“The cops down here think Berkmann’s dead,” I said. “What does Baxter think?”
“He doesn’t accept a death until he sees the body. Do you think he’s dead?”
“It’s hard for me to imagine it. What does Dr. Lenz think?”
“Lenz is out of the loop. The shrink they’re using now is studying your printouts like a lost book of the Bible. He’s full of shit. He thinks Berkmann’s ultimate plan is to resurrect a corpse by transplanting a healthy pineal into it. His mother’s, for example.”
“Baxter actually has people watching Catherine Berkmann’s grave right now. It’s right here in New York.”
“Christ, that’s not Brahma’s thing.”
“I know that. This guy’s locked into known paradigms, man. Believe it or not, they’ve caught serial killers before by staking out graves.”
“What about Peter Levy? What are they doing to find him? Can’t they contact people who knew Berkmann for help now that they know who he is?”
“Berkmann has no relatives in the U.S. His colleagues say he’s an eccentric genius, terrific at attracting large donations to Columbia. Other than that they know zip about him. His house is essentially empty of evidence. No hostages, no body parts, no nasty crawl space full of surprises. Baxter says there has to be a killing house somewhere, rented or owned under a false name. That’s where Levy would be. He’s going to concentrate in Connecticut. They finally located the airstrip where Berkmann stored his plane. It’s outside Darien.”
As our discussion moved away from Berkmann’s technical plans and closer to Berkmann the man, I began to sense a strange undercurrent in Miles’s voice. It felt like anger, anger bordering on rage. When I asked him about it, he fell silent. Then, as I was about to speak again, he said: “Harper, I finally understand how Brahma-how Berkmann, I mean-got the master client list.”
After going so long without an answer to this question, I had almost forgotten it. But Miles obviously had not. “How?” I asked.
“From my apartment.”
“But I thought you hadn’t had any burglaries.”
“I haven’t.”
“I don’t get it. He hacked into your home workstation?”
“He didn’t hack into anything. When I first got Berkmann’s name from the Columbia computers, I searched every database I could get into. I got a mountain of stuff back, including pictures.”
“And?”
“As soon as I saw the first photo, I knew.”
“Knew
“That he’d been in my apartment.” Miles paused, letting it sink in. “That I’d let him into my apartment.”
A hot numbness swept over my face. I tried to swallow, but my throat muscles didn’t seem to be working properly. “Uh… when was this?”
“About a year ago. He wasn’t calling himself Berkmann then. I met him at a party in the Village.”
“But how did he… I mean, how did he use your computer without your knowing?”
“I was sleeping. He must have gotten up without me realizing it. That was the only time I ever saw him. But one night was enough for him to get the master client list.”
In spite of my past suspicions, I still couldn’t imagine Miles involved with a man in this way-particularly Brahma. “Miles, I-”
“I’d rather not discuss it,” he said curtly. “I felt I owed you the truth, after prying into your relationship with Erin. Holly and everything.”
“Miles, you sound pretty upset.”
“Edward Berkmann killed Erin, Harper. She was a special person. And he violated my trust-violated
“Miles!” I broke in, afraid to hear more. “If Brahma is alive, my family could be in danger. Tell me what he looks like. How dangerous would he be one-on-one?”
I heard shallow breathing and thought of the agony Miles must be going through. “His description of himself was accurate,” he said in a flat voice. “Cellini’s
The tortured tone in Miles’s voice made listening to him almost unbearable. I said, “Can I reach you at this number if I need to?”
“Yes. It’s a rented cellular. There’s one other thing.”
“What?” I asked, having no choice.
“He had a scar across his upper abdomen. It was huge. I didn’t ask what caused it, but it must have been a serious operation.”
The hissing silence bound us like a chain.
“Miles?”
In a choked voice he said, “I’ve got to go, Harper.”
“Wait! Miles, whatever you did… however you are…. you don’t have to hide it, okay? Not from me. Not from Drewe. I just want you to know that.”
He said nothing.
“You watch your back up there, okay?”
I heard more shallow breathing, almost like panting. Then he said, “If Berkmann’s alive, I’m going to kill him.”
Before I could speak again, he was gone.
I started to redial his cellular, then hung up. The implications of what he’d said were impossible for me to fathom. I’m not even sure I wanted to. I leaned back in the chair and closed my eyes. The silence enfolded me like a shroud of thick cotton. Yet even as I slipped down into sleep, some part of me refused to yield to unconsciousness.
I stood up blinking and went into the bathroom, thinking I would take a hot shower. Then, remembering Brahma, I decided I didn’t want to put myself in quite so vulnerable a position. Instead I threaded my belt through the slits in the holster pouch of my.38, put on the gun, and shaved at the bathroom sink like a cowboy. I washed my face and neck with a steaming rag, then sat on the commode with the pistol in my hand.
I put down the gun to use the toilet paper. At the fourth pull, a flash of color caught my eye. Blinking with fatigue, I unfolded the wad of tissue in my hand. There was something pink on the paper, something other than pale flowered print. When I turned the tissue over, I saw letters. Written with a light touch in pink highlighter were the words:
My mouth went dry as sawdust. I snatched up the.38 but fell over as I tried to jerk up my pants. Finally zipped up, I eased through the bathroom door holding the pistol in front of me. Then I realized how stupid it was to be frightened. Brahma-
