Cause Of Death ks-7 Page 7

  "Milk."

  "I was thinking more along the lines of Miller."

  "I want to know why you're calling Benton. I personally think it's too soon for the Bureau to be involved."

  "And I personally don't think you're in a position to be objective about him."

  "Don't goad me," I warned. "It's too late and I'm too tired."

  "I'm just being straight with you." He knocked a Marlboro out of the pack and tucked it between his lips. "And he will come to Richmond. I got no doubt about that. He and the wife didn't go nowhere for the holidays, so my guess is he's ready for a little field trip right about now.

  And this is going to be a good one."

  I could not hold his gaze, and I resented that he knew why.

  "Besides," he went on, "at the moment it ain't Chesapeake who's asking the FBI anything. It's me, and I have a right. In case you've forgot, I'm the commander of the precinct where Eddings' apartment is. As far as I'm concerned right now, this is a multijurisdictional investigation.

  "The case is Chesapeake's, not Richmond's," I stated.

  "Chesapeake is where the body was found. You can't bulldoze your way into their jurisdiction, and you know it. You can't invite the FBI on their behalf."

  Look," he went on, "after going through Eddings' apartment and finding what I did- I interrupted him, "Finding what you did? You keep referring to whatever it is you found. You mean, his arsenal?"

  "I mean more than that. I mean worse than that. We haven't gotten to that part yet." He looked at me and took the cigarette out of his mouth. "The bottom line is Richmond's got a reason to be interested in this case. So consider yourself invited."

  "I'm afraid I was invited when Eddings died in Virginia."

  "Don't sound to me like you felt all that invited this morning when you were at the shipyard."

  I didn't say anything, because he was right.

  "Maybe you had a guest on your property tonight so you would realize just how uninvited you are," he went

  "I want the FBI in this thing now because there's more to it than some guy in a johnboat you had to fish out of the river."

  "What else did you find in Eddings' apartment?" I asked him.

  I could see his reluctance as he stared off, and I did not understand it.

  "I'll serve dinner first and then we'll sit down and talk," I said.

  "If it could wait until tomorrow, it would be better." He glanced toward the kitchen as if worried that Lucy might overhear.

  "Marino, since when have you ever worried about telling me something?"

  "This is different." He rubbed his face in his hands. "I think Eddings got himself tangled up with the New Zionists."

  The lasagne was superb because I had drained fresh mozzarella in dishcloths so it did not weep too much during baking, and of course, the pasta was fresh. I had served the dish tender instead of cooking it bubbly and brown, and a light sprinkling of Parmesan reggiano at the table had made it perfect.

  Marino ate virtually all of the bread, which he slathered with butter, layered with prosciutto and sopped with tomato sauce, while Lucy mostly picked at the small portion on her plate. The snow had gotten heavier, and Marino told us about the New Zionist bible he had found as fireworks sounded in Sandbridge.

  I pushed back my chair. "It's midnight. We should open the champagne."

  I was more disturbed than I had supposed, for what Marino had to say was worse than I feared. Over the years, I had heard quite a lot about Joel Hand and his fascist followers who called themselves the New Zionists. They were going to cause a new order, create an ideal land. I had always feared they were quiet behind their Virginia compound walls because they were plotting a disaster.

  "What we need to do is raid the asshole's farm," Marino said as he got up from the table. "That should have been done a long time ago."

  "What probable cause would anybody have?" Lucy said.

  "You ask me, with squirrels like him, you shouldn't need probable cause."

  "Oh, good idea. You should suggest that one to Gradecki," she drolly said, referring to the U.S. attorney general.

  "Look, I know some guys in Suffolk where Hand lives, and the neighbors say some really weird shit goes on there.

  "Neighbors always think weird shit goes on with their neighbors," she said.

  Marino got the champagne out of the refrigerator while I fetched glasses.

  "What sort of weird shit?" I asked him.

  "Barges pull up to the Nansemond River and unload crates so big they got to use cranes. Nobody knows what goes on there, except pilots have spotted bonfires at night, like maybe there's occult rituals. Local people swear they hear gunshots all the time and that there have been murders on his farm."

  I walked into the living room because we would clean up later.

  I said, "I know about the homicides in this state, and I've never heard the New Zionists mentioned in connection with any of them, or with any crime at all, for that matter.

  I've never heard they are involved in the occult, either.

  Only on-the-fringe politics and oddball extremism. They seem to hate America and would probably be happy if they could have their own little country somewhere where Hand could be king. Or God. Or whatever he is to them."

  "You want me to pop this thing?" Marino held up the champagne.

  "The new year's not getting any younger," I said. "Now let me get this straight." I settled on the couch. "Eddings had some link with the New Zionists?"

  "Only because he had one of their bibles, like I already told you," Marino said. "I found it when we was going through his house."

  That's what you were worried about me seeing?" I looked quizzically at him.

  "Tonight, yes," he said. "Because I'm more worried about her seeing it, if you want to know." He looked at Lucy.

  "Pete," my niece spoke very reasonably, "you don't need to protect me anymore, even though I appreciate