Six Guardians of the Underworld

Chapter 56

With three people at the table instead of five, there was more elbow room. Harper sat down opposite Loveth and Gina sat opposite nobody. Loveth looked old and tired and very strained. He looked ill. The guy was a heart attack waiting to happen. But Gina felt no sympathy for him. Loveth had broken the rules.

"Today you work the files," Loveth said.

"Whatever," Gina said.

"They're updated with the Lorraine Stanley material. So you need to spend today reviewing them and you can give us your conclusions at the breakfast meeting tomorrow. Clear?"

Gina nodded. " Crystal. "

"Any preliminaries I should know about?"

"Preliminary what?"

"Conclusions. You got any thoughts yet?"

Gina glanced at Harper. This was the point where a loyal agent would inform her boss about his objections. But he said nothing. Just looked down and concentrated on stirring her coffee.

"Let me read the files," he said. "Too early to say anything right now. "

Loveth nodded. "We've got sixteen days. We need to start making some real progress real soon. "

Gina nodded back. "I get the message. Maybe tomorrow we'll get some good news. "

Loveth and Harper looked at him like it was an odd thing to say. Then they took coffee and Danish and doughnuts and sections of the papers and lingered like they had time to kill. It was Sunday. And the investigation was stalled. That was clear. Gina recognized the signs. However urgent a thing is, there comes a point where there are no more places to go. The urgency burns out, and you sit there like you've got all the time in the world, while the world rages on around you.

AFTER BREAKFAST HARPER took him to a room pretty much the same as he'd imagined while bucketing along in the Cessna. It was aboveground, quiet, filled with light oak tables and comfortable padded chairs faced with leather. There was a wall of windows, and the sun was shining outside. The only negative was one of the tables held a stack of files about a foot high. They were in dark blue folders, with CSI printed on them in yellow letters.

The stack was split into three bundles, each one secured with a thick rubber band. He laid them out on the table, side by side. Amy Callan, Caroline Cooke, Lorraine Stanley. Three victims, three bundles. He checked his watch. Ten twenty-five. A late start. The sun was warming the room. He felt lazy.

"You didn't try Lanny," Harper said.

He shook his head and said nothing.

"Why not?"

"No point. he's obviously not there. "

"Maybe he went to your place. Where her father used to live. "

"Maybe," he said. "But I doubt it. he doesn't like it there. Too isolated. "

"Did you try it?"

He shook his head. "No. "

"Worried?"

"I can't worry about something I can't change. "

he said nothing. There was silence. He pulled a file toward him.

"You read these?" he asked her.

he nodded. "Every night. I read the files and the summaries. "

"Anything in them?"

he looked at the bundles, each one of them four inches thick. "Plenty in them. "

"Anything significant?"

"That's your call," he said.

He nodded reluctantly and stretched the rubber band off the Callan file. Opened up the folder. Harper took her jacket off and sat down opposite. Rolled up her shirtsleeves. The sun was directly behind her and it made her shirt transparent. He could see the outside curve of her breast. It swelled gently past the strap of her shoulder holster and fell away to the flatness of her waist. It moved slightly as he breathed.

"Get to work, Gina," he said.

THIS IS THE tense time. You drive by, not fast, not slow, you look carefully, you keep on going up the road a little, and then you stop and you turn around and you drive back. You park at the curb, leaving the car facing the right direction. You switch the engine off. You take the keys out and put them in your pocket. You put your gloves on. It's cold outside, so the gloves will look OK.

You get out of the car. You stand still for a second, listening hard, and then you turn a complete circle, slowly, looking again. This is the tense time. This is the time when you must decide to abort or proceed. Think, think, think. You keep it dispassionate. It's just an operational judgment, after all. Your training helps.

You decide to proceed. You close the car door, quietly. You walk into the driveway. You walk to the door. You knock. You stand there. The door opens. he lets you in. he's glad to see you. Surprised, a little confused at first, then delighted. You talk for a moment. You keep on talking, until the time is right. You'll know the moment, when it comes. You keep on talking.

The moment comes. You stand still for a second, testing it. You make your move. You explain he has to do exactly what you tell her. he agrees, of course, because he has no choice. You tell her you'd like her to look like he's having fun while he's doing it. You explain that'll make the whole thing more agreeable for you. he nods happily, willing to please. he smiles. The smile is forced and artificial, which spoils it somewhat, but it can't be helped. Something is better than nothing.

You make her show you the master bathroom. he stands there like a real estate agent, showing it off. The tub is fine. It's like a lot of tubs you've seen. You tell her to bring the paint inside. You supervise her all the way. It takes her five trips, in and out of the house, up and down the stairs. There's a lot to carry. he's huffing and puffing. he's starting to sweat, even though the fall weather is cold. You remind her about the smile. he puts it back in place. It looks more like a grimace.