Steve and Neil both got up to leave, but Neil avoided looking at him.
“By the way, somebody let the word out about his prior offenses and the media want details.”
“Who let that out?”
“Who the hell knows? But the vultures are circling.”
37
Steve did not drive straight home. Instead, he made a copy of the Farina file and the Pendergast video. After calling ahead, he drove to Belmont, a small town ten miles west of Boston, and up a sleepy little street off Cushing Square. At number thirty-two, a modest Tudor single family, he rang the doorbell. In a matter of moments the door swung open and a large woman filled the entrance. She squinted at him. “I remember the face, but the name escapes me.”
“Philo Vance.”
She laughed and gave him a one-arm hug. “How are you, Steve?”
“Just dandy.” She led him inside.
Jacqueline Levini had worked for the Behavioral Science Unit of the FBI at Quantico for several years before accepting a teaching position at Northeastern University. She was an old friend and a gifted profiler and the one who gotten him the job in the evening program. In her late fifties, Jackie looked more like someone who studied subatomic particles than serial killers. She had a frizzy head of salt-and-pepper hair that looked as if it had been styled by Albert Einstein. Her face was fleshy and expressive and lit by piercing blue eyes that made you wonder if she were wearing colored contact lenses. She was dressed in an oversized T-shirt that said
“I’ve got a lovely bottle of Montefalco from my friend Dick Elia, and it refuses to be consumed alone.”
She led him into the living room, which was done in leather and claret Oriental carpets and soft lighting. He could feel the demon pull of the bouquet. “Sorry, Jackie, but I have to refuse.”
“It’s too late to be working, or don’t you like wine?”
“It doesn’t like me.”
“Then how about a coffee or Pellegrino?”
“Pellegrino would be fine.”
She disappeared down the hall to the kitchen.
Jackie was a widow of nearly ten years. She lived alone and her only son lived on the West Coast. She taught a graduate course in the College of Criminal Justice but spent most of her time doing research and consulting for law enforcement agencies throughout the country. She had written scholarly articles on forensic psychology, crime, and psychosexual dynamics, as well as trade books on sex crimes for the general reader. Over the years she had established herself as a favorite consultant of news networks whenever a high-profile crime was in the air. On her fireplace was a photograph of her in one of her several appearances on
“How’s Dana doing?” Jackie said when she returned with his drink.
She knew Dana from happy social events and he had dreaded the question. Because he didn’t want to get into their separation he simply said that she was doing fine.
“Any baby Markarians yet?”
“Not yet.” He took a sip of the drink to change the subject. “I appreciate your help, especially at this hour.”
“No problem, besides you spare me from student theses that are making my eyes cross. Brilliant kids who can’t write for shit. So, what do you have?”
“You probably heard about this.” He handed her a photocopy of the
“Oh, yeah, the fitness instructor and part-time stripper. I read about it.”
“You’ll be reading more tomorrow because we have someone in custody.” Steve filled her in on the investigation and laid the DVD on the top of the file. “The material on him is a bit thin to make a profile, but the interrogation might help. Unfortunately it’s four hours long.”
“What am I looking for?”
“Evidence that he’s capable of this.”
She took a sip of her wine and nodded. “And you have doubts?”
“Something like that.”
“I’ll do what I can. When do you need this by?”
Steve looked at his watch.
“I don’t see you for months on end and suddenly it’s red alert.”
“Tomorrow.”
“Oh, boy! I haven’t pulled an all-nighter since college.”
“I owe you big-time.”
“A dinner at Flora in Arlington will do.”
“You’re on.”
She walked him to the door.
“Thanks.” He gave her a hug, thinking:
38
WINTER 1974
Lila did not speak to him for four days. If he walked into a room she was in, she’d leave without a word. When he came home from school, she’d be out or locked in her room. If it was only the two of them at dinner, she’d leave the meal on the stove and eat alone. When his father was around, she’d act normal but would address him with a flat voice and a glacial stare.
The silent treatment went on until she was good and ready to move on. It was her secret weapon, far worse than his father’s reprimands and threats. In fact, he would have preferred those. When she got like that, it was as if she had not only abandoned him but had died and been replaced by some loveless creature in the semblance of her—like a science fiction alien. Desperate to bring her back, he’d swear that he’d be good, that he’d do anything to make her nice again. He even began wishing to get sick so she’d feel sorry for him. But he didn’t. The only way she’d come back was if he’d beg for forgiveness like the Christian penitents she had told him about.
On the morning of the fourth day, he got dressed for school but knew he couldn’t get through his classes with Lila hating him. She was in her bedroom armchair. He could hear the television through the door. He knocked several times, and when she didn’t respond he meekly opened the door. She glared at him. “I didn’t say you could come in.”
But he did and went right down on his knees before her chair. “I’m sorry,” then he burst into tears, begging forgiveness. He wasn’t sure what exactly he had done wrong, but he was convinced that he had forced her into a shameful act that would threaten her mortal soul. He laid his head on the arm of the chair and sobbed, but she didn’t respond—didn’t put her hand on his head and say he was forgiven, that things were normal again, that she still loved him. It was like supplicating to a stone idol.
All she said was, “You’ll be late for school.”
When he came home that afternoon, things were back to normal. That lasted for several weeks. Then one evening when she was to meet his father in Manchester for dinner, she called him upstairs. He left his homework on
