BLACK NOTICE. PATRICIA CORNWELL

“Sorry,” he said. ‘The battery went dead in my phone, had to find a pay phone.”

“Where are you?”

“Driving around. We got the state police fixed-wing plane circling the river, probing everything with a search: light. Maybe the bastard’s eyes glow in the dark like a dog. You seen the sky? Goddamn, they’re suddenly saying we might get six inches of snow. It’s already started.”

“Marino, Bray was killed with a chipping hammer,” I said.

“What the hell is that?”

“Used in masonry. You aware of any construction along the river that might involve stone, brick or something like that? On the off chance he got the tool from there because he’s staying there?” .

“Where did you find a chipping hammer? I thought you was going home? I hate it when you do shit like this.”

“I am home,” I impatiently said. “And maybe he is, too, right this minute. Maybe it’s some place putting in pavers or a wall.”

Marino paused.

“I wonder if you use something like that on a slate roof,” he said. “Fhere’s this big old house behind gates, way back from Windsor Farms, right on the river. They’re putting on a new slate roof.”

“Is anybody living there?’

I didn’t think anything about it, since construction guys are crawling around it all day long. Nobody’s in it. It’s for sale,” he said.

“He could be inside during the day and come out after dark when the crew is gone,” I replied. “Maybe the alarm isn’t on for fear the construction noise would set it off.”

“I’m on my way.”

“Marino, please don’t go there alone.”

“ATF’s got people all over the place,” he said.

I built a fire and when I went out for more wood, it was snowing hard, the moon a faint face behind low clouds. I cradled split logs in one arm and tightly gripped my Glock in my hand as I kept my eye on every shadow and tuned my ear to every sound. The night seemed to bristle with fear. I hurried inside my house and reset the alarm.

I sat in the great room, flames lashing the sooty throat óf the chimney, and I worked on sketches. I tried to reconstruct how the killer might have gotten Bray back to the bedroom without inflicting a single blow. Despite her years in administration, she was a trained police officer. How did he incapacitate her seemingly so easily without apparent injury or a struggle? My television. was on, and every half hour or so the local networks had news breaks.

The so-called Loup-Garou couldn’t have been pleased about what was being said, assuming he had access to a radio or television.

“. . . been described as stocky, maybe six feet tall, maybe bald. According to the chief medical examiner, Dr. Scarpetta, he may have a rare disease that causes excess hairiness and a deformed face and teeth . . :’

Thanks a lot, Harris, I thought. He had to pin all that on me.

“. . . are urged to exercise extreme care. Don’t answer the door until you’re sure who it is.”

Harris was right about one thing, though. People were going to panic. My phone rang at almost ten.

“Hey,” Lucy said, and she sounded more cheerful than I’d heard her in a while.

“Are you still at MCV?” I asked.

“Closing up things here. You see the snow out there? It’s coming down like a bitch. We should be home in about an hour.”

“Drive carefully. Call me when you pull up so I can help get Jo inside.”

I put two more logs on the fire, and no matter how secure my fortress was, I started to feel scared. I tried to distract myself by watching an old Jimmy Stewart movie on HBO while I paid bills. I thought of Talley and got depressed again, and I was angry with him. No matter my ambivalence, he hadn’t really given me a chance. I had tried to get in touch with him, and he hadn’t bothered to call back.

When the phone rang again, I jumped and a stack of bills fell off my lap.

“Yes?” I said.

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