from in front of the victim, he- '

'Or she,' added Danny.

'Or she,' Lindsay agreed, 'was pretty strong. Wound is three inches deep through flesh and bone.'

'And with a pencil,' said Danny.

'Strong killer.'

'And Havel just stood there.'

'He didn't expect it,' said Lindsay.

'So if he's sitting or standing behind his desk and someone comes out of the closet and starts coming at him with a sharp pencil in his hand…'

'He's not just going to stand there quietly waiting and then let himself be stabbed,' she said.

'With a pencil,' said Danny, shaking his head. 'Why didn't the killer use a knife, or one of the metal rods in the closet?'

'I don't know,' said Lindsay. 'Unless he didn't plan to kill Havel. He came at him, got angry, picked up a pencil from the desk and- '

'What if the killer was left-handed?' asked Danny.

'Look at the angle,' she said. 'The blow would have to have been struck from behind and the thrust…'

She demonstrated.

'Would have to have been forward.'

Danny manipulated the image of the head toward him. The rod in the neck slowly pulled out. The head turned away. The rod went back in with a jolt.

'He'd have to have been standing,' said Danny. 'Or the killer had to have been kneeling behind him.'

'Not likely,' said Lindsay.

'Not likely,' Danny agreed. 'But what about the other blow, the pencil in the eye?'

'After Havel was dead,' Lindsay said. 'What sense does that make?'

Danny touched the keys on the pad in front of him and the rod slowly pulled out of the eye.

'No angle,' he said. 'Straight in, almost four inches. It looks as if it were pounded in with a hammer.'

'Not a hammer,' Lindsay said, 'but something. The eraser is almost torn off.'

She reached past Danny, hit some keys and a report appeared on the screen. He read it slowly. 'Traces of glass.'

He sat back, put his hands behind his head and looked at her.

'How'd you like to take a trip back to school, Montana? See what we may have missed?'

'Why not?'

'The rain's stopped,' he said. 'Want to pick up a couple of coffees on the way?'

'Why not,' she said again. 'And let's call Stella, see how Hawkes is doing.'

* * *