floor.
“Sherlock!”
“My God, is she shot?”
“What happened?”
The other three agents converged.
Savich knew he couldn’t stop, but it was the hardest thing he’d ever done in his life. He yelled, “Make sure she’s all right! Conners, check everyone out! Deevers, Conlin, Marks, Abrams, you’re with me!”
He heard one of the agents shout after him, “She’s breathing, can’t see anything wrong with her. The guy wasn’t in here, Savich. We don’t know where he went.”
The window, he thought, Sherlock had been staring at that window. He picked up a chair and smashed it into the huge glass window.
When they managed to climb out the window they’d cleared of glass, they knew, logically, that Timmy Tuttle and Marilyn Warluski couldn’t have come this way since the glass hadn’t been broken. But it didn’t matter. Where else could Timmy Tuttle have gone? They covered every inch of ground, looked into all the buildings, even went onto the tarmac where one American 757 sat waiting, calling up to the pilot. But Tammy or Timmy Tuttle was gone, and Marilyn as well. As if they’d just vanished into thin air, with nothing left to prove they’d even been there except for Virginia Cosgrove’s body, bloodless now, lying on her side, covered with several blankets, local technicians working over her. And the one local officer Timmy Tuttle had shot through the head.
He’d used his right hand when he’d shot that officer.
Savich had shot Tammy Tuttle through her right arm in that barn in Maryland, near the Plum River.
At the hospital, they’d amputated her right arm.
He wondered if they were all going mad.
No, no, there was an explanation.
Somehow a man had gotten into the airport, killed Virginia Cosgrove, and grabbed Marilyn. And no one had seen him until he had Marilyn by the neck and was dragging her away.
No one much wanted to talk. Everyone who had been in the airport appeared confused and looked, strangely, hungover.
Savich and his team went back to the security room. Sherlock was still unconscious, covered with blankets, a local physician sitting on the floor beside her.
No one had much to say. Jimmy Maitland was sitting in a chair near Sherlock.
Savich picked up his wife, carried her to a chair, and sat down with her in his arms. He rocked her, never looking away from her face.
“It’s as if she’s asleep,” the physician said, standing now beside him. “Just asleep. She should wake up soon and tell us what happened.”
Jimmy Maitland said, “We’ve put out an island-wide alert for Timmy Tuttle, with description, and Marilyn Warluski, with description. The three agents with Sherlock didn’t see a single blessed thing. Nada.”
Savich nodded, touched his wife’s hair. He didn’t think he’d be surprised by anything ever again.
A few minutes later, Sherlock opened her eyes. She looked up and, surprisingly, smiled. “You’re holding me, Dillon. Why? What happened?”
“You don’t remember?” He spoke very slowly, the words not really wanting to speak themselves, probably because he didn’t want an answer.
She closed her eyes for a moment, frowned, then said, “I remember I ran into this room, three other agents behind me. No one was here.” She frowned. “No, I’m not sure. There was something-a light maybe-something. I can’t remember.”
“When I came in, you were standing perfectly still, staring out that big window. The other agents were searching the room. But you didn’t move, didn’t twitch or anything, and then you just fell over.”
Jimmy Maitland said, “Did you see anything of Timmy Tuttle or Marilyn?”
Sherlock said, “Timmy Tuttle-yes, that crazy-looking guy who was as pale as an apocalypse horseman-yes, I remember. He was holding Marilyn around her neck-a knife, yes, he had a knife. I was terrified when I saw Dillon go in after him into that conference room.”
“You saw Timmy go into the conference room?”
“I think so. But that can’t be right. Didn’t he come in here?”
“We don’t know. None of the agents saw him in here,” Savich said. “No, Sherlock, that’s okay. You just rest now. You’ll probably remember more once you get yourself together. Does your head ache?”
“A bit, why?”
“You feel maybe a bit like you’re hungover?”
“Well, yes, that’s right.”
Savich looked up at Jimmy Maitland and nodded. “Everyone I’ve spoken to, agents and civilians alike, everyone feels like that.”
“Sherlock,” Maitland said, crouching down beside her. “Why was it just you who collapsed? You must have seen something.”
“I’m thinking, sir, as hard as I can.”
Dillon slowly eased her up until she was sitting on his lap. She started shaking. Savich nearly lost it. He pulled her hard against him, protecting her, from what, he didn’t know. He just didn’t want her hurt, no more hurt, no more monsters from the unknown.
Then she said, pulling away from him just a little bit, her voice firm and steady, “Dillon, I’m all right. I promise. I’ve got stuff to think about. Something really weird happened, didn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“It’s there, in the back of my brain, and I’ll get it out.”
20
Eureka, California
Morrie Jones stared at the young woman who had taken him down, hurt him, dammit, before he could get away from her. He just couldn’t believe it. She was skinny, looked like a damned little debutante with her blond hair and blue eyes and innocent face, like the prototypical little WASP. That damned lawyer of his had even told him that she’d been recovering from surgery and she’d still stomped his ass. He really wanted to hurt her. Hell, he’d even do it for free, this time.
He said to Simon, “You claimed I didn’t need my lawyer, that you just wanted to talk to me, that you had something to offer that I couldn’t refuse. You from the DA’s office?”
Simon said, “No, but I have her approval. I see you remember Ms. Savich.”
“Nah, I heard her name was Frasier. I know that’s right because that’s the name of the broad I’m going to sue for attacking me.”
Lily gave him a big smile. “You go ahead and sue me, boyo, and I’ll just smack your face off again. What do you think?” She cracked her knuckles, a sound Morrie Jones had hated since he was a kid and his old man did it whenever he was drunk.
“Stop that,” Morrie said, staring at her hands. “Why’d the cops let you two in here?”
She cracked her knuckles again, something she’d rarely done since she was a bookie and some kid from another neighborhood had threatened to horn in on her territory. “What’s the matter, Morrie? I still scare you?”
“Shut up, you bitch.”
“Call me a bitch again and I’ll make you eat your tongue.” She gave him a sweet smile, with one dimple.
Simon said, “All right, that’s enough. Listen up, Morrie. We want you to tell us who hired you. It could save your life.”
Morrie started whistling “Old Man River.”
Lily laughed. “Come on, Morrie, spare us. You got a brain? Use it. Herman Monk is dead, shot three times in the back.”
