“What’s that?” Terry asks. Matt is relaying the medical examiner’s fancy words. She’ll never learn to bring her information down to human level.
“It’s residue from a rock indigenous to Israel. Now I have a pretty good idea what killed Allison Thomasia. It was the same weapon that probably killed Flora Berringer, too. A geologist’s hammer.”
A geologist’s hammer. Or a rock pick, to be exact. When Terry was a kid, he had a brief fascination with rocks. He knows about this particular tool. The square hitting end is used to break open rock samples, to look for fossils inside. The other end of the tool, used on hard rock, is shaped like a pick for maximum striking pressure.
Matt keeps talking. “A heavy hammer like that could crush a skull without much force behind it. In the case of our killer? Lots of force was exerted, much more than required.”
“Signifying uncontrolled rage,” Terry says.
“Who knows what goes on inside the mind of a killer?”
Matt is like an efficient machine, narrowing down the playing field. They are eliminating suspects as quickly as possible, moving others to the top of the list.
“It should be easy from here on in,” Terry says, knowing it won’t be.
“Right. All we have to do is find a geologist with a motive, the rock pick that was used to kill two women, and a few missing men.”
“Easy,” Terry says.
“Right,” Matt agrees.
42
The world is like a big picture window. You can watch people and events from the inside and remain totally invisible to those on the outside. It’s like being on the observation side of a one-way mirror: hearing, seeing, waiting.
The time for waiting is over. He almost didn’t recognize her. She’d changed her appearance. The hair, the clothes, the added pounds. Something in the way she walked gave her away.
Now he knows for sure, what he suspected all along.
The evil witch isn’t dead. He’ll never be rid of her.
She won’t let up until she destroys him. Playing games, twisting the truth so he’ll get the blame. He hates her with an intensity that leaves him shaking. Wicked, insane.
Memories explode randomly like they always do when something sets him off.
Then comes the rage.
43
Why do many doll show promoters include teddy bear artists in their events? Because the two hobbies complement each other so well. Doll collectors love teddy bears.
According to legend, the teddy bear got its name when President Theodore Roosevelt refused to shoot a wounded black bear. A political cartoon depicting the event inspired a store owner named Morris Michtom to create stuffed bears and display them in his shop’s window as “Teddy’s bears.” They were an instant success, even with the fashionable ladies, who began to carry their teddies everywhere they went.
A group of teddy bears is known as “a hug.” How appropriate for these cuddly adult collectibles that never go out of style!
– From World of Dolls by Caroline Birch
Gretchen let herself into the banquet hall, flipped on a light in the break room, sat down in the overstuffed chair on the stage, and dozed off. She awoke to the sound of her mother’s cell phone ringing and fumbled to answer it, struggling to shake off the inertia that had come with exhaustion.
“Daisy,” she said when she recognized the homeless woman’s voice. “Why are you calling now? It’s”-she checked her watch. Nine a.m.-“early for you.” Not as early as Gretchen had thought, though.
Had she really been asleep for several hours? Where was Julie? After all the drama, the woman hadn’t shown up. Gretchen needed to get back to the museum. Yet she was so tired.
“Word on the street,” Daisy said sounding upset, a rarity from the Red Hat Lady, “is that Jerome has been arrested.”
“Yes.” Gretchen’s mind was still fuzzy, but clearing quickly. “How do you know him?” Or about him?
“He’s one of us.”
“Sorry to hear that he’s a friend of yours,” Gretchen said. “He’s in deep trouble.”
“He didn’t do anything wrong.”
“He broke into the museum and attacked us with a switchblade. And he may have killed two women already.”
“No! He didn’t kill anybody. He was watching over you.”
“Oh, come on.”
To what extent would the homeless go to protect one another? As far as they had to?
“It’s true. I sent him when I heard that you needed someone to work the stage lights. It was a perfect excuse to get someone inside to take care of you.”
Gretchen stood up, began pacing the stage. “Why would I need protection?”
“Nina told me some of it, about your future. You have to get some street smarts, Gretchen.”
“Apparently.”
“You are going to get yourself killed if you aren’t more careful. You blew it with Jerome. That was a bad call. Now the cops are going to stop looking and concentrate on making him confess.” The homeless woman, usually unflappable, sounded distressed.
Why should Gretchen assume that the man creeping up the stairs with a switchblade was on her side? It couldn’t possibly be true.
No. She didn’t buy into the bodyguard idea. Maybe gullible Daisy believed in Jerome, but Gretchen didn’t. He’d scared her from the very beginning with his sneaky ways and cold eyes.
“The cops have your mother,” Daisy said.
“She’s the main witness.”
“They took her in.”
“How do you know that?”
“My friends keep me informed. I’ll get back to you when I know more. In the meantime, be careful.”
Daisy disconnected, leaving Gretchen confused about many things. Daisy might sound more lucid these days, but she was clearly still paranoid and delusional.
Then she remembered Andy. She had forgotten to warn Daisy to stay away from him, to stop assisting him. Not that it mattered any longer.
The police must have needed Caroline’s statement at the police station. She’d be working her way through bureaucratic red tape, trying to explain the entire story front to back. But why hadn’t Caroline called Gretchen to let her know?
Maybe her mother hadn’t wanted to put her through hours of tedium at the police station. Or Matt had arrived on the scene and had lost his sense of humor. Or she wanted to give Gretchen enough time to interview Julie without a battalion of law enforcement officers arriving and scaring the cop-phobic woman away.
But Julie hadn’t held up her end. Where was she? Why hadn’t she called?
Oh jeez.
A quick glance at the phone showed that the phone was now dead.
Gretchen was stranded at the banquet hall without a phone or transportation.
What if, a big if, Daisy was correct about Jerome? Impossible. He had come inside the museum with a knife, and he would have killed them if he’d been given the chance.
No, they couldn’t have been wrong about Jerome.
She had time right now to think about the killings, to go over everything that had transpired. She selected one of Bonnie’s teddy bears from the stage display. It had button-shaped eyes, plush faux fur, and a white crocheted collar with a pink bow. Gretchen made herself comfortable in the stage chair with the teddy bear in her lap and stared at the large Barbie doll.
Good thing she had locked the front door.
At least she’d done something right.
Eventually they would come looking for her. She’d stay right where she was until that happened.
44
Andy Thomasia is attempting to learn the ways of the street people, trying to blend in, to be cautious of blind alleys-and suspicious of everyone he meets. He has turned his hours of wakefulness around, sleeping through the day in one of Nacho’s safe places, roaming the streets at night. He only has to do this for two days, he repeatedly tells himself.