At three A.M. I sat up in bed and stared at the darkness.
The house was quiet except for its usual shifting sounds, and I simply could not turn off my conscious mind. Reluctantly, I put my feet on the floor, my heart beating hard, as if it were startled that I should stir at such an hour. In my office I shut the door and wrote the following brief letter:
TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN:
I realize this is a fax number, otherwise I would call in person. I need to know your identification, if possible, as your number has shown up on the printout of a recently deceased individual’s fax machine. Please contact me at your earliest convenience, If you need verification of the authenticity of this communication, contact Captain Pete Marino of the Richmond Police Department.
I gave telephone numbers and signed my title and my name, and I faxed the letter to every speed dial listing in Eddings’ journal, except, of course, the Associated Press.
For a while I sat at my desk, staring rather glazed, as if my fax machine were going to solve this case immediately. But it remained silent as I read and waited. At the reasonable hour Of Six A.M., I called Marino.
“I take it there was no riot,” I said after the phone banged and dropped and his voice mumbled over the line.
“Good, you’re awake,” I added.
“What time is it?” He sounded as if he were in a stupor.
“It’s time for you to rise and shine.”
“We locked up maybe five people. The rest got quiet after that and went back inside. What are you doing awake?”
“I’m always awake. And by the way, I could use a ride to work today and I need groceries.”
“Well, put on some coffee,” he said. “I guess I’m coming over.”
CHAPTER 8
WHEN HE ARRIVED, LUCY WAS STILL IN BED AND I was making coffee. I let him in, dismayed again when I looked out at my street. Overnight, Richmond had turned to glass, and I had heard on the news that falling branches and trees had knocked down power lines in several sections of the city.
“Did you have any trouble?” I asked, shutting the front door.
“Depends on what kind you mean.” Marino set down groceries, took off his coat and handed it to me.
“Driving.”
“I got chains. But I was out till after midnight and I’m tired as hell.”
“Come on. Let’s get you some coffee.”
“None of that unleaded shit.”
“Guatemalan, and I promise it’s leaded.”
“Where’s the kid?”
“Asleep.”
“Yo. Must be nice.” He yawned again.
I began making fresh fruit salad in my kitchen with its many windows. Through them the river was pewter and slow. Rocks were glazed, the woods a fantasy just beginning to sparkle in the wan morning light. Marino poured his own coffee, adding plenty of sugar and cream.
“You want some?” he asked.
“Black, please.”
“I think by now you don’t have to tell me.”
“I never make assumptions,” I said, getting plates out of a cabinet. “Especially about men, who seem to have a Mendelian trait which precludes them from remembering details important to women.”
“Yeah, well, I could give you a list of things Doris never remembered, starting with using my tools and not putting them back,” he said of his ex-wife.
I worked at the counter while he looked around as if he wanted to smoke. I wasn’t going to let him.
“I guess Tony never fixed coffee for you,” he said.
“Tony never did much of anything for me except try to get me pregnant.”
“He didn’t do a very good job unless you didn’t want kids.”
“Not with him I didn’t.”
“What about now?”
“I still don’t want them with him. Here.” I handed Marino a plate. “Let’s sit.”
“Wait a minute. This is it?”
“What else do you want?”
“Shit, Doc. This ain’t food. And what the hell are these little green slices with black things.”
“The kiwi fruit I told you to get. I’m sure you must have had it before,” I patiently said. “I’ve got bagels in the freezer.”
“Yeah, that’d be good. With cream cheese. You got any poppyseed?”