wasn’t sure I’d be able to do so again.
It was a clear autumn day, the colors of the trees in the distance and the gray-blue water beneath the sky making the place feel more like a sparsely populated rural town than a great city. As I crossed the bridge, I looked at the gray walls and slate roofs of the university. When I’d attended the crime-writing conference in D.C., a seriously dull criminologist had given a lecture there. The only laugh was provided by a local detective who said that criminology was as much use in law enforcement as a liquorice night stick. I wondered if Clem Simmons knew him. What were his motives in sharing information with Joe and me? He must have been desperate to solve the cases he’d been taken off-or maybe he just hated the FBI. The latter wasn’t exactly my favorite organization right now, either.
The diagrams-if that was what they were-flashed into my mind. I’d left the hard copies I’d made in the safe. There was something about them, something hovering on the margins of my consciousness. They had some esoteric meaning, even though they remained nothing more than collections of squares and rectangles. Random was the one thing they weren’t-I was sure of that. But their significance continued to elude me. Could there be something mathematical about them, a code in the lengths and angles?
The bridge crossed a busy freeway and led down to M Street. The address I wanted was a few streets to the north. I found it easily-a well-maintained row house with a heavy black door and solid-looking windows. Even under cover of darkness, it would be hard to break in unnoticed. On the other hand, standing on the street for any length of time would attract attention, too. I was going to have to come up with a plan pretty soon-and I wasn’t even sure that Gavin Burdett was on this side of the Atlantic. I walked back to Wisconsin Avenue, then went down to M Street and found a cell-phone shop. With a prepaid phone I went back outside and called Joe.
“Yeah, it’s me,” I said. “Any news?”
“Not much. I’m still looking at that Antichurch, but no hot leads yet. Oh, and the FBI’s violent-crimes unit’s giving a press conference about the murders at three o’clock. I’ll be there. What about you?”
“I’ve located the house. No sign of G.B. I’m going to check the back.”
“All right, man. Make sure your phone’s on vibrate.”
I heard a guffaw as I ended the call.
Walking farther down the street, I found a hardware store. I bought a collection of basic tools and a plastic safety helmet, so now I looked reasonably official. I headed back to the house, this time turning onto the street behind. I had counted my steps so that I ended up behind the right place. There was a large tree between two houses, its leaves an iridescent blend of red, yellow and green. More to the point, there was a narrow driveway leading inward. I walked confidently down it.
There were a couple of garages on the right and a high stone wall blocking my way ahead. I looked around. There were trees behind me, so I was pretty well obscured from the houses I’d passed. I considered the situation. If I was challenged, I would say I was a contractor. If the worse came to the worst, I had the Glock. I was thinking about Karen. Even if Burdett wasn’t staying in the house, I might find evidence tying him or the owners to her-even to her disappearance, if I was really lucky. Maybe she was even in there. I had to go for it, but first I would check the front again. It would be dumb to break in from the back and find someone had recently arrived.
I retraced my steps. About fifty yards before I got to the house, a black limousine swept past me and stopped outside it. I slowed down and started rummaging in my toolbox. I looked up when I heard a door slam. A figure in a dark blue coat had got out of the car and was walking to the front door. When he got there, he looked round and nodded to the waiting chauffeur before going inside.
I recognized him immediately. It was Gavin Burdett.
Thirty-Three
Peter Sebastian glared at his subordinate. “When does the Marine Corps think its database will be operative again?” he demanded.
Special Agent Maltravers tried to smooth talk him. “It shouldn’t be long. Not more than another two hours.”
The blond man looked at his watch. “But that takes us to after three o’clock. What am I supposed to announce to the gathered press? That the victim was in the marines, but we don’t know who he is?”
“You could always put the blame on the marines.”
Sebastian looked at her unbelievingly. “Are you out of your mind, Dana? You don’t fuck with the Marine Corps.”
“Or alternatively, you could say that we’re informing next of kin.”
The anger faded from his features. “That’s more like it. What else have we got?”
The young woman looked at her notes. “Not a great deal. No witnesses to the body being dumped in the river, no reports of anyone being beaten. Then again, the scene’s location is hardly the safest in D.C.”
“Nor are the residents likely to talk to us. Are we getting full cooperation from the MPDC since we took the occult cases from them?”
Dana Maltravers shrugged. “I guess. The dispatch commander gave us access to all reported incidents. Nothing’s squared with our man.”
“No missing-persons reports that match?” Sebastian asked hopefully.
Maltravers shook her head. “I’m having them all checked.”
“Shit. I’m walking into a bullring with no pants on.”
His subordinate swallowed a smile. “Sir,” she said tentatively, “are you quite sure that the man in the river is connected with the occult killings?”
Peter Sebastian looked at her thoughtfully. “Any particular reason why I shouldn’t be?”
“Well, for a start, there was no diagram.”
“Go on.”
“I’m concerned by the lack of a specific locus. The other three victims were all killed in places where they worked.”
“If you count Loki’s van as a workplace.”
“I think we can. The point is, the killer went to great trouble to study his victims and identify a time of attack. The guy in the water looks more like a straightforward homicide. Maybe he was just caught up in a gang scrap.”
Sebastian’s eyes moved off her. “Maybe… But the quickest way I could get control of the cases was by including the latest one in the series. The press doesn’t know about the diagrams, anyway.”
“You’re going to maintain that policy?”
“I think so.” He looked at the file in front of him. “What are the document-analysis people saying?”
“Still nothing. They’re inclined to think that the killer’s playing what they call ‘diversionary games.’”
“They’re just hedging their bets. Hate Crimes?”
“Still waiting.”
Sebastian’s eyes opened wide. “What? I sent the assholes a formal request.” He grabbed his phone. “Christ, if you want anything done around here, you have to do it yourself.”
Dana Maltravers backed out of her boss’s office. When he was in that kind of mood, he was impossible to handle.
I gave Gavin Burdett some time to settle in. A minute seemed long enough. Then I went up to the door and gave the bell a long push. There was a security camera above the top left corner. I made sure the safety helmet covered the upper part of my face. It was possible Burdett knew what I looked like-my photo appeared at the head of my newspaper column every Thursday.
The door was opened on the chain.
“You gotta problem with your icebox,” I said, laying on an American accent.
“What?”
“Your icebox,” I repeated, sounding as irritated as possible to put him on the back foot. “Excuse me, could we move this along? I got five more customers waiting.”
