Page 16 of Sharp Force
“I wish you wouldn’t sneak up on me like that!” I tell him, my nerves in an uproar.
“Thought you might want a ride home, Doc,” he says, and it’s not a suggestion.
The expression on his rugged face is uneasy, his eyes everywhere as if we might be in danger. He’s wearing a ballistic vest, his shaved head covered by a Yankees baseball cap. Instantly, I’m suspicious Lucy is the reason he’s shown up unannounced. Marino has been parked nearby, waiting to intercept me per her instructions.
“I’m fine, but thanks,” I reply.
“I need you to get in the truck, Doc.”
“Not necessary. And I have a stop to make,” I remind him as Benton answers my text.
At a standstill near Chain Bridge Forest,he informs me.Can’t wait to see you either but could be quite a while.
“With all due respect, my truck runs rings around that thing.” Marino indicates my Subaru. “I can churn through snow and ice like a hot knife through butter.”
“Did Lucy tell you to babysit?” I reply.
“Neither of us want you running around by yourself in a blizzard and dropping off personal effects to strangers,” Marino answers, his breath smoking out. “Just because you’ve talked to someone on the phone doesn’t mean you know them. What if the wife had something to do with her husband ending up in the river?”
“I don’t see how that could be possible unless she caused him to have a heart attack,” I counter. “And from what I understand, she was home with her two boys at the time.”
“I don’t get why you’re doing this, Doc.”
“Because I feel I should, and it’s also a good way for me to ask a few questions.” I’m not required to give him an explanation, but I seem to do it often enough. “Fabian says the pier where Rowdy O’Leary fished is a place people go for romantic trysts. Maybe the detail is important.”
“Figures he’d be aware of something like that since he fancies himself such a ladies’ man,” Marino snipes.
“Apparently, it’s not an ideal spot to fish,” I explain.
“When I’m out in my boat, I cruise past that pier all the time. It’s not in good shape, hasn’t been repaired in forever, and there’s nothing around it,” he says. “I wouldn’t fish there. And forget it in the winter after dark.”
“Raising questions about why someone would choose that location.” I turn down the defrost fan. “His wife might have information she hasn’t shared with the police. I’m hoping I can put her at ease, and she’ll talk freely.”
“All the more reason you need an experienced investigator with you,” Marino presumes.
“You should head home to Dorothy,” I tell him. “It’s not fair that she’s by herself. I’ll be fine on my own…”
“I consider you at risk, Doc. Maybe all of us are.” Marino isn’t going to take no for an answer. “We got no idea who the Slasher might be spying on besides Dana Diletti and the three women he’s butchered so far. You don’t need to be out here by yourself right now.”
I roll up the window, cutting the engine, knowing when to pick my battles. Collecting my belongings and the evidence envelope, I climb into Marino’s blacked-out monster truck with its run-flat tires, LED strobes and fog lamps.
I notice his Colt .45 in the pistol mount attached to the underside of the steering column. As I buckle up, he launches in about Dana Diletti’s frightening encounter.
“She showed us the window the phantom came through,” he explains over the engine’s loud thrumming, the dashboard’s digital gauges lit up in bright colors. “It’s on the second floor at the rear of the house, which faces nothing but woods.”
“What time did she say this happened?” I ask as his truck growls through the parking lot, the wipers thumping.
“About quarter of four, and by then it was foggy and getting dark.” Marino slows as we reach the security gate, the arm lifting. “Three minutes later, the hologram was gone. That’s according to time stamps on the video Dana took with her phone.”
“Do you think the Slasher or anybody else might have been on her property when this occurred?” I ask as we turn onto the snowy access road, his tire tracks from earlier barely visible. “Or did he send in the hologram remotely as we believe he often does.”
“Yes, he flew it in remotely. I don’t think the Slasher was on her property,” Marino replies. “But that doesn’t mean he won’t pay a follow-up visit that’s a whole lot worse.”
We drive through the state government park not seeing any other cars. Employees left for the day long before now. Buildings are modern brick with wreaths on entrance doors, lampposts wrapped like candy canes. Through the plate glass windows of Veterans Affairs, I glimpse lighted snowflakes suspended from the ceiling.
There are trumpeting angels and Christmas trees inside the Bureau of Vital Records, the Office of Epidemiology and Emergency Medical Services. The Health Department’s oversized silver ornaments on the lawn are emblazoned withJoy to the World,the boxwoods in front a twinkling galaxy of blue LEDs.
In bleak contrast, my tan brick headquarters was built in the 1980s, ugly with tiny windows, the rooftop smokestack an antisocial eyesore when the crematorium oven is belching dirty gray smoke. We never decorate for any occasion. It wouldn’t be appropriate.
