"I felt like somebody really shoved me," she said, straightening her cap. "Somebody shoved me but there was nobody there."
"I know," Decker said. "The same thing happened to all of us."
"But what was it?"
"We don't know yet. It's some kind of trick. Don't worry, we're on top of it. I'll need to talk to you later, if you could give me your names."
"Lieutenant!" Hicks called out, and Decker could hear the
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distress in his voice. "Lieutenant, you'd better come take a look at this!"
At that moment, the door to the elevator bank was flung open and two of the hospital security guards came running toward them, followed by three male paramedics and a nurse.
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CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Cab said, "This is getting very unfunny."
Decker took off his glasses and polished them with his garish red and yellow necktie. "At least we have a clear idea of what we're up against."
"Oh, you think so? We're up against some kind of invisible guy who can only be seen by a young girl with Down's syndrome? What's clear about that? I can't even give any details to the press."
"I don't see why not. Maybe there are some other people out there who have the ability to see him. You know, maybe Sandra isn't the only one."
"You really think I'm going to announce that we're looking for somebody we can't see? You must think I'm desperate for early retirement."
Decker put his glasses back on and shrugged. "I still think it might help. If what this guy can do is a trick, or some kind of mass hypnosis, then there could be somebody out there who can tell us how it's done. Then again—if he's a genuine
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supernatural phenomenon, there could be somebody out there who knows how to track him down and do whatever it is you have to do to supernatural phenomena to stop them from disemboweling people."
"Who? Father Karras?"
Hicks said, "No—I agree with Lieutenant Martin. I think people are pretty open-minded about weird stuff these days. Like, you know, poltergeists and demonic possession and shit."
Cab dragged out his handkerchief and loudly blew his nose. "I can't do it. The chief will go nuclear. The city manager's daughter went missing a couple of years ago and I called in a psychic detective. And then I made the mistake of mentioning it to Roger Barrett at WRVA."
"Kaboom!" Detective Rudisill remembered, with relish.
"Exactly. Kaboom. Can you imagine what the chief would do if I put out a public appeal for hypnotists and mentally challenged children and exorcists? She'd have my balls for her Sunday-best earrings."
"Okay, Captain," Decker conceded. "We still have a couple of orthodox lines of inquiry to follow up—like we're looking into the Maitlands' family histories, and Major Drewry's, too."
Cab said, "All right . . . see how far you get with your regular inquiries. After that—if you still think we need to involve the media—come back and talk to me first. Don't give me any nasty surprises."
"I wouldn't dream of it, Captain. But—one more thing.
We need to reinstate Sandra Plummer's close protection." "All right. I think I can find a way to justify that." "Oh—and one more thing. Are you still planning to go
to Charlottesville on Tuesday afternoon?"
"Why are you always so interested in my movements, Martin?"
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"No particular reason. I just like to know where you are, you know—in case things get exciting."
Outside in the parking lot, he met Mayzie. It was early evening now, and the sky was golden.
"Hi, Mayzie," he said, putting his arm around her shoulders. "I've been meaning to call you. You're right. We really have to talk."
Mayzie twisted herself free of him. "I've decided I don't want a baby after all," she retorted.
"You've decided? Don't you think I have any say in this?" "You told me you didn't want to be a father."
"I know . . . but I don't know. I'm kind of warming to it. I could take him fishing. I could teach him how to play five-card stud."
"How do you know we would have a boy?"
"He must be a boy. Do I look like the kind of guy who'd have girls?"
"Decker, you're a head case. What happened in the men's room . . . you were like a mad person. I don't want to have children fathered by a mad person."
"I had a—thing, that's all. Kind of, like, a hallucination. Overwork. Not enough sleep. Too much coffee."
"Decker, you can't change my mind."
He had reached his car. He caught hold of her arm and stopped her. "Have you been to a clinic yet? Talked about it? I mean the medical implications?"
"Why should I go to a clinic?"
He frowned at her. "You're not going to try and do it yourself, are you?"
"I don't know what you mean."
"The abortion. It could be really dangerous, doing it yourself."
"I'm not pregnant, Decker."
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"You mean you lost it?"
Mayzie shook her head. "I'm sorry. I was stupid. I thought it might bring us closer together, if you thought that I was going to have your baby. You don't know what I feel about you, do you? You don't care, either. I see you flirting and sleeping around with any girl you can get your hands on, and that hurts. That really, really hurts."
Decker lowered his head and ran his hand through his hair. "I'm sorry, Mayzie. The last thing I ever wanted to do was hurt you. I've been hurting so much myself that I—well, I guess I got into the habit of it. I totally forgot that other people have feelings. That you have feelings."
He took hold of her and held her close, but they both knew that their affair was finished. After a while she wiped her eyes with her fingers and attempted a smile.
"He would have been a great little guy," Decker said. He punched his fists in the air as if he were having a playful fight with a five-year-old. "I would've called him Decker Martin Junior. Have to carry on the great family name."
Mayzie kissed his cheek and then walked away-across the parking lot. Quite unexpectedly, Decker found it difficult to swallow.
He collected Hicks by the front entrance and they drove to 4140 Davis Street, where the Maitland house was cordoned off by yellow police tape wound around the front railings. They let themselves in and walked into the gradually darkening hallway. The floors and walls were still stained with -Alison Maitland's blood, and the air was filled with a thick, sweet stench like rotten chicken. Blowflies were crawling up the windows and buzzing around the ceiling, and Hicks had to bat one away from his mouth.
"Jesus," he spat. "When are they going to clean this place up?"
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"When we've found what we're looking for," Decker said. He went through to the breakfast area and looked around. "I don't know what the hell we're trying to find, but let's try to think backward."
Hicks covered his nose and his mouth with his hand. "Wish I hadn't eaten those breakfast links this morning. After seeing that poor guy hanging by his guts . . ."
"I never knew that intestines were so strong, did you?" Decker remarked. He opened the glass doors in the hutch and looked inside. "Then again, when you think about it, you have to boil tripe for hours."
"For Christ's sake, Lieutenant."
Decker opened all the kitchen drawers and closed them again. He even peered into the ovens.
"We looked there," Hicks said, his voice muffled behind his hand. "We looked everywhere."
"I know, sport. And you couldn't find the evidence that you were looking for. But maybe you were looking for the wrong kind of evidence."
"What do you mean?"