“Did you rape this girl?”
He reluctantly answered. “Ask Jack.”
“I see.”
“Sounds like they played you like a fiddle,” replied Lucas.
He glared up at Lucas. “That they did. That they did. Played on my weakness for little blond ones.” Covey gave Meredyth another of his crooked, leering grins.
“Who… who do you suspect?”
“Who do you suspect?” Covey countered.
“This is a waste of time. Dr. Sanger,” Lucas sullenly replied. “Let's go have lunch at that nice inn down the road, shall we?”
“Look!” Covey exploded, standing, dropping his guard, “Just check out the facts. One day Felipe and me, we put it together. We struck a nerve with somebody high up! I mean, just a few days after we drew some simple conclusions about the similarities in the Palmer and Whitaker cases, whammo! they came for us.”
“Who?” persisted Lucas. “Who came for you?”
“Street thugs for Felipe, the State of Texas for me. The whole story on Jack was given to the D.A. by someone, someone who hired that girl to wear a wire which I only found when I tore her clothes off. That's when they stormed in, cops-cops I'd thought were my buddies. But they all knew I was into child porn for years before and nothing, nothing ever happened to me before then, before Felipe and me got involved in the Palmer case. So now, talking about it all these years later, I could still get myself killed.”
“Nobody has to know what we're here for,” she assured him.
“You can't be that naive, lady. Somebody knows why you're here, and that means anybody could know. If I cooperate, I want protection, a private cell, a TV like O.J. got, double meals, stuff like that, and if you ever get this thing together so there's a trial, I'll want amnesty, witness relocation, a new life, the whole damned nine yards.”
“So far you've given us crap, Covey,” countered Lucas. “So don't count on any help from us. Come on. Dr. Sanger. Let's get out of here.”
“But I'm telling you, a whole damned tactical unit came busting into my place that night they took me. They had warrants to search everything, my house, my car. Busted down my front door. Scared hell out of my-Jack's harem, poor kids. This the same night as Felipe got his. Now, if that ain't goddamned coincidence, then I don't know what is.”
“We'll keep you posted, Mr. Covey,” Meredyth began.
“Jack, you… you can call me Jack.”
She nodded, “We'll be in touch.”
“In touch… that's all I want.”
Stonecoat buzzed the waiting guard, who came in and removed Covey, leaving Lucas and Meredyth to stare at one another.
“Whataya think?” she asked.
“The guy's all creepoid, that's what I think.”
“But if what he says is true…”
“Big if, First, and secondly, he was a cop who used his position to get lost and homeless kids into his little sexual fantasyland! He disgusts me. Doesn't he disgust you?”
“Whether he does or not, that's not the point,” she replied. “The point is, if he and Felipe were onto something, and they were both silenced, then we are dealing with some heavy hitters here, some truly influential killers. I keep coming back to how Felipe was killed, and when it happened, as they were on the verge of connecting up the two cases.”
“Who was conducting the Whitaker investigation?”
“Pardee and Amelford, remember? They were there from the beginning Coincidence?”
He recalled the records he'd read, and she was right. “Those two bastards have got to see the similarities in the Mootry killing. Maybe it's time we paid them a little visit.”
“And what do you expect to get from such a visit, after the two played chopping block with your throat last night, Lucas? They're not going to share what they've turned up with either of us.”
“Why weren't they silenced ten years ago along with Felipe and Covey?”
'They didn't make the connection between Palmer and Whitaker, Felipe and Covey did.”
“Either that or think the unthinkable.”
“What? That Pardee and Amelford were part of Felipe's and Covey's downfall? That they were interested in some sort of cover-up in the Palmer and Whitaker deaths?”
“Well, you saw how scant the file information was.”
“Wheeew, that's quite a stretch.”
“It might explain why they were so testy with me.”
“They could have killed you last night, and if they are as deeply involved in some sort of conspiracy as you say, maybe they would have.”
“One of them wanted to finish me off; Pardee, I think. Said as much.”
“What precisely did he say?”
“I don't know. I was half unconscious from the blow he'd delivered.”
“They knocked you unconscious? You didn't say that before.”
“I didn't want to worry you.”
“Goddamn your stubborn, prideful hide.”
“I got the distinct impression they felt more than a little threatened by my having stepped into the Mootry crime scene.”
“What else did they say?”
“I was in a hell of a daze when they started conversing with one another. Hell, they thought I was completely out.”
“I think we could refresh your memory with a bit of regression therapy. Would you sit still long enough for me to hypnotize you?”
His eyes widened. “You can do that?”
“I can. I'm fully trained. We might get some interesting bits of… insight.”
“All right, but I don't want you digging around for anything but last night,” he commanded.
“What do you think I am? Some sort of psychic vamp? I'm only interested in helping your recall of the isolated event.”
He nodded. “Good… good, then we'll do it.”
They left the prison, going down its stark corridors, past the rattling bars and the whistles, finally out into the courtyard and the parking lot. The place seemed like some sort of hell on earth, like one of the rungs in Dante's Inferno, she thought.
TWENTY -ONE
Randy Oglesby had gotten a call from Dr. Sanger, who was still out at Hempstead with Stonecoat; in fact, she said they were having lunch at the Hempstead Inn. Randy wondered if all they were having there was on a plate.
“Randy, I want you to push hard for any computer crosses that might link Judge Charles Mootry with Dr. Wesley Palmer and/or Whitaker. Can you do that. Randy?”
“Sure, but what kind of links are we talking?”
“Anything whatsoever. Credit references, organizations they belonged to, schools they attended, you name it.”
“That'll take some time, but sure, I'll get on it.”
“That's why I called you, Randy. I knew you'd be game.”
'This is really big, isn't it, Doctor?”
“I don't know yet.”
'Today's trip of any help?”
“Don't know yet.”
“Gotcha… I'll get right on it.”
And Randy Oglesby was a young man of his word. He had spent several hours after that telephone call running down crosses-cross-references between Mootry, Palmer, and Whitaker-without any clear-cut satisfaction. Some of the information came over while he was on break. He had simply let the machines talk to one another while he grabbed a Snickers and a cup of coffee. When transmission had ended, He stored the new information without going through it. He had a lot of other jobs to attend to today, and it was getting later and later.
An hour later, he sat before his terminal at the Thirty-first, chipping away at the deluge of work left him from previous days. There were notes, articles, and other items to electronically file away. But he quickly grew tired of the case studies and the usual materials coming out of Dr. Sanger's office. In a moment, bored, he was surfing the Internet for news bulletins on deaths by strange arrows around the nation. While he had earlier checked with all police agencies worldwide, including Interpol and the FBI and Scotland Yard, he wondered with fresh eyes if there could be people out there on the Net who might know of any additional bizarre stories involving bows and arrows and murder.