Drayton descended the steps on the other side of the stage and went over to the sergeant, who broke off his talk.
“Welcome, Senator,” he said. “Looks like it’s going to be a big evening.”
“Well, maybe,” said Drayton. “Where’s your commander?”
“She’s not here.”
“I can see she’s not here, Sergeant—” He peered at the man’s ID. “Sergeant Adair. What I want to know is, why isn’t she here?”
“I believe she’s tied up with that case, but we’ve got everything under control, I can assure you.”
“I am not assured. The top person should be here, supervising. This is the most important security concern in the entire city of Savannah right now. So why the hell isn’t she here?”
“Senator, I can inquire if you wish.”
“Yes, I wish. Jesus.”
Sergeant Adair took out his radio and called headquarters. Drayton could hear the dispatcher telling the sergeant that Delaplane was not available.
“Ma’am,” said the sergeant, “Senator Drayton is here and wants to, ah, know why she’s not supervising the event in person.”
After listening to some more back-and-forth, Drayton started to lose his temper. “I want to talk to her personally,” he told Adair. “Hand me the damn radio.”
The sergeant, his face growing red, spoke to the dispatcher. Drayton took the radio. “This is Senator Drayton. I want to speak to the commander, now.”
After a long moment, he was finally put through.
“Commander? I’m wondering why you’re not here in person, supervising security for the rally. Don’t you realize there are people out there threatening to protest and maybe even cause violence? I’ve got almost half a million dollars invested in this rally.”
“Senator, let me assure you, we’ve got over a hundred officers working security, we’ve set up portable scans at six entry points — we’ve got everything under control.”
Drayton listened impatiently to the commander’s cool voice. “How do you know that if you’re not here? I want you here, do you understand?”
There was a short silence. “All right, then, I’ll be down in about half an hour to review security measures personally. But I assure you again, there’s no cause for concern.”
“Commander, I can’t imagine what’s more important than security for the largest political rally in Savannah in years.”
“I will be there, Senator. But to your point, I just might mention we have a rather involved homicide investigation in progress — one that you’ve taken a personal interest in.”
“Yes, and whose fault is it that it hasn’t been solved?”
The commander signed off and Drayton handed the radio to the sergeant. He turned to his chief of staff. “I thought you had this under control.”
“Yes, sir. It will be, sir.”
“Christ, what a bunch of numb-nuts. Let’s get back to the bus. Makeup’s supposed to be here by now, and I’ve got to start getting ready.”
Drayton climbed back on the bus just as the makeup artist arrived with her two assistants and gear.
“Come aboard,” Drayton called, “and let’s get the show on the road.”
They set up a portable makeup chair and table, and Drayton settled down with care and plucked at the creases of his pants to keep them crisp. He leaned his head back against the headrest. “Pay particular attention to my nose and under my eyes,” he told the makeup artist. “Cover up those veins. There are going to be cameras from every angle, and hot lights, so make sure it’s able to last a couple of hours.”
“Of course, Senator.”
He closed his eyes and let the woman work over his face, covering up the varicose veins, the dark circles under his eyes, painting and whisking and brushing away his wrinkles and liver spots.
As she worked, he tried to relax and focus on the speech ahead, instead of thinking about that ass-clown running against him, who the polls indicated was creeping ahead. This rally would nip that in the bud. In his mind’s eye, he could already hear the roar of approval, see the sea of shining faces and waving placards, the band playing as he walked out on the stage. That moment was always one of the biggest thrills of his life.
47
It was 7:30 pm when Constance was summoned to Pendergast’s bedroom, accessible through a common door that joined their two suites. It was ascetic and clean, as his sleeping chambers always were: no doubt he’d asked the staff to remove items of furniture or decoration he deemed objectionable.
“Constance?” Pendergast said. “In here, if you please.”
The voice came from an open door on the far side of the bedroom. Constance knew Pendergast had taken this suite for himself specifically because it contained this extra room — a space originally intended, according to hotel legend, as a sniper’s nest from which to pick off approaching Yankees. She crossed the bedroom and entered it curiously.
Pendergast had turned it into a sort of private war room. The walls were of the darkest ocher, and there was only a single, narrow window — lending credence to the sniper story. The room was small and piled with books: volumes on local history, astrophysics, the supernatural beliefs of Eastern Europe, and a dozen other subjects that seemed to have no common thread among them. There were also maps of Savannah pinned to the walls, both old and new, with several locations marked with highlighter. When and how Pendergast had amassed all this, she had no idea.
But it was Pendergast himself who gave her the greater shock. His eyes were red-rimmed, and his skin even paler than usual. He was tense and appeared excited. He sat at a desk, a vintage Emeralite lamp throwing an absinthe-colored pool of light over the clutter of books and maps. Despite the room’s disorder, the desk itself held only a bottle of Lagavulin, a half-full glass, and a pill container. This, along with his demeanor, disturbed Constance.
“Please have a seat,” he told her.
She sat down opposite him.
Pendergast leaned in toward her. “I hope you’ll forgive me, dearest Constance, if I seem brusque. There is a need to move quickly. I’ve put many pieces of the puzzle together, but several are conjectural and others don’t fit properly. This is where I need your help. If I’m right, only Frost can supply the answers — and only you are in a position to get those answers from her.”
“She might not be up yet. She normally rises at ten PM.”
“You may have to rouse her. You’ve forged a bond with the old woman; you’re her confidante.”
“I would hardly call myself a confidante.”
“But you do feel a certain kinship with her, correct?”
“You could call it that.”
“And she feels the same for you?”
Constance nodded. Then she hesitated a moment — Pendergast’s entire frame was radiating eagerness, impatience. And yet she had to speak. “Aloysius, ‘kinship’... that’s only part of it.”
“What do you mean?”
“She knows I’m... not what I seem.”
“So you told me.”
“She told me my eyes were like hers — except even more aged. Sitting there, speaking to her... I could see myself on that sofa, surrounded by dusty books, writing in journals nobody would read.” Suddenly, she leaned forward across the table. “Aloysius, the truth is I’ve already been that woman. All those decades Dr. Leng prolonged my life artificially, kept me in that mansion, I was Felicity Frost... imprisoned in a young body instead of an old one. And now that Leng’s dead, and I’m aging at a normal rate...” She stopped, sat back abruptly. “Am I doomed to live through that twice? I’m already superannuated. Don’t you see?”