Arthur wondered how Lauralie would react if she ever learned that he had no idea what was on Sanger's walls and shelves and desk. That he had not gotten past the shrink's outer office to have one damn look in her actual office. He certainly couldn't tell Lauralie the truth at this point, that he'd had to leave the parcel in the garage for Dr. Sanger as she pursued him out the building. It was a secret he felt best kept in a vault inside his head.
He propped himself up on his elbow. "When are you going to tell me what this is all about and why you hate her so much?" he pressed Lauralie.
"I want to hurt her, hurt her badly."
"That's rather obvious, but why? What's it got to do with her cop lover, Stonecoat? Did the two of them once hurt you?"
"She did."
"And him, Stonecoat? Did he hurt you?"
"It's enough that she loves him. I hurt him, I hurt her. Simple as that."
"How did she hurt you?"
"Enough. I don't want to fucking talk about it." She lowered herself over him and swallowed up his penis in her mouth again to shut him up, her hair tickling his stomach and groin as she worked to make him groan and end his list of questions.
When she finished, she propped herself on her elbow and said, "I left the big package for Stonecoat with UPS addressed to him at the precinct. It'll arrive tomorrow. This one'11 kick ass."
CHAPTER 7
An unusual silvery spray of desert rain played lightly over their features, awakening Lucas and Meredyth where they had slept with the creatures of the rocks, here beneath the starlit night that'd become twilight morning. The first of the eastern sun rays had still not reached the boulders, and now Meredyth sat watching the light creep in, creating long dark fingers out of standing cactus plants until these shadows stretched across the desert to them. On first awakening, Meredyth had found herself in the crook of Lucas's arm, and it felt not only good but safe.
They had agreed to turn off their cell phones, and so no one had been able to disturb their evening. On waking, Lucas had pulled free, checking any messages he might have as he rummaged about in the picnic basket and said, "Hey, you hungry? Let's see what's left to drink and eat. Makeshift breakfast here."
She was checking her messages, three-all from Byron Priestly-still desperately seeking her forgiveness. Let him beg another week, she thought, then cut him off at the knees. Byron had caught her at her private practice downtown, where they had often met for dinner and the theater in the past, but this time, she had stormed off from him, leaving him standing in the garage. She'd told him not to call or to come by, but here he was, bugging her.
She joined Lucas and they finished off what was left of the wine and bread, and after watching a circling pair of screeching hawks claiming the territory, Lucas suggested they start back for the city and the other reality awaiting them.
"We didn't make love," she commented on the trip back.
"We were too busy making love to the desert," he countered, "together-of one mind. It was great."
She smiled at this. "You're more the romantic than you pretend, aren't you, Chief? My Wolf Clansman."
Lucas and Meredyth arrived back in the city and at Meredyth's place a few minutes past nine A.M. in a steady rain, and the day doorman, Stuart Long, greeted them with an envelope from Byron and complaints. "Lost time on the job over this thing…long and frustrating hours spent with that sketch artist. So I took over Max's shift last night, and so here I am, bloodshot eyes, dog's at home alone, nobody to feed 'im, putting in long hours here-get it, Long hours. Hi and hello," he added, taking Lucas's hand, shaking it. "I'm Stuart Long."
"Detective Stonecoat, Lucas." Lucas then asked, "So, you got a sketch done at the station house?"
'Talk about long hours…going downtown to give a statement and a description of the guy who left that damnable parcel with me. I told 'em what little I know, Dr. Sanger, but it wasn't much. The guy was an everyman type, you know, nothing whatever to distinguish him. The guy was like medium everything, medium height, medium weight, medium shoe size, medium brown hair, glasses, kinda geekish-looking, wore a buttoned-up Ralph Lauren polo shirt knockoff over ordinary slacks. Nothing about his features stuck out. Clean shaven. I think the composite they did may's well be a blank slate."
Meredyth had tom open Byron's envelope, glanced at the communique, and angrily stuffed it into her purse when she could find no nearby trash container. In her purse, she came across the folded copy of the sketch Kelton had given her the night before. She snatched it out, offering it to Lucas.
He frowned and stared at the depiction-mostly blank space-and said, "Hmmm…I see what you mean, Mr. Long. This… this is extremely"-useless, he thought but didn't wish to insult-"extremely helpful."
"BS, Detective. It's all medium… everything about the guy was medium, even his nose. When they showed me those books of collected ears, noses, eyes, chins, shit…all I kept picking out was the medium ones," Stu continued nonstop as if on speed, his shoulders rising and lowering as if on automatic. "I'm for damn sure going to be more observant in the future."
"Not at all, Stu," replied Meredyth, waving him down. "Thanks for taking the time going in and giving the artist what you could."
"Did you notice any odors clinging to the man?" asked Lucas out of the blue.
"Odors… hmmm… That's interesting you should ask." Long bit his lower lip, contemplating this. "On account-a-there was something… something odd like…like…can't place it now."
"Detective Stonecoat is a great believer in the power of the olfactory nerves to bring back visual memories, Stu. Being a psychiatrist, I'd have to agree."
"It is, after all, the first sense used in tracking an animal," Lucas commented.
"I tell you, there was something odd clinging to this guy ……."
"Go on," urged Lucas, "an odor like the inside of a really raunchy pair of old sneakers perhaps?"
"No…not exactly."
"Or the back room of a moldy tenement?"
"Yeah…mold, only…only a little different than that…something like…like mildew, only added to a faintly nauseating chemical odor."
"Chemical odor?"
"You know, like you smell in a hospital."
"Excellent," said Meredyth. "You do remember something, Mr. Long, and it's more than a medium memory."
"Oh, and there's something else I remember that was unusual about the guy now," replied Long. "He had this mole right here on his left cheek." Long pointed to the spot. "Like…like that kid character in the Waltons, John Boy? Only…only there was a nasty hair growing out of this mole. Damn, I didn't tell that to the sketch artist."
"Anything else?" pressed Lucas.
"Keep recalling that odor on his clothes, on his skin," added Meredyth. They both knew that recalled odors brought back more recall in the visual imagery centers of the cortex.
Long announced, "His eyebrows were black."
"And so how is that important?" urged Meredyth.
"Well, his hair was blond…maybe dyed. Maybe that was the smell coming off him? I told the artist he had blond hair, but now I think about it, the roots were dark, and definitely the eyebrows were dark brown or black. Didn't get that detail into the sketch either."
Lucas asked, "You sure it wasn't a wig?"
"Could've been…I suppose."
"Did the sketch artist give you his card?"
"Yeah, she did. I'll give her a call. In the meantime, Dr. Sanger, you'll want to see the early edition of the Chronicle." He held the newspaper in his hands up to her. "I swear I had nothing to do with this. I like my job too much."
Meredyth took in the front page headline: "SHRINKING IN HORROR-Killer Sends Victim's Eyes, Teeth to Police Shrink."