Milo sat down where she’d been. He pointed to the chair without the jacket, and I took it.
“What do you think?” he said softly.
“The timing is pretty convenient,” I said. “Out of the hospital a few hours and she gets you right back here. But what about our theory about Peter’s loan sharks?”
“Loan sharks tend to escalate the violence. Why would they gas her, than regress to this?”
“Maybe they came to do serious harm but didn’t find her home. Or maybe they and Peter have nothing to do with it. What if it is someone connected to Shwandt—remember how the Bogettes threatened justice? Or some other nut who’s latched on to Lucy—someone who noticed her at the trial.”
“How would anyone know she was away?”
“They watched her—stalked her. Remember, she leaves her drapes open.” Tension in my voice. “Is there anything that makes you doubt her?”
“No, that’s the thing. She’s calmed down now, but when I first got here she was petrified. Shaking. Either genuine terror or great acting, Alex. And she doesn’t have a typewriter, so the note couldn’t have been written here. Where else would she write it between two and five in the morning? Where the hell would she get rat shit?”
“That’s reminiscent of Shwandt.”
He nodded.
“Was anything else disturbed?” I said.
“No.”
I took in the skimpy decor.
“You should see the bedroom,” he said. “Single mattress on a board, a cheapie end table, nothing on the walls. Her clothes aren’t bad, but she doesn’t have much.”
“Nunnish.”
He looked at me sharply.
I said, “So what’s bugging you about it?”
“I just don’t trust my instincts with her.”
He dropped his chin into one palm. Black and gray stubble popped through the pockmarks.
“How long have you been here?” I said.
“Since five-forty.”
It was after eleven.
“Why’d you wait so long to call me?”
“Didn’t want to interrupt your beauty sleep.”
“Seriously.”
He frowned and pushed hair off his forehead. “After I calmed her down, we talked. Capital T. I told her I was gay—I know you warned me, but it just seemed right. I followed my instincts; once in a while it works.” Looking at me.
“Okay. How’d she take it?”
“Almost as if she was relieved.”
“Maybe she is,” I said. “On two counts. She’s not personally rejected, and she can be with you while avoiding the mess of a sexual relationship.”
“Whatever. . . . Sorry if I jumped the gun, Alex. I didn’t want to screw anything up. But sitting there, holding her, she’s crying, her head on my shoulder, I could just see something happening, and all she needed was another rejection. I figured—”
“Obviously, you figured right.”
His smile was slow to form. “Mr. Validation—ever think of working with people?”
“Are you going to call the lab to do a crime scene?”
“If I do, this could get really messy. Once those wheels start rolling, it’ll be impossible to keep it quiet. Someone’s bound to talk: Bogeyman juror harassed. . . . It’s only a matter of time before the press dogs find out and start peeing all over it. Then they start focusing on her and learn she tried to kill herself and got committed. Who’d love that?”
“Shwandt’s lawyers,” I said. “Mentally ill juror. Grounds for instant reversal.”
“Especially coming on the heels of the copycat. My bet is they’d get the whole thing thrown out.”
“Lucy would be humiliated,” I said.
“Big time.” He got up and paced.
I looked over at the note. “Is there any conceivable way this could be related to the copycat? Could the Bogettes or someone else in Shwandt’s camp have hatched up some scheme to get his conviction reversed?”
“Who the hell knows? Those girls are crazy as shit. Low-IQ fanaticism, the worst kind.”
“It would sure be a low-IQ plan. No other jury will ever let Shwandt walk the street again.”
“Yeah, but if he’s in court, they get to see him. For all I know, they’re planning to liberate him out of there.”
I read the note again. “ ’Die twice.’ Could that mean humiliation as well as the real thing?”