Devils cure, p.36
Devil's Cure, page 36
“Doesn’t seem too likely right about now. If you were back here, you’d see what my so-called colleagues have done to my reputation.”
“Probably just jealous.”
“I wish.”
“Know what I’d like right now?” Sandra said. “You to comb my hair. Remember how you used to do that when we were kids?”
Laura nodded. “Yeah. I even remember that thick pink comb you liked, with the yellow tulips on the handle.”
“Yes! It felt so good. Mike does it for a bit sometimes, when I beg, but he gets bored, and he was never as good as you anyway.”
“Well, when I get down there, I’ll comb your hair as long as you like.” Oh God, she was going to start crying if she wasn’t careful. “Listen, I’m going to have to play doctor again for just a second. You never answered my question. Would you take it?”
She heard her sister exhale tiredly. “I don’t know. I don’t know if I want any more experiments done on me. My body’s all used up, and I’m used up, too. Right now, I feel I should just keep going with this as long as I can and see what happens. I’ve already lived longer than everyone said; maybe if I stop it, I’ll die. I know you don’t agree with it, and you think it’s stupid and naive and wrong, but in the end it comes down to faith, really. You have faith in what you do; I’m trying to have faith in this. You’ll just have to accept that.”
“It’s not easy for me, Sandra. But you’ll keep thinking about it at least?”
“Yes. As long as you remember we’re sisters. Go take your blood, do what you need to do.”
“Sandra, you think I can do it?”
“Come on, you hardly need me to tell you.”
Laura shook her head in frustration. All those degrees she’d mounted on her office walls: was she trying to convince herself? The scientific articles she’d penned, the citations she’d won, why couldn’t any of it dam up the unceasing current of her doubt? That she wasn’t good enough, that she wasn’t trying hard enough …
“Tell me I can do it, Sandra.”
“Oh, Laura. If anyone’s going to cure cancer, it’ll be you. I’ve never thought any different.”
“Thank you.”
“You come and see me like you promised!”
“I will.”
“You’ve tired me out,” Sandra said. “I love you.”
“Love you, too.”
“You didn’t order anything for yourself?” she asked, after their room service trolley was wheeled in.
“I’m not hungry,” Kevin said, pouring himself a glass of mineral water.
He looked hungry. He’d definitely lost weight since she’d first met him. Was he ill? He didn’t look unwell exactly, though his cheeks did have a feverish flush. Still, there was something superb about the angularity of his face, the prominent ridges of his cheekbones and brow, which accentuated the deep set of his eyes. Maybe the stress of the case had simply wiped out his appetite. He didn’t seem nervous; on the contrary, since their arrival in Seattle she’d noticed an almost preternatural calm about his movements, as if every unnecessary gesture had been eliminated and those that were essential had been foreseen and economically planned. But far from making him seem listless, it just heightened the sense of energy fiercely contained and focused, and you could only catch its blaze through his eyes. She wondered if her eyes ever got that obsessive nuclear meltdown look when she was working late at the lab. Probably—especially on speed.
Somewhat self-consciously, she started in on her salad. When she was three-quarters through it, the phone rang. Momentarily paralyzed, she looked at Kevin, who had stood calmly and was nodding her towards the phone, where he’d laid out a notepad and a pen.
“Let’s do it,” he said.
Intentionally, they hadn’t rehearsed, and she was glad, not wanting to sound stilted. She sat down by the phone, forced air into her lungs, exhaled, and picked up.
“Hello.”
“You made it.”
“I’m here. Thanks for sending out the samples. So when’s a good time for us to meet?”
She wondered if she was sounding too breezy, overcompensating for the leaden weight she felt on her tongue. Rachel didn’t seem to notice.
“You’ve got the money?”
“Of course.”
“I guess it’s simplest to do it out here. It’s not a lot of blood, right? He’s pretty brave, but he wasn’t crazy about his last shots.”
“It’ll just take a couple minutes.”
“I don’t have a shift tonight, so you could come by around six. I’ll give you directions.”
Carefully Laura wrote them down. It was, Rachel said, about an hour north of the city, halfway to Everett.
