She was silent a moment. Then: “Don’t tell me Preston Wylde’s involved.”
“I don’t know yet. What’d you get?”
“Hang on.” Sound of typing. “Lot of hits, but… here we go. Just says that he’s got two daughters. No wife mentioned. No names.”
That tallied. Guys like Preston Wylde might not want too much personal information out there. “Try Sarah. Same last name.”
More typing. “Hunh. Well, this is interesting. She comes up as faculty at the medical school. Her specialty is transcultural psychiatry. She’s been all over, most recently a couple of years in Thailand and Cambodia researching cacodemonomania…”
I thought of that Asian family. That Ψ. “What’s that?”
“I don’t know. I’m a pathologist. Hang on… hunh.”
“You keep doing that.”
“Well, that’s because it’s hunh. Cacodemonomania is the delusion of being possessed by a demon.”
This time I was quiet. My mind jumped to something that most cops would find well-nigh certifiable. Maybe if I’d been more open to possibilities, though, Adam might still be alive.
See, I’d investigated an angel.
It was complicated.
And I know what I heard out of Dickert’s mouth. And what Sarah Wylde said… “Anything else?”
“Well, there’s a pretty funky paper entitled ‘Green is for Goblin: Exorcism in Buddhist Magic.’ ”
I closed my eyes-and saw Wylde’s own glittering, emerald eyes.
Kay: “Is there something you’re looking for in particular?”
Yeah. Try GooglingWyldeandwitchandSatan. “I don’t know. That’s okay. Thanks, Kay.” I disconnected, then dialed Rollins. He answered and I heard background noise: men’s voices. A phone ringing. “Where are you?”
“In the office, finishing paper. I hate paper. What’s up?”
I filled him in, then said, “Run Dickert through the system, see if you get anything.”
“And he’s connected…? You’ll notice the ellipsis.”
“Well, he’s an asshole.”
“The world’s full of them.”
“So I’m betting there’s something.”
“And it connects…?”
“You’re repeating yourself.”
“So observant. You must be a detective.”
“So will you run him?”
“Okay, okay. What about our case?”
“I still haven’t had a chance to talk to the girl. I was going to interview her now.”
“Wait for me. Give me twenty minutes.”
“This is Washington.”
“Forty.”
“That’ll do.” I closed the phone and ducked back into the ER.
Things had more or less gotten back to normal except Gerber was nowhere in sight and Dickert was in leather restraints, snoring from whatever he’d been given. Someone had also taken soap and water to him. Didn’t really improve his looks. A walrus in a flimsy hospital gown that had hiked up in unfortunate places. Obligatory biker tattoos: a ring of barbed wire around his left bicep that, with gravity and a couple years, would end up a bracelet; an American flag on the right. He had a thing about skulls: skull on fire, Jolly Roger centered in an ace of spades peeping from an ass cheek (too much information!), Grateful Dead skull haloed with red roses.
I hoped Wylde pressed charges. There was just something about Dickert I didn’t like, and it wasn’t about the t-shirt or that he was a drunk and a bully. His tattoos were unoriginal, but you couldn’t throw a guy in jail for his taste in tattoos.
Just… something. That voice, for starters.
And the one in my head…
Oh, don’t go there. I’d just about convinced myself the whole thing was stress.
The medical student sat on a stool next to a surgical resident who was stitching Dickert’s scalp back together. “Your sister around?” I asked the student.
If she was surprised that I’d put it together, she didn’t show it. “Zoe,” she said, and stuck out her hand. We shook; her grip was firm. “Sarah’s with the Chouns.” Zoe tilted her head toward the bay where the Asian family was hidden behind a drawn curtain. “She might be a while. They’re family friends.”
“She okay?”
“Sure. I don’t think she’s going to press charges, though.”
“That’s a shame. And here I was hoping.”
“The guy had an idiosyncratic reaction to alcohol. It happens. Once their BAL goes down, they’re pretty reasonable people. Well… maybe not him.”
“Your sister always take risks?”
“Yes,” the surgical resident said, without turning around. “Rushing in where angels fear to tread. Can’t tell Sarah anything and never could, if you listen to the attendings. On the other hand, can’t tell Zoe anything either. I pity the chief resident of whatever specialty she ends up in.”
“A fan club,” I said to Zoe.
“Part of the family charm. We go all sorts of places.” She mock-punched the resident. “Harry’s just worried that I’ll end up his intern for his first big case.”
“Are you kidding?” Harry tied off, snipped. “When that day comes, and if you’re very, very good, I’ll let you staple the skin.”
“So generous.”
I debated a half second about waiting for Wylde-to ask her… what? Hey, whoa, nifty parlor trick. Do all the witches in your coven do that? But then I spotted Rollins trundling in, and I really did have work.
“Hey,” Rollins said. He was open faced and big in a solid, apple pie, Midwest kind of way. Last person in the world you’d peg as a computer geek. “Computer guy thinks he might have something. I’d have given it a shot, but I was doing paper.”
“My, my, everyone is working hard and on a Saturday morning. What’s the story on Dickert?”
Rollins fished out some flavor of PDA and started tapping. “Mostly small stuff. Couple DUIs. A breaking and entering kicked down to illegal trespass, along with two assault charges. All three were in connection with a girlfriend. Charges were dropped after the girlfriend didn’t show to testify. Got an address out in Springfield, and a couple rental properties in Arlington. Looks like that’s how he makes a living, renting out the houses and general all-around handyman.”
Odd he lived out there, given his reaction to the Chouns. Route 50 near I-495 was wall-to-wall Korean, Vietnamese, Thai. “What about military? He said he’s a vet. Well, implied.”
“Drafted in ’65, did two tours. Army. Third Brigade, Twenty-fifth Infantry Division.”
Hmmm. “Two tours? He volunteered?”
“Dunno. Honorable discharge in ’69 and then nothing until the DUIs start up. You’re looking for…?”
“Nothing.” I let it go. Dickert was trouble, but a brigade was a big place, and I had plenty to deal with.
Lily Hopkins looked very young and very scared. A trace of baby fat under her chin. Maybe thirteen. But there also were purple smudges in the hollows of her cheeks and beneath her eyes, and she had that kind of haunted, hunted look you saw in runaways.
“I don’t know what happened. I just… it was like I was dreaming. Only I couldn’t move at first. I almost couldn’t breathe. Like someone sitting on my chest. Then it was kind of like… You know how you get in a crowded room and people are shoving you and shoving you? That’s what it was like. I got shoved aside.” A quick flick of her eyes to my face and then away. “There was somebody else.”
“Somebody. Not something?”
Shake of the head. “A girl. She talked about her mother and an aunt.”
“You heard a voice?”
Really hesitant now. “N-nooo. Know how you hear your own voice in your head sometimes? When you’re reading? Like that. Her voice but not really talking to me. I don’t think she was American.”