'I'll bet there's never been a murder by rabies. Except when one of us bit someone, or maybe raped or even kissed someone. But it wouldn't be murder unless you knew you had it, right?'
'No. It would be something else.'
'You could never convict Father Joe based on what we know.'
'No, you couldn't.'
Hood watched as Seliah brought one of the book bags to her lap and looked down into it. She held up a Colt Model 1911.45 semiautomatic and waved it at him.
'Yours from Sean,' she said.
'Careful, now.'
'Not loaded.'
'I can't take that. It's his.'
'Not if doesn't get back here in a hurry. He'd want you to have it.'
She set the.45 back in the bag and brought out a Smith amp; Wesson.357 K frame, then a Glock.40-caliber. 'These, too. I don't need them. Sorry; I didn't bring any ammo. I don't know where he kept it. This is from me.'
She held up a bottle of wine. 'It's ten years old. I've been saving it for a special occasion.'
'Then keep it for one, Seliah.'
'If I live to drink another glass of wine, maybe you can be the one to pour it for me.'
'You can beat this thing.'
'They've used the protocol eighteen times since Jeanna,' she said. 'They all died but five. Five, Charlie.'
His eardrums started ringing. Brennan had said nothing of this and now Hood's soul felt fooled and helpless and angry. 'Five?'
'Yes. Now, I want you to hang on to these medals and give them to my mom and dad if I don't wake up. If Sean and I both go, then everything goes to the families. We have a will on file and I left a few numbers for you at home, on the kitchen counter. But I want these medals to come to Mom and Dad personally, and I want you to say thank you for me. These are mostly from college but some from high school. Mom and Dad drove me to every practice and meet you could think of, paid my way across the country and to Canada and Europe, helped me go to a college where I could swim. I was too wrapped up in myself to appreciate it at the time. But I know these trinkets would mean a lot to them. You can have one if you want but not one of the Pan Am games, okay?'
She held up a handful of them for him to see and dropped them back into the bag and lifted out another batch. In the rearview Hood could see the tears running down her face. Her voice was high and girlish and forced. 'Now, I want to have my ashes scattered at sea, of course. So in this other bag I've got some stuff I want to be tossed overboard, too. I'm sure there's a law against that so you just make sure to do it yourself, Charlie. Here's Daisy, a ceramic horse with a broken tail that I loved, and Sean named the dog after. And here's a doll named Betty, which is what Sean named the Piper after, and here's my dried-leaf collection from when I was a girl… Just pull out the leaves and throw them in. And this little wooden chest? There's a lock of Sean's hair and I'd like you to throw that into the sea, too. I want the hair to float for a while, then sink down with the ashes. In scatterings at sea, if the sunlight is right, you can see down deep into the water and the ashes get suspended in a big swirl where the boat has traveled. It's a pale streak left by the person, their last track on earth. It widens and lengthens and slowly fades. And that's where I want the hair to be, mixed in with me.'
'Okay.'
'Now, I don't think this is likely to happen, but if Sean lives through this thing, and you ever see him again, these are for him.' She reached into the bag and lifted in succession a stack of envelopes, two small ring boxes, a thick black book. 'Love letters and poems from when we were dating. His and mine. And my engagement and wedding rings are in the boxes. They'll make me take them off anyway. If I die, you give them to Sean. There's also a journal I've been keeping for eleven years now. Nobody should read it but him.'
She pushed the book back into the bag and yanked off her sunglasses and dabbed at her eyes with the black bandana. Her pupils were tiny and the whites were hot red and the irises faint blue. His eyes met hers in the mirror. She stared at him in between dabs, then growled at him and laughed and growled again louder. She pushed the sunglasses back on and stuffed the bandana into one of the bags. She was shivering and he could see the throb of her pulse in her carotid.
They were halfway there by now. Hood called Brennan on the cell and told him where they were. He told him to have people ready who could handle her in case she was violent. She listened and watched him in the glass. 'I can't do this, Charlie.'
'You're doing really well, Sel.'
'I've changed my mind.'
'You have no choice.'
'You do not offer or deny me choices.'
'You can beat it.'
'Pull over. I want out. Now.'
'I won't do that.'
'I demand that you do it.'
'I won't.'
'As a friend.'
'A friend would not pull over.'
'You're a weak man. It's all you are or ever were.'
'Jeanna beat it. You can beat it. There are your parents and friends and Sean and all those things you have in the bags. They're all more reasons for you to be strong.'
'Oh, what shit you pretend to believe, Hood. What pathetic, insulting garbage. You know what you are? You're play money. You're a boy. Grow some. You ever use that cock of yours to do anything but pee? Pull over and let me out of here!'
She hit the mesh hard with one fist, then the other. Hood heard the terrific crunch of flesh and bone on steel and when she hit the screen again he saw the blood on her knuckles and the dent in the mesh. She watched him in the glass as she licked her hands; then she wrenched her torso violently and uncoiled her right elbow against the bulletproof window. The impact was heavy. Hood wondered if it would hold. Then again, and again. She flew across the seat and battered the other window and Hood heard her grunting and growling and by the time he got the rearview trained to where he could see her, there were blood smears across the glass.
Hood hit the lights and gunned the Interceptor up tight onto the SUV ahead of him, whose driver quickly signaled and pulled over to let him pass.
30
In the paltry light of an underground security entrance usually reserved for shackled prisoners, five specially trained orderlies in bulky protective suits and visored helmets extracted Seliah from the slickback with long-handled nooses and a large padded blanket. Another stood by with a stun gun. A small gathering of curious doctors and nurses watched. Seliah thrashed and growled, saliva swinging from her chin as she bit at the noose and cursed Hood and her circle of trained tormentors.
It took them almost ten minutes to get her strapped onto a gurney. Not much of her was visible outside the blanket, only one pale arm, the red canvas sneakers at one end, and a flowing platinum cascade of hair at the other. She continued to struggle and spit out muffled curses from inside. A nurse stepped forward with a syringe and two of the orderlies pinned down Seliah's arm. Into the crook of her elbow drove the needle.
Hood watched in shame. A clean-shaven young man in a white coat and athletic shoes hurried over and offered his hand. 'I'm Dr. Witt. Did she bite or scratch or injure you in any way?'
Hood identified himself and said no.
'Any transference of body fluids from her to you? Blood, saliva…'
'None.'
'Make sure to clean out your car with a strong bleach and water solution. I'll have the custodial staff make up a bucket for you. If you have any wounds or open sores, I can get them to clean the car for you.'
