“Yours.”
“I’m at a pay phone outside a Safeway getting ready to call my wife to ask what kind of ice cream she wants. She forgot to tell me. The phone started ringing so I answered it.”
“Which Safeway?” I asked.
“Where?”
“On Cary Street.”
“In Richmond?” I asked in horror.
“Yeah. Where are you?”
I thanked him and hung up and began pacing around the room. She had been to Richmond. Why? To see where I lived? Had she driven past my house?
I looked out at the bright afternoon, and the clear blue sky and vivid colors of the leaves seemed to say that nothing bad like this could happen. No dark power was at work in the world, and none of what I was finding out was real. But I always felt the same disbelief when the weather was exquisite, when snow was falling, or the city was filled with Christmas lights and music. Then morning after morning I would go into the morgue and there would be new cases. There would be people raped and shot, and killed in mindless accidents.
Before I vacated the room, I tried the FBI labs and was surprised the scientist I intended to leave a message for was in. But like so many of us who seemed to do nothing but work, weekends were for others.
“The truth is I’ve done all with it I can,” he said of the image enhancement he had been working on for days.
“And nothing?” I asked, disappointed.
“I’ve filled it out a little. It’s a little clearer, but I can’t begin to recognize whatever it is that’s there.”
“How long will you be in the lab today?”
“For another hour or two.”
“Where do you live?”
“Aquia Harbor.”
I would not have enjoyed that commute every day, but a surprising number of Washington agents with families lived there and in Stafford and Montclair. Aquia Harbor was maybe a half hour drive from where Wesley lived.
“} hate to ask you this,” I went on.
“But it’s extremely important that I get a printout of this enhancement as soon as I can. Is there any possibility you could drop one by Benton Wesley’s house? Round trip, it would be about an hour out of your way.” He hesitated before saying, “I can do that if I leave now. I’ll call him at home and get directions.”
I grabbed my overnight bag. I did not return my revolver to my briefcase until I was at the Knoxville airport behind a shut door in the ladies’ room.
I went through the usual routine of checking that one bag and letting them know what was in it, and they marked it with the usual fluorescent orange tag, which brought to mind the duct tape again. I wondered why Denesa Steiner would have blaze orange duct tape and where she might have gotten it.
I could see no reason for her to have any connection to Attica and decided as I crossed the tarmac to board the small prop plane that the penitentiary had nothing to do with this case.
I took my aisle seat and was completely caught up in my contemplations, so I did not notice the tension among the other twenty or so passengers until I was suddenly aware of police on board. One of them was saying something to a person on the ground, eyes darting furtively from face to face. Then my eyes did the same as I went into their mode. I knew the demeanor so well, and my mind went into gear as I wondered what fugitive they were looking for and what he might have done. I raced through what action I would take if he suddenly jumped out of his seat. I would trip him. I would tackle him from behind as he went past.
There were three officers panting and sweating, and one of them stopped right by me and his eyes dropped to my belt. His hand subtly dropped to his semiautomatic pistol and released the thumb snap. I did not move.
“Ma’am,” he said in his most official police voice, “you’re going to have to come with me.”