“My point is that I didn’t think you were here, so I invited Marino. I didn’t want him to drive back to Richmond in the snow.”
Disappointment glinted in her intense green eyes. “It’s not a problem. As long as he and I don’t have to sleep in the same room,” she dryly remarked. “But I don’t understand what he was even doing in Tidewater.”
“Like I said, it’s a long story,” I answered. “The case in question has a Richmond connection.”
We went out to the frigid porch and quickly swished fins, dive skin, wet suit and other gear in icy water. Then we carried all of it up to the attic, where nothing would freeze, and placed it on multiple layers of towels. I took as long a shower as the water heater would allow, and thought it unreal that Lucy, Marino and I were together in this tiny coastal cottage on a snowy New Year’s Eve.
When I emerged from my bedroom, I found them in the kitchen drinking Italian beer and reading about making bread.
“All right,” I said to them. “That’s it. Now I take over.”
“Watch out,” Lucy said.
I shooed them out of the way and began measuring high gluten flour, yeast, a little sugar and olive oil into a large bowl. I turned the oven on low and opened a bottle of Cete Retie, which was for the cook to sip as she began her serious work. I would serve a Chianti with the meal.
“Did you go through Eddings’ wallet?” I asked Marino as I chopped porcini mushrooms.
“Who’s Eddings?” Lucy asked.
She was sitting on a countertop, sipping Peroni. Through the windows behind her snow streaked the gathering dark.
I explained more about what had happened today, and she asked no further questions, but was silent as Marino talked.
“Nothing jumped out,” he said. “One MasterCard, one Visa, AmEx, insurance info. Crap like that and a couple receipts. They look like restaurants, but we’ll check. You mind if I get another one of these?” He dropped an empty bottle into the trash and opened the refrigerator door.
“Let’s see what else.” Glass clattered. “He wasn’t carrying much cash. Twenty-seven bucks.”
“What about photographs?” I asked, kneading dough on a board dusted with flour.
“Nothing.” He shut the refrigerator. “And as you know, he wasn’t married.”
“We don’t know that he didn’t have a significant relationship with someone,” I said.
“That could be true because there sure isn’t a hell of a lot we know.” He looked at Lucy. “You know what Birdsong is?”
“My Sig’s got a Birdsong finish.” She looked over at me. “So does Aunt Kay’s Browning.”
“Well, this guy Eddings had a Browning nine-mil just like what your aunt’s got and it has a desert brown Birdsong finish. Plus, his ammo’s Teflon-coated and has red lacquer on the primer. I mean you could shoot the shit through twelve phone books in the friggin’ pouring rain.”
She was surprised. “What’s a journalist doing with something like that?”
“Some people are just very enthusiastic about guns and ammo,” I said. “Although I never knew Eddings was. He never mentioned it to me-not that he necessarily would have.”
“I’ve never seen KTW in Richmond at all,” Marino said, referring to the brand name of the Teflon-coated cartridges. “Legal or otherwise.”
“Could he have gotten it at a gun show?” I asked.
“Maybe. One thing’s for sure. This guy probably went to a lot of them. I ain’t told you about his apartment yet.”
I covered the dough with a damp towel and put the bowl in the oven on the lowest setting.
“I won’t give you the whole tour,” he went on. “Just the important parts, starting with the room where he’s apparently been reloading his own ammo. Now where he’s been shooting all these rounds, who knows. But he’s got plenty of guns to choose from, including several other handguns, an AK-47, an MP5 and an M16. Not exactly what you use for varmint hunting. Plus, he subscribed to a number of survivalist magazines, including Soldier of Fortune, U.S. Cavalry Magazine, and Brigade Quartermaster.
Finally”-Marino took another swallow of beer-“we found some videotapes on how to be a sniper. You know special forces training and shit like that.”