“You haven’t told anyone, have you?”
“No,” said Laura, looking at Kevin. “But are you sure you’re safe out there? You don’t think it would be better if you stayed somewhere else until they caught him?”
“They spotted him in Houston, I saw it on TV.”
“Yeah, I saw that too.”
“I’m not worried about him. More worried about my ex-boyfriend coming out to hassle me.” Rachel gave a small hard laugh, and then, as if worried she’d revealed too much, hurried on. “So I’ll see you around six, okay?”
Laura said goodbye and put the phone down, holding it firmly in place for a moment. Kevin was looking up from his watch, jotting down the time span of the call.
“Good work,” he said to her, and picked up the phone, in his haste brushing her arm and breast. The contact startled her, and she moved back quickly, and then felt foolish, girlish, hoping he hadn’t noticed.
“Sorry,” he said. Lifting the phone to his face, he smelled her perfume, still felt the nudge of her breast against his arm. He had to stare at the keypad hard for a split second to remember the number of the Seattle field office.
“Lee, it’s Kevin, we just got the call. Here’s the times. And the address is …” He looked down at the piece of paper and read it out.
He hoped Rachel was calling from where she said she was, and not a pay phone. Without a matching home address, they wouldn’t be able to run a check on her.
“I’ll call Ma Bell and see what they’ve got for us,” said Lee. “I’ll be talking to you.”
Kevin hung up and spread out his map. It didn’t take him long to find the address. He remembered that stretch of road. On the map, it was a whisker-thin secondary route that clung to the shoreline, heading north. He’d driven it plenty of times in his youth, and it was a bit too remote for comfort. He wondered if Rachel had given them her real address, or just a stretch of deserted road where a gunman waiting in the trees might get a clear shot at a passing car. For all he knew, the whole strip might have been developed into a monstrous beachfront subdivision. He doubted it, though. There was a big pulp mill further along the shore, so the air was often tinged with the sepia haze of sulphur. And it was probably still too remote to attract a lot of people from Seattle or Bellingham.
His eyes slid west across the map, across the countless bays carved from the shore, to Cordova Island. He’d always thought it was shaped like a miniature, elongated Britain, with that broad base tapering upward to a point.
Where you found God.
The proximity of Rachel’s address to the island would have alarmed him more if he hadn’t known God’s Children had disbanded several years ago. According to his sources, the compound was deserted, the land sold to a patient developer. Still, it troubled him, that ribbon of water between Rachel and Cordova.
Coincidence. He couldn’t quite believe that Rachel would be an acolyte. If all this was just an elaborate plot to lure Laura to her death, it was a hell of a risky one for David. He was giving too much away: the fact that he had a son, and where he could be found. Surely he would have assumed Laura would tell the authorities, and that they might get to Rachel and the child first.
Five minutes later, Lee called back.
“It’s a match. The address she gave you goes with the phone number. The account holder’s listed as Deirdre Mason.”
Thank you Jesus, praise you Jesus—old words of gratitude from God’s Children slid unexpectedly into Kevin’s head. He glanced up at Laura, but clearly he hadn’t spoken aloud. “Can you get me everything on her, Lee?” he asked. “And do an NCIC, please.”
“Sure thing.”
He felt encouraged: Deirdre was calling from her home. If you were inviting someone out to be executed you wouldn’t give them your home address. You’d send them someplace else, and wait.
“Deirdre Mason,” he told Laura. “The address is real. When did she want you?”
“Six.”
It was three-thirty now. He knew one thing: he was going to show up as early as possible. If it was a setup, he wanted at least to have the advantage of surprise. If the goodman of the house had known in what watch the thief would come, he would have watched, and would not have suffered his house to be broken up … He blinked away the words of Scripture scrolling through his head. As soon as he got Deirdre’s profile, he’d go. If David was looking for them, Kevin had little doubt of his purpose. He would kill that boy, his own son, just as surely as he’d killed Rick.
