“The postmortem rapes?”
“Exactly. Tell me, did you notice that the name ‘Erin’ is fully contained within ‘Catherine’? That undoubtedly contributed to your success in drawing Berkmann, even though you knew nothing about it.”
“My God. I never saw it.”
“This is the key, Cole. Did you notice his choice of words in describing Kali? He didn’t call her his wife, or his lover, but his
“So?”
“The word has some very specific meanings. One refers to a secondary wife, one of inferior status. Yet we know from the transcripts that Berkmann legally married Kali.”
“So?”
“If she was of secondary status, who held the primary position?”
At last I see it.
“He’s been searching for that person his whole life,” Lenz says. “The substitute for his mother, the sister- lover he never had. Your ‘Erin’ came along at precisely the right moment. The similarities between the names, your own incestuous secret revealed to him through her eyes. He couldn’t resist it.”
“And his transplant plans?”
“Fate and the FBI had already interrupted them. His scientific search for immortality was on hold. But there was always another way.”
“Children,” I say softly, recalling Miles’s thesis.
“Exactly. The only true immortality we’ll ever have. At some level Berkmann always knew that. Even if he gained an extra twenty vital years from his pineal transplant, he would only be postponing the end. But DNA lives forever. As long as there are offspring, anyway.”
A single searing image fills my brain: the incision in Erin’s abdomen. “That’s why he….”
“The ovaries, Cole. That’s why he cut out Erin Graham’s ovaries.”
“He threw them away. When he found out Erin wasn’t who he thought she was, he threw them away.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Goddamn it, what’s the final answer here? If he’s alive, will he run or will he come back here?”
“Tell me about the videotape. Did he threaten you?”
“Not beyond the ‘mills of the gods’ line.”
“Nothing else? You’ve got to realize that Berkmann’s mental decompensation wouldn’t prevent him from being as calculating or manipulative as he ever was. It’s conceivable that everything on that tape was meant to influence you in a certain way.”
Though my mind resists it, I force myself to replay the sickening tape in my mind. “He seemed to lose control about halfway through it. He said he was going into hiding. He also seemed to fixate on my wife at one point. He called her the alpha female of the family, talked about how perfect she was.”
“Did he say anything else about her?”
“He said I didn’t deserve her.”
“You should move her to a safe location as quickly as possible. Tell no one where you’re going.”
I swallow, my throat dry. “You really think-”
“Edward Berkmann is a profoundly disturbed man who has been cut loose from his moorings. His only trusted ally was killed before his eyes. You are responsible for that. If he’s alive, he might be looking for revenge. He might have transferred his subconscious anima projection onto your wife. Anything is possible at this point.”
“That’s what I wanted to know, Doctor. I appreciate it.”
“I hope he’s dead, Cole. I couldn’t have said that a week ago. But I mean it now.”
“I hope so too. Good-bye.”
As I set down the phone, the effect of Lenz’s words flows through me like electric current. Though it will make me even later, I find the Jackson yellow pages and open them to the realtors’ section. Picking the biggest ad for Ridgeland, I dial the number. It’s nearly seven-forty, but I doubt the place is completely empty. After about twenty rings, a curt female voice answers. When I tell her I’m looking for a house to rent, not buy, the coolness becomes frigidity. Then I say the magic words.
“Money is not a consideration.”
She adopts a guardedly warmer tone. “A lot of people say that until they hear the prices out there. There’s really nothing to rent.”
“There’s always something for the right price.”
“Well… there is one place for sale; the owners got tired of waiting and moved to Idaho. But they wouldn’t rent for less than… four thousand. A month. And you couldn’t have a lease.”
“You’ll have a check for twelve grand in your hand tomorrow. But you don’t tramp any buyers through there for the next three months. Deal?”
I can almost hear her cursing herself for not asking more. After she takes my name, I race out to the Explorer with my keys in one hand and my pistol in the other.
Drewe is waiting outside her parents’ house with her bag. She doesn’t seem angry that I’m late. As I get out to open her door, someone opens the great front door of the Anderson house. It’s Patrick. He’s standing inside with Holly in his arms.
“Uncle Harp!”
The three-year-old begins squirming, leaving Patrick no choice but to let her down. She flies off the steps like a brunette cannonball and races to me. My eyes still on Patrick, I kneel and stop her at arm’s length, trying to keep my smile natural. While she squeezes closer, I glance to my left, at Drewe, but she looks away quickly and walks over to Patrick.
I lift Holly into my arms and hug her tight. She digs her face into my neck and folds her arms between us, as if to go to sleep on my shoulder.
“How you doin’, punkin?” I ask softly.
She shakes her head.
“What is it?”
“I miss Mommy.”
I close my eyes against the sting of tears, but it’s no use. Holly leans back, round-eyed and concerned. She touches the drops on my cheek. “You miss her too?”
“I miss her too, punkin.”
Her lower lip puffs out in a mixture of sadness and strength that I saw on Erin’s face many times.
“I’m okay, punkin. Thanks to you.”
“PawPaw and Daddy say Mommy’s in heaven,” she whispers. “Watching over us. Is that right? I can’t see her up there.”
“You listen to your Daddy,” I whisper back, wishing I had Patrick’s blind faith in God and all the rest.
“We’ve got to go, sweetie,” Drewe says, suddenly beside us.
She pulls Holly away, walks to the steps, and deposits her in Patrick’s arms. The symbolic nature of this act is inescapable. Patrick gives me a blank wave, then turns and goes back into the house. Holly watches me over his shoulder as they go.
Taking a deep breath, I climb back into the Explorer. Drewe is already inside, facing sternly forward. The first fifteen minutes of the drive pass in awkward silence. The stripped cotton fields look barren as battlefields, and the hope I felt so recently wavers in the face of them.
“I got us a house,” I say finally, almost in defense.
“What?”
“I got us a house. In Ridgeland. We can move in this week. If it’s not ready by tomorrow, we can get a hotel.”
Her glance is brief, but I see gratitude in it.
“Drewe-”
“It’s okay to talk about it,” she says too loudly. “The worst thing we could do is keep it hidden, like a piece of broken crystal. The first time we had to touch it, we’d both get cut.”
“Does Patrick know anything yet?”
