Joni stretched her arms and massaged the back of her neck. “It’s always struck me as miraculous the Feds were able to get so much cooperation in the Wayne Williams case,” she said, referring to the grisly twenty-two-month spree in Atlanta, in which it is believed that as many as thirty black children were murdered by the same serial killer. Fibrous debris recovered from twelve of the victims’ bodies was linked to the residence and automobiles used by Williams.
“Maybe we should get Hanowell to take a look at these fibers, especially this orange one,” I said.
Roy Hanowell was an FBI special agent in the Microscopic Analysis Unit in Quantico. He examined the fibers in the Williams case, and ever since had been inundated with other investigative agencies worldwide wanting him to look at everything from cashmere to cobwebs.
“Good luck,” Joni said again, just as drolly.
“You’ll call him?” I asked.
“I doubt he’ll be inclined to look at something that’s already been examined,” she said, adding,
“You know how the Feds are.”
“We’ll both call him,” I decided.
When I returned to my office there were half a dozen pink telephone messages. One jumped out at me. Written on it was a number with a New York City exchange and the note: “Mark. Please return call ASAP.”
There was only one reason I could think of for his being in New York. He was seeing Sparacino, Beryl’s attorney. Why was Orn-dorff & Berger so intensely interested in Beryl Madison’s murder?
The telephone number apparently was Mark’s direct line because he picked up on the first ring.
“When’s the last time you were in New York?” he asked casually.
“I beg your pardon?”
“There’s a flight leaving Richmond in exactly four hours. It’s nonstop. Can you can be on it?”
“What is this about?” I asked quietly, my pulse quickening.
“I don’t think it wise to discuss the details over the phone, Kay,” he said.
“I don’t think it wise for me to come to New York, Mark,” I responded.
“Please. It’s important. You know I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t.”
“It’s not possible …”
“I just spent the morning with Sparacino,” he interrupted as long-suppressed emotions wrestled with my resolve. “There’s a couple of new developments having to do with Beryl Madison and your office.”
“My office?” I no longer sounded unmoved. “What could you possibly be discussing that has to do with my office?”
“Please,” he said again. “Please come.”
I hesitated.
“I’ll meet you at La Guardia.”
Mark’s urgency cut off my attempts at retreat. “We’ll find someplace quiet to talk. The reservation’s already made. All you need to do is pick up your ticket at the check-in counter. I’ve booked a room for you, taken care of everything.”
Oh God, I thought as I hung up, and then I was inside Rose’s office.
“I have to go to New York this afternoon,” I explained in a tone that invited no questions. “It has to do with Beryl Madison’s case, and I’ll be out of the office at least through tomorrow.”
I evaded her eyes. Though my secretary knew nothing about Mark, I feared that my motivation was as obvious as a billboard.
“Is there a number where you can be reached?” Rose asked.
“No.”
Opening the calendar, she immediately began scanning for the appointments she would need to cancel as she informed me, “The Times called earlier, something about doing a features article, a profile of you.”
“Forget it,” I answered irritably. “They just want to corner me about Beryl Madison’s case. It never fails. Whenever there’s a particularly brutal case I refuse to discuss, suddenly every reporter in town wants to know where I went to college, if I have a dog or ambivalence about capital punishment, and what my favorite color, food, movie, and mode of death are.”
“I’ll decline,” she muttered, reaching for the phone.
I left the office in time to make it home, throw a few things into a suit bag, and beat the rush-hour traffic. As Mark promised, my ticket was waiting for me at the airport. He had booked me in first class, and within the hour I was settled in a row all to myself. For the next hour I sipped Chivas on the rocks and tried to read as my thoughts shifted like the clouds in the darkening sky beyond my oval window.