He didn’t get to the top of the stairs alone. Beside him at the last minute were firemen, all garbed up and yelling for him to get back downstairs and out of the building.
He nodded, then saw a young woman struggling with two children, coughing, trying to pull them down the corridor. The two firemen had their hands full with other guests. Simon simply grabbed all three of them up in his arms and carried them downstairs. They were all coughing by the time they got out the front door, the kids crying and the mother holding herself together, comforting them, thanking him again and again until he just put his hand over her mouth. “It’s okay. Take care of your kids.”
They saved a lot of The Mermaid’s Tail, thank God, and all of the ten people staying there. No serious injuries, just some smoke inhalation.
Colin Smith, the agent sent over by Clark Hoyt to maintain an overnight watch on the bed-and-breakfast, told them he’d seen two men sneaking around, followed and lost them, turned back to see the smoke billowing up, and immediately called the fire department. That was why most of The Mermaid’s Tail was still standing.
Agent Smith left them, after making certain they were okay, to repeat his story to the fire chief and the arson investigator, who’d just arrived.
Simon was holding Lily close to him. She was barefoot, wearing a long white flannel nightgown that came to her ankles, and her hair was straggling around her shoulders. He’d managed to scramble into jeans and a sweater and sneakers before he’d left his bedroom. He blew out, but didn’t see his breath. It was cold, probably just below fifty degrees, and the firemen were distributing coats and blankets to all the victims. Neighbors were coming out with more blankets and coffee, even some rolls to eat.
Simon said, “You okay, Lily?”
She only nodded. “We’re alive. That’s all that matters. The bastards. I can’t believe they set the entire place on fire. So many people could have been hurt, even killed.”
“Your brother realized before I did that they’d probably try something. You met Agent Colin Smith. Your brother got the SAC here in Eureka to send him to watch over us.”
She sighed and just stayed where she was. She was exhausted, doubted that any part of her would move, even if she begged. “Yeah, I realized he was a guard for us. I sure wish he’d caught them before they set the fire.”
“He does, too. He’s really beating himself up. He was calling in his boss, Clark Hoyt, last time I saw him. Hoyt will probably be here soon. I’ll bet you he’s already called Savich.”
“At four o’clock in the morning?”
“Good point.”
“It’s really cold, Simon.”
He was sitting on a lawn chair that a neighbor had brought over. He pulled her onto his lap, wrapping the blankets around both of them. “Better?”
She just nodded against his shoulder and whispered, “This really sucks.”
He laughed.
“You know, Simon, even Remus wouldn’t go so far as to do this sort of thing. Someone so desperate, so malevolent, they don’t care how many people they kill? That’s really scary.”
“Yes,” he said slowly, “it is. I didn’t expect anything like this.”
“You got mugged in New York so soon after you left Washington. These people work really fast. I’m beginning to think it’s Olaf Jorgenson behind all this, not the Frasiers, just like you said. How would the Frasiers have even known about you or where you were?”
“I agree. But you know, the guy didn’t try to kill me, at least I don’t think he did.”
“Probably a warning.”
“I guess. This wasn’t a warning. This was for real. We’re in pretty deep now, Lily. I’ll bet you that Clark Hoyt isn’t going to let us out of his sight for as long as we’re in his neck of the woods.”
“At this point I’m glad. No, Simon, don’t say it. I’m not about to leave you alone now.” She fell silent, and for a little while he thought she’d finally just given out. Then she said, “Simon, did I ever tell you that Jeff MacNelly was my biggest influence for Remus?”
Who was Jeff MacNelly? He shook his head slowly, fascinated.
“Oh, yes, he was. I admired him tremendously.” When she realized he didn’t have a clue, she added, “Jeff MacNelly was a very famous and talented cartoonist. He won three Pulitzer Prizes skewering politicos. But he never once said that they were evil. He died in June of 2000. I really miss him. It upsets me that I never told him how much he meant to me, and to Remus.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, Lily.” He realized then that she was teetering on the edge of shock, so he pulled another blanket around her. It was too much even for her. Her life had flown out of control when she’d married Tennyson Frasier. He couldn’t imagine what she’d gone through when her daughter had been killed and she’d managed to survive months of depression. And then all this.
Lily said, “Jeff MacNelly said that ‘when it comes to humor, there’s no substitute for reality and politicians.’ I don’t like this reality part, Simon, I really don’t.”
“I don’t either.”
Washington, D.C.
Hoover Building
Savich slowly hung up the phone, stared out his window a moment, then lowered his face to his hands.
He heard Sherlock say, “What is it, Dillon? What’s happened?” Her competent hands were massaging his shoulders, her breath was warm on his temple.
He slowly raised his head to look up at her. “I should have killed her, Sherlock, should have shot her cleanly in the head, just like I did Tommy Tuttle. This is all my fault-that boy’s death in Chevy Chase, and now this.”
“She’s killed again?”
He nodded, and she hated the despair in his eyes, the pain that radiated from him. “In Road Town, Tortola, in the British Virgin Islands.”
“Tell me.”
“That was Jimmy Maitland. He said the police commissioner received all our reports, alerted his local officers, waited, and then a local pharmacist was murdered, his throat cut. The place was trashed, impossible to tell what drugs were taken, but we know what was stolen-pain meds and antibiotics. They don’t have any leads, but they’re combing the island for a one-armed woman who’s not in good shape. No sign of her yet. Not even a whiff. Tortola isn’t like Saint Thomas. It’s far more primitive, less populated, more places to hide, and the bottom line is there’s just no way to get to and from the island except by boat.”
“I’m very sorry it happened. You know she’s gotten ahold of a boat. By now she’s probably long gone from Tortola, to another island.”
“It’s hard to believe that no one’s reported a boat stolen.”
“It’s late,” Sherlock said. “E-mail all the other islands, then let it go for a while. Let’s go home, play with Sean, then head over to the gym. You need a really hard workout, Dillon.”
He rose slowly. “Okay, first I’ve got to talk to all the local cops down there, make sure they know what’s happened on Tortola, tell them again how dangerous she is.” He kissed her, hugged her tightly, and said against her temple, “Go home and start playing with Sean. I’ll be there in a while. Have him gum some graham crackers for me.”
Quantico, Virginia
FBI Academy
Special Agent Virginia Cosgrove cocked her head to one side and said, “Marilyn, it’s for you. A woman, says she’s with Dillon Savich’s unit at headquarters. I’ll be listening on the other line, okay?”
Marilyn Warluski, who was folding the last of her new clothes into the suitcase provided by the FBI, nodded, a puzzled look on her face. She was staying in the Jefferson dorm with two women agents, just starting to get used to things. What did Mr. Savich want from her now? She took the phone from Agent Cosgrove and said, “Hello?”
“Hi, sweet chops. It’s Timmy. You hot for me, baby?”
Marilyn closed her eyes tight against the shock, against the disbelief. “Tammy,” she whispered. “Is it really you?”
“No, it’s Timmy. Listen up, sweetie, I need to see you. I want you to fly down here, to Antigua, tomorrow; that’s when I’ll be there. I’ll be at the Reed Airport, waiting for you. Don’t disappoint me, baby, okay?”
