Page 52 of Sharp Force
“Damn good thing you and Benton didn’t buy a place on Mercy Island. Can you imagine?” Marino then says. “You should be glad for a lot of reasons.”
“It was never a consideration.”
“Me and Dorothy refused to even look. No way we’d live on the grounds of a looney bin,” he says with his usual sensitivity. “Especially not that one. But I bet you could get a deal now.”
Like a lot of grand places from long ago, Mercy PsychiatricHospital has sold off most of its land to afford staying open. Centuries-old cottages, treatment pavilions and other outbuildings have been converted into luxury properties with stunning views of the Potomac River.
There are hiking trails, a dog park. And of course, the fitness center where the ancient cemetery once was.
“Unfortunately, we know from past experience that the hospital won’t be cooperative,” I’m saying to Marino. “I understand from Maggie that Graden Crowley is still the director.”
“Unfortunately.”
“A damn shame. I keep hoping he’ll retire.” I envision his whisky-flushed face and shifty eyes.
“I’ve tried to call but he’s not answering, no big surprise.” Marino’s dislike of him sounds over the phone. “Bottom line, he’s not going to tell us shit just like he didn’t the last time we were there.”
That was a year ago when a patient allegedly hanged himself with a strand of Christmas lights lashed to a radiator. I was given no satisfactory explanation for how he got hold of a ligature. I don’t know why it took five hours for a staff member to discover the body. Despite repeated requests I’ve yet to receive the most basic information.
“The latest status of the Wi-Fi outage?” I close my notebook, clipping the pen to the cover.
“No luck yet,” Marino says.
“And the weather?”
“It’s too foggy to see across the river,” he tells me. “But at least the rain has completely stopped, and the wind’s dying down. Now that we’ve talked, I’ll head back to the house and go over it with the crime lights. I’ll have everything done by the time you show up. Meanwhile, Fabian’s mobilized.”
He’s loading equipment into one of our windowless transport vans, black withOffice of the Chief Medical Examinerand the seal of Virginia in gray. It’s not something you’d want pulling up to your door.
“I need to get ready.” I climb out of bed. “And most of all to make coffee.”
I step around luggage outside the closets, lamplight shining on neatly folded clothes and pairs of shoes on the pumpkin pine flooring.
“Text me when you’re getting close to the Pitié Bridge.” Marino mispronounces itPie-tie and I’ve given up correcting him. “I’ll need to alert the officers at the checkpoint and front gate.”
“Will do.” I’m trying not to think about the theater tickets, the restaurant reservations, the plans to explore the English countryside in a rented Aston Martin.
“The roads are mostly wet and slushy, and it’s above freezing but still cold as hell with the wind. The high this afternoon will be pushing fifty,” Marino makes sure I know.
“See you soon,” I reply.
“And before I forget? Merry Christmas, Doc. It sucks this had to happen now.”
“It sucks that it had to happen at all,” I tell him.
Benton emerges from the bathroom in his boxer briefs and sleeveless T-shirt that look very good on him. His lean strong body is younger than his years.
“Should we carpool?” he asks, walking toward me.
“Sounds like we’re headed to the same place.” I’m in my bathrobe placing tactical clothing on a chair.
“Merry Christmas, Kay.” He wraps his arms around me. “Not how I was hoping we would spend it.”
“You’re my best present.” I kiss his neck.
“And you’re mine,” he says into my hair.
“You must have cleaned up and shaved while on the phone.” I touch his smooth cheek, smelling his earthy cologne. “And I know it’s not because we’re climbing back in bed until we feel like getting up.”
