"Yes, five years."
"Sherlock is getting high marks in the Bureau."
"She deserves them. I'm glad I was bright enough to latch onto her right out of training. She's a plus to the Unit."
"I imagine she's also other things to you, but that's none of my business. Make sure it remains none of my business. You take care of her, all right, Savich? And yourself. And call when you need backup."
"Yes, sir, I will." Savich paused just a moment, then turned, smiled, and strolled back into the living room, whistling.
She said immediately, "What dolphin was Mr. Maitland talking about?"
"I told you I whittled. The dolphin was a piece my sister stole out of here and put on consignment in the Lampton Gallery. She was all over me to quit the FBI when the piece sold. I didn't have the heart to tell her that my boss bought it."
"I see," she said slowly. "Do you happen, by any chance, to have any more whittled pieces around here?"
"A couple."
He was clearly uncomfortable. She just smiled at him. "Have you ever carved teak?"
"Oh yes, but my favorite is maple."
"You've been doing it a long time. Some of the scars on your hands look very old."
"Since I was a kid."
She said nothing more.
It was chilly in Boston, the sky a dull gray, the clouds fat with rain. The buildings looked old and tired, ready to fold in on themselves. Lacey shivered in the small interrogation room, waiting for them to bring in Marlin Jones. She would have given about anything to be in San Francisco at that moment, where everything was at least two hundred years newer and the chances were really good that it was sunny. Then she remembered what was in Boston and shook her head. Where was Marlin Jones? Naturally his lawyer, Big John Bullock, would be with him. She hoped she could talk him into leaving her alone with Marlin. Just five minutes; that's all she wanted. Dillon was close by, just outside, speaking with the two homicide detectives in charge of Marlin Jones's case. Lots of people behind the two-way mirror would be watching and listening.
She heard leg shackles pounding hard. She looked up. Marlin stood in the doorway. He looked hard and tough, all gentle edges carved off him. He stared at her for a very long time, not moving, not saying a word. Then, finally, terrifyingly, he smiled. He lifted his shackled hands and waved his fingers at her. "Hey, Marty, how's your arm? I remember how that felt, throwing that knife at you, watching it hit you, dig right into your skin. It went in so easy. Still hurt from my knife, Marty?"
"No, Marlin, I'm just fine. How's your belly? Can you stand up straight yet? You got a big scar to show for my bullet?"
He grew utterly still. The vicious light in his eyes went out, leaving them dark and opaque. "You've still got that smart mouth on you, Marty. That wasn't an act you put on for me. You need a man to teach you how to behave."
"Be quiet, Marlin," Big John said, lightly touching his fingertips to Marlin's forearm. Marlin shook him off.
Big John never stopped looking at Lacey. "Forget it, Agent Sherlock. There's no way I'll leave you alone with him." He sat down.
"You sit down now too," a sergeant said, shoving Marlin into a chair. "Don't move or I'll shackle you to the arms. I'm standing right behind you, boy. Just keep your hands on the tabletop. Don't even let your hair grow, you got that?"
Marlin didn't say a word. "He's got it," said Big John. "Don't worry, Officer."
"You and I did a lot of dancing when I was last in Boston, Marlin. You remember our last tango through your little maze, don't you?"
"I thought you were so pretty, so precious, but then you started saying those bad things. But you don't even have a husband, do you?"
"Nope, no husband." She was holding her ballpoint pen, lightly tapping it on the tabletop. She said, "You never saw me before I came into the lumber store, did you, Marlin?"
"Me? See you?" He paused a moment, then smiled at her. "You think maybe that's possible?" Then he shrugged and looked down at his dirty fingernails, ignoring her.
"I don't think I ever would have dated you, Marlin. You want to know why? Even though you look pretty interesting on the outside, you look dead on the inside, really dead, like you've been dead for a very long time."
"I'll ask you that question on the witness stand, Agent Sherlock," Big John said as he laced his fingers over his stomach. "Good stuff. To think I nearly refused to let Marlin say anything to you. Do keep talking. No juror will convict this poor fellow. Talk about not responsible-"
She ignored Big John. She sat forward, laid down the pen, and clasped her hands on the table in front of her. It was Formica, scarred, stained. She wondered briefly when it had last been cleaned. "Have you ever seen me before, Marlin?" He was staring at her. At that moment, she felt she could see his dead eyes looking through her skin down to her bones, looking at the blood pulsing through her veins. For an instant, she saw him dip his hands into her blood. She jumped, then forced herself to stillness again. He was scary with those eyes of his, but she was the one making him into more than he was. He was a monster, but she was making him into the Devil. Just let him stare. There was nothing he could do to her. He'd already tried and she'd won. She had to remember that. "Did you, Marlin? Ever see me before Boston?"
Slowly, he shook his head. "Nah. Maybe, but who cares? I still don't like you even though you're pretty. You're a real bitch, Marty."
"I'd like you to tell me something, Marlin." "If I feel like it."
"Remember when you were in the hospital I asked you to list the women you'd killed in San Francisco?" "I remember."
"You left out a woman named Belinda Madigan. Why? Why did you leave out her name?" "Did she curse?"
"No. I've never cursed either, Marlin. Why did you leave out Belinda Madigan's name?"
He shrugged, his eyes narrowing now, and she saw into him, clearly. He knew he could play her along, he knew he was in control, he knew he could string her along until-until what? Had he ever seen her before? In San Francisco? Did he know who she was? Something was awfully wrong. She knew he was playing mind games with her, but she couldn't stop.
He grinned, showing all his beautiful straight white teeth. "I got trouble remembering sometimes, you know?"
"Just maybe my father prosecuted you? He was an assistant D.A. in San Francisco seven years ago. His name is Corman Sherlock. Was that it, Marlin?"
"I heard about your daddy, heard he was a mean son of a bitch, heard he never cut anybody any slack, but I never met him."
"Why did you kill Belinda Madigan?"
Big John roared out of his chair, knocking it over. The sergeant grabbed his arm, his gun out. The door to the interrogation room burst open, and three armed officers rushed into the room.
Lacey stood up slowly. "It's all right, gentlemen. Mr. Bullock just got a bit riled, didn't you, sir?"
"You've got no right to ask him questions like that, Agent Sherlock. If you do it again, Marlin won't say another word, the interview will be over, and there'll never be another one. You got that?"
"I got it." She saw Dillon standing in the doorway, his expression set, his eyes hard. They'd argued about this, but in the end, he'd given in, allowing her to see Marlin alone. She knew he'd seen her desperation. He said nothing now, merely looked at her. She smiled, gave him a slight nod, then sat down again. "I'll be careful with my questions, Mr. Bullock," she said. "Please sit down, sir. If you feel like bounding around like that again, please don't. I'd just as soon not get shot by accident."
"You just watch yourself, little lady."
"I'm Special Agent Sherlock," she said mildly, admiring his tactic.
He wasn't stupid. He merely shrugged and sat back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest.
She turned to Marlin, who hadn't moved or spoken throughout the ruckus. "Did I entrap you, Marlin?"