"Want to tell me why?"
"It looks like your invisible guy has been at it again. Some old coot's been gutted like a salmon."
Decker said, "On our way," and switched on his siren and flashing lights.
"Whoo," Hicks said, slapping his armrest.
Decker U-turned the Mercury in the middle of Broad Street, its tires squittering, and headed east. "Did I tell you that I was going to be a father?" he asked Hicks.
They stepped cautiously into the bathroom where the forensic team were already at work, waddling around in
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white Tyvek suits and taking tissue samples and footprints and measuring the smears of blood on the walls of George Drewry's shower cubicle.
Decker took a long look inside the shower. George Drewry's eyes were still half open, as if he were right on the point of nodding off to sleep. A fly settled on his heaped-up intestines and one of the forensic team flapped it away.
Decker turned back to Hicks and Hicks had his hand pressed over his nose and mouth. There was nothing guaranteed to bring up your breakfast more than the sweet smell of human insides.
Decker looked around the white-tiled floor, which was decorated with blood, like blotchy crimson roses. "How many sets of footprints?" he asked Lieutenant Bryce, who was kneeling on the floor beside the toilet bowl, painstakingly dipping Q-tips into one of the gradually congealing petals.
"Only one, as far as I can tell," she said. "Major Drewry's wife."
"Major Drewry?"
"That's right. Fort Monroe, TRADOC, retired."
They left the bathroom and went back to the living room, where Cab was talking to the medical examiner, Erin Malkman. She was a handsome blond woman with a strong chin, deep-set eyes, and lips that were so full and glossy that they always looked to Decker as if she were halfway through eating an overripe apricot. Her Tyvek suit was half unzipped and she was tugging off her protective gloves.
"Hi, Erin. How's the meat trade these days?"
"Hello, Martin. Haven't seen you in a while."
"Oh, I've been around."
"I'm sure you have.
He gave her a tight, humorless smile. "So what's the picture here?"
"I was just telling Captain Jackson that Major Drewry's
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wounds are distinctly different from those that were inflicted on Alison Maitland. They're triangular, and they were probably caused by a large blade that was sharp on one side and serrated on the other."
"Bowie knife?"
"Something of that order. I've prepared some profiles of Alison Maitland's entry wounds and of course I'll be doing the same for Major Drewry."
"Bryce said there was only one set of footprints in the bathroom—Mrs. Drewry's."
"That's right," Cab said. "Major Drewry had been out jogging . . . he came in and went directly to the bathroom to take a shower. When he didn't reappear after ten minutes, Mrs. Drewry went in to see why he was taking so long, and that's when she found him."
"She didn't see anybody?"
"Nope. We have some similarities with the Maitland killing here . . . no evidence of any intruder, no murder weapon, no witnesses. But, I don't know ... with Gerald Maitland in custody, my opinion is that we're probably looking at a copycat."
"What about Mrs. Drewry? Is she a suspect?"
"Are you kidding me? You should see her. She had blood on her hands and feet, but that was only consistent with going into the bathroom and finding Major Drewry's body."
"Where is she now?"
"Next door, with her neighbor."
"We'd better go talk to her then."
Erin said, "I'll start on the autopsy as soon as I get the body into the lab. I should be able to give you a preliminary report by midday tomorrow."
"Well, I thank you, kind medical examiner."
Erin didn't say anything, but then she didn't have to, because she and Decker understood each other only too well.
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Eighteen months ago they had both used each other—Decker to recover from his grief for Cathy, and Erin to get over a protracted and nasty affair with a city official called Simon who used to beat her. After two and a half months together Decker had turned up at her apartment one afternoon to find her with two black eyes. She had spent the previous night with her city official, and her city official had made doubly sure that Decker knew about it.
As they left the Drewry house, Cab said, "This case gives me dyspepsia."
"Relax, Captain, there has to be some explanation. Somebody killed Major Drewry whether that somebody was seen by anybody or not."
"It still makes my stomach hurt. Listen—I've called a news conference for four o'clock and I want you back at headquarters by two-thirty to give me an update. We can't let this one get out of hand, public-relations-wise. You see that headline about the Maitland killing? Homicide Squad Chase Their Own Shadows. I don't want no more b.s. like that."
They crossed the lawn toward the next-door neighbors' house. There was a clamor of shouted questions from the gathered reporters, and a blizzard of flash photography, but Cab gave them nothing more than a dismissive wave of his hand. "Goddamn media. They give me a pain in the ass."
"Have we released that drawing yet?"
"No, I had a talk with Major Greaves and we decided against it."
"What? What do you mean you decided against it?"
Cab dragged out his handkerchief and blew his nose. "Think about it, Decker. The only person who saw this character was mentally challenged. Nobody else saw him, not even her own mother, who was standing right next to
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her, and to whom she actually pointed this imaginary character out. Even if we could find a guy who looked like her drawing, Sandra's evidence would never stand up in court.
"Major Greaves agrees with me that it's in everybody's best interests if we quietly forget about it. Ours, and Sandra's."
"So we're not even going to look for this guy?"
"He walked through the door without opening it? A door that was locked and chained on the inside, and the paramedics had to kick down? The house was a bloodbath but he didn't leave a single footprint or fingerprint? Come on, Decker."
"What happened here then, at the Drewrys' house? Don't tell me that Major Drewry committed suicide. What with? A bowie knife, which we can't find, any more than we could find the bayonet that killed Alison Maitland?"
"I don't know, Decker, for Christ's sake. Don't make me irritable. Like you say, there has to be an explanation and it's your job to find it."
"I want that drawing released."
"No, Decker. We have a watertight case against Gerald Maitland and I'm not going to jeopardize it by making it look as if we're searching for another suspect. This ain't The Fugitive."
They found Jean Drewry on the shady verandah at the back of the house, sitting with her neighbor on a flowery-cushioned couch. The electric storm had passed over now, although it was still grumbling and complaining out over Powhatan County. In spite of the humidity, Jean Drewry was wrapped in a thick maroon shawl. Her neighbor was a plump woman in pink ski pants. She looked up sharply as Decker and Hicks came out of the house.
"Can't this wait?"
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"I'm sorry, ma'am. But I have to ask Mrs. Drewry one or two questions just to help us get a handle on this thing."
Jean Drewry was very white, as if her face were powdered with flour. "Is George gone yet?" she asked. "Have they taken him away?"
"The forensic people are going to need a couple more hours. But they'll move him as soon as they can."
"It's his pride, you see?" Jean Drewry said. "He wouldn't like people to see him like that."
"Mrs. Drewry, I can assure you that your George will be treated with the very greatest of respect," Decker assured her, thinking of Erin Malkman taking out her circular saw and cutting off the top of Major Drewry's skull, so that she could weigh his brain. He sat down on a wickerwork chair close to her, while Hicks perched on the verandah railing behind him. At the end of the garden there was a row of beehives and the afternoon hummed with steamy heat and bees.