`He’ll do what he can,’ he said. `He called me last night. The Hubbles are secure. Right now, he’s sitting on it, but he’ll stand up for us if we need him.’
`He should start tracing Joe,’ I said. `Joe must have used a car. Probably flew down from Washington, into Atlanta, got a hotel room, rented a car, right? We should look for the car. He must have driven it down here Thursday night. It must have been dumped somewhere in the area. It might lead us back to the hotel. Maybe there would be something in Joe’s hotel room. Files, maybe.’
`Picard can’t do that,’ Finlay said. `FBI isn’t equipped to go looking for abandoned rental cars. And we can’t do it ourselves, not with Teale around.’
I shrugged.
`We’ll have to,’ I said. `No other way. You can sell Teale some story. You can double bluff him. Tell him you figure the escaped con who he says did the Morrison thing must have been in a rental car. Tell him you need to check it out. He can’t say no to that, or else he’s undermining his own cover story, right?’
`OK,’ Finlay said. `I’ll try it. Might work, I guess.’
`Joe must have had phone numbers,’ I said. `The number you found in his shoe was torn off a computer printout, right? So where’s the rest of the printout? I bet it’s in his hotel room, just sitting there, covered with phone numbers, with Hubble’s number torn off the top. So you find the car, then you twist Picard’s arm to trace the hotel through the rental company, OK?
‘OK,’ he said. `I’ll do my best.’
In Yellow Springs we slipped into the hospital entrance lane and slowed over the speed bumps. Nosed around to the lot in back. Parked near the morgue door. I didn’t want to go inside. Joe was still in there. I started to think vaguely about funeral arrangements. I’d never had to do it before. The Marine Corps handled my father’s. Joe arranged my mother’s.
But I got out of the car with the two of them and we walked through the chill air to the door. Found our way back to the shabby office. The same doctor was at the desk. Still in a white coat.
Still looking tired. He waved us in and we sat down. I took one of the stools. I didn’t want to sit next to the fax machine again. The doctor looked at all of us in turn. We looked back at him.
`What have you got for us?’ Finlay said.
The tired man at the desk prepared to answer. Like preparing for a lecture. He picked up three files from his left and dropped them on his blotter. Opened the top one. Pulled out the second one and opened that, too.
`Morrison,’ he said. `Mr and Mrs.’
He glanced around the three of us again. Finlay nodded to him.
`Tortured and killed,’ the pathologist said. `The sequence is pretty clear. The woman was restrained. Two men, I’d say, one on each arm, gripping and twisting. Heavy bruising on the forearms and the upper arms, some ligament damage from twisting the arms up her back. Obviously the bruising continued to develop from the time she was first seized until the time she died. The bruising stops developing when the circulation stops, you understand?’
We nodded. We understood.
`I’d put it at about ten minutes,’ he said. `Ten minutes, beginning to end. So the woman was being held. The man was being nailed to the wall. I’d guess both were naked by then. They were in nightwear before the attack, right?’
`Robes,’ Finlay said. `They were having breakfast.’
`OK, the robes came off early on,’ the doctor said. `The man was nailed to the wall, technically to the floor also, through the feet. His genital area was attacked. The scrotum was severed. Postmortem evidence suggests that the woman
was persuaded to swallow the amputated testicles.’
The office was silent. Silent as a tomb. Roscoe looked at me. Stared at me for a while. Then she looked back at the doctor.
`I found them in her stomach,’ the doctor said.