Fifteen minutes later, Lee called back. “Okay, here’s what we’ve got.” He ran through her Social Security Number, her driver’s license. “She traded in her Illinois one four years back.” Kevin nodded; it seemed to fit. “She’s renting, the utilities are under the landlord’s name. Works at a restaurant in Everett, Iron Jim’s. Two years she’s been doing that. Now, there’s this. She popped up on the NCIC. Nothing too hardcore, a couple minor drug-related charges from two and three years ago, mostly possession, but she’s linked here with a dealer, who turned out to be her boyfriend at the time, says here. Maybe he still is, I don’t know. She’s got nothing on her for two years. The boyfriend comes up with lots of flashing lights, though. I’ve heard of him, actually. He’s wanted right now, cross-border. And that’s about it. You’re going out to see her?”
“Yep.”
“Need some help?”
“How much you got?”
“Well, me. Sunday and all. Everyone’s off.”
“I’ve heard this about the west coast.” Lee chuckled. “Yeah, just let me know if you want some backup. I’m here until eight.”
“Thanks, Lee. I’ll let you know.”
He hung up and turned to Laura. “Looks like our Deirdre has a bit of a troubled past.” He told her about the drug charges. “It fits, too. Coming out of a cult isn’t easy. You have regrets, doubts about whether you did the right thing. You miss the highs. Drugs get back that euphoria.”
“Maybe that’s why she didn’t want to talk to the police or FBI. Protecting her ex-boyfriend.”
“Maybe. Anyway, it’s good news. Makes it harder for me to believe she’s an acolyte. Drugs sure don’t fit into David’s theology.”
“I’d like to go alone,” Laura said.
He’d been waiting for this. He shook his head.
“Just for as long as it takes me to meet her and take the blood. Then you can go talk to her yourself.”
“Forget it. You go with me, or not at all.”
“But if I turn up with an FBI agent, she’ll—”
“What? Tell you to get lost? I doubt it. She wants her twenty-five grand. Sorry, but there’s no way I’m letting you go out there by yourself.”
His cell phone trilled and he flipped it open.
“Kevin, it’s Hugh.”
Kevin felt himself tighten, almost wanting to hang up before Hugh told him he was being stripped of his authority, that he was to return to Chicago immediately to face disciplinary action.
But Hugh’s voice was calm, even good-tempered. “They just found Gail Newton’s red Honda down in Houston. Parked out in the suburbs. He’s definitely down here.”
“Seems so,” said Kevin. One of the first pieces of information he’d got on Gail was the license plate of her own car, and he’d passed that on to Mitch right away, assuming that this was the vehicle David was using. Relief and anxiety pulled equally at his mind.
If David was down there, it meant Deirdre was safe up here.
If David really was down there, Kevin’s disobeying orders seemed all the more heinous and, worst of all, futile.
“News gets better,” said Hugh. “Once they found the car, they staked out sixteen square blocks, and they think they’ve got him penned up in a big low-rent apartment complex. Mitch says we’ll have him tucked back in at Illinois Correctional by tonight.”
“Good, that’s good news, Hugh,” he said numbly.
“You get hold of Donaldson?”
“I’m with her now in Seattle. The tests were positive.”
“So this Rachel’s really the mother of his kid?”
“We’ve already talked to her, and we’re going out to see her.”
“Well, doesn’t look like there’s any urgency with her. I mean, you can advise her to find other accommodation if it makes her feel safer, but I wouldn’t push it. He’s not going to be a problem for her.”
“All right.”
He knew there had to be more to come, and when Hugh next spoke his voice had an icy formality.
“Kevin, I’m allowing you to finish this because I don’t think it’s desirable to create any embarrassment for our Seattle office. I’ve put in a call and advised them of the situation, and they’ve agreed to assist you in this one instance. You talk to the woman, and then hand it over to Seattle. I’ll expect you back in twenty-four hours.”
“I understand.”
He hung up, and saw Laura watching him curiously. He wondered if he looked like a whipped dog.
“They think they’ve got Haines surrounded down in Houston,” he said. “Doesn’t look like we’ll be needing any backup. You ready to go?”
“It’s not even four.”
