The officer, a slim woman with deeply concerned eyes, looked my way. Her name tag read T. Kayne.
I indicated toward Saundra and Noni. “Can I speak with them for a moment, Officer Kayne?”
She hesitated at first but then nodded and went to join two officers who were standing in the kitchen, staring uneasily at the refrigerator, waiting for the crime scene investigators to get here to process the house.
When I was in high school I’d known Saundra only in passing. Earlier I’d seen her photo in the case files — gentle features, auburn hair, that serious but thoughtful face. Russet eyes. She hadn’t changed much.
“Agent Bowers. Thank you. For catching him.”
“You’re alright?”
A nod.
I knelt beside her daughter. “You’re a very brave girl.”
“My name is Noni.”
“Hi, Noni.” I extended my hand. “I’m Pat.”
She looked to her mother as if for permission to shake my hand, received it, and her grip was gentle but firm. “It’s my birthday.”
I seriously hoped this was one birthday she’d be able to forget. “Happy birthday.”
“I’m six.”
“Well, you’re a big girl.”
A small pause, then she gave me a smile. “I got a lot of presents at my party.”
The girl had been through an incredibly traumatic experience and yet it didn’t seem to be on her mind at all. She might be in denial or possibly experiencing a child’s version of shock.
“I’ll bet you did.”
Through the kitchen door I saw Officer Kayne glance my way.
I wished there was something I could say that would make this night disappear from Saundra and Noni’s minds, but there wasn’t. Time might help, but it was also possible that the nightmares might never go away.
Standing again, I asked Saundra, “Is there anything at all I can do for you or your daughter?”
She put an arm around Noni. “I think we’ll be okay.” Then she sighed. “It’s like we became characters from one of my books.”
“Well, if you ever write about a crime victim again you’ll know firsthand what it’s like.”
A thoughtful look. “Yes, I will.”
The sound of raindrops splattering against the roof was growing more sporadic as the storm moved on.
My gaze landed on a photograph on the fireplace mantel. From the case files I recognized the thirty-something woman as Basque’s sister, the only person I’d ever known him to care about. “Did he say anything to you about any other victims? Anyone else he might have hurt?”
Saundra shook her head, then Officer Kayne came back in and the paramedics led Saundra and Noni to the second ambulance so they could transport them to the hospital for observation. Surreptitiously, I told the paramedics to make sure they took them to a different hospital from Basque.
Then I had a look around.
No sign of Lien-hua’s phone. Quite possibly destroyed by now.
In Basque’s study, I found a copy of a 1912 collection of Aesop’s fables written by V. S. Vernon Jones. When I flipped to a dog-eared page in the middle of the book I found a fable that’d been circled with a neat red line:
“Prometheus and the Making of Man”
At the bidding of Jupiter, Prometheus set about the creation of Man and the other animals. Jupiter, seeing that Mankind, the only rational creatures, were far outnumbered by the irrational beasts, bade him redress the balance by turning some of the latter into men. Prometheus did as he was bidden, and this is the reason why some people have the forms of men but the souls of beasts.
The forms of men but the souls of beasts.
Basque’s essence summed up in one succinct phrase.
Monsters.
That look just like the rest of us.
A fable that was all too true.
Before heading outside I did a walk-through of the rest of the house.
Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. There were no bodies or body parts, no instruments of death or bloody knives or photos of victims pinned to the walls. The fishing hat and vest with lures hanging from it stowed by the door only added to the impression that we were in the innocuous, normal house of a loner outdoorsman who liked to go fishing on the nearby river and wetlands.
But looks can be so very deceiving.
Back outside, I met up with Ralph. With the rain dissipating, the night was damp and cool and the air tasted like early spring but was also soaked with the lingering mud-rich smell of the marsh stretching away from us into the night.
Some type of bird let out a screech and the lonely marshlands swirled to life nearby — something heavy moving through the water. A few deep-throated frogs croaked hoarsely from the edge of the bank.
The paramedic had bandaged Ralph’s arm, but even as tough as my buddy was, he couldn’t conceal a grimace when he moved it.
I wondered how severe that dog bite really was.
We were silent, and all the events of the night were cycling around inside my head as we walked through the drizzle toward the row of police cars: the grip of concern when I found out Saundra and her daughter were missing from the house in Chesapeake Beach, the adrenaline from the dark thrill of the chase, the desperation of trying to breathe while I was underwater, the lack of clarity about letting Basque stay dead or trying to bring him back, the sick feeling that gripped my stomach when I heard that two agents and a state patrol officer were down.
Ralph and I came to the dead pit bull that had attacked him. It still looked fearsome and intimidating even though it was no longer alive.
“I didn’t hear a shot,” I said.
“I didn’t use my gun. Twisted the collar, choked it out.” He didn’t sound happy at all about what he’d had to do. He patted its head as if it was a way of saying he was sorry, then he stood again. “So, you brought him back.”
“Basque.”
“Yes.”
“First, I drowned him.”
Silence.
“What did it feel like?”
“Killing him or bringing him back?”
“Both.”
“The first felt good; the second, not so good.”
“Why did you do it? Why’d you save him?”
“Honestly, Ralph, I’m not sure.”
“Well, I’m proud of you.”
“What, for killing him or for bringing him back?”
“Both.”
The Evidence Response Team arrived, and Cassidy, Farraday, and their crew started the arduous task of processing Basque’s house.
I would have work myself: forms, paperwork, completing the case files — but right now there wasn’t anything else for Ralph or me to do here.
“Let’s get you to a doctor to stitch up that dog bite,” I told him. “You really do need some antibiotics. A rabies shot too, probably.”
“Naw, I’m okay.”
“Buddy, having biceps as big as my thigh isn’t going to help you fight off an infection.”
He scoffed.
“Do you really want to face Brineesha with an untreated bite wound like that?”
That made him think. “She can be a determined woman.”
“Yes, she can. We’ll get your car, swing by St. Mary’s, I can say hi to Lien-hua, and you can have someone look at your arm.”
He wasn’t thrilled about the idea, but when I reminded him how many nights he’d spent on the couch last year when he didn’t get the wound from a knife fight stitched up, he finally gave in.
My car lay mired in the mud at the base of the embankment, but an officer nearby offered to give us a ride to pick up Ralph’s car.
Only when I’d mentioned Lien-hua’s name a few moments ago did it hit me that I hadn’t called her yet to tell her the news about Basque.
After I retrieved my laptop from my car and we were on our way to DC in the cruiser, I caught Lien-hua in her room saying good-bye to Dr. Frasier, who’d been checking her charts. “Still scheduled for release tomorrow.” She sounded satisfied and relieved.