“I know.” Despite Hugh’s news, he still wanted to go early. He didn’t want to take any chances. Therefore be ye also ready, for in such an hour as ye think not the son of Man cometh. “Listen,” he told her, “they could be wrong about Houston. Even if they’re not, this still could be dangerous.”
“Now you’re trying to talk me out of going altogether?”
“I just want you to be sure.” He knew this was all pointless, could tell by her face. Seeing how much she wanted it, how great her faith was in her work, he wasn’t about to stand in her way.
“Let’s go then,” Laura said. As she stood, a breathless constriction seized her chest: her feet suddenly felt incredibly cold, and a tingling began in her toes that seemed calibrated to the hazy whine in her skull. She touched the back of a chair and sat down heavily, panting.
“You okay?” Kevin asked, looking over at her with concern.
“I’m fine. I’m just … I didn’t get much sleep last night.”
“You’re sure you don’t want to stay?”
“No!” She looked up at him, her nausea blotted out for a moment. “I’m coming, just give me a second.”
She sucked in air, pushed it out—again, do it again—slumped forward, elbows on knees. She could feel the panic, like a pall, hovering on the horizon of her consciousness. Staring furiously at the floor, as through a long tunnel, she was still aware of Kevin standing near her. Simultaneously she wished that he would go away and that he would touch her, touch every part of her, roughly, with both hands, plowing away all the panic in her flesh.
Kevin looked down at her, her bowed head, and at first was worried that this was some delayed side effect from the stun-gun. But as he looked at her, the rigid hunch of her shoulders, the silent glare at the floor, he could tell it wasn’t a heart attack she was fighting. It was pure terror. He saw himself, his legs swung over the side of the bed first thing in the morning, depression vised against his temples, wondering what the point was of planting his feet on the carpet, taking one step, then another, each one exponentially more pointless, and why not just give up?
He touched her, not with companionable concern on the shoulder, as he’d intended, but just above her ear, the tips of his fingers following the sweep of her hair down towards the nape. When he’d touched her skin there, he pulled back his hand, surprised and appalled at what he’d just done.
She was looking up at him.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“No, no, it’s okay.”
“You all right now?”
She nodded, stood up, and walked to the bathroom. Door locked behind her, she changed her bandage in the mirror, then hesitantly touched the place Kevin had. What a hag, with her own personal oozing sores. But he’d touched her. The sheer surprise of it seemed to have evaporated her panic, though she still felt its after-grip in her chest and head. She wanted to clear it away, bleach it clean. In her purse was the vial of phenmetrazine, two 10 milligram pills rattling around at the bottom. She tipped them out onto the counter, ran a glass of water, and popped them onto her tongue.
Look at you. It’s pathetic.
But I need it. To get where I want to be. And without it, am I good enough?
She tried to pool all the good things together. Gillian Shamas telling her across the television screen to keep going. Sandra saying, “If anyone’s going to cure cancer, it’ll be you.” Kevin touching her on the back of the neck. Trying desperately to convert these things into some kind of balm, felt it failing, but …
Fast, before she could change her mind, she spat the pills into the toilet and flushed.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
THE OLD SAMISH ROAD SNAKED NORTHWARDS, AN ANCIENT TWO-LANER crumbling away into gravel shoulders, flanked by ditches overgrown with high grass and wildflowers. To his left, through the trees, Kevin caught the occasional glimpse of water and the low, bristled humps of the islands. Cresting a rise, he made out Cordova, still hazy in the distance, Mount Morrisey crouching above the steep pine edifice of its south coastline.
He drove with the window rolled down—a novelty after the asphyxiating humidity of Chicago—and a fresh breeze slapped at his arm and cheek. The tang of the trees, the promise of the ocean: he was startled how much memory was packed into these smells. From Sea-Tac he’d taken the I-5 up through Seattle, and was amazed how little he’d forgotten. Despite some highway work, and a lot of new construction, the vistas were the same, stamped into his memory forever, and his hands on the steering wheel seemed to remember the very curves of the road, his eyes anticipating the next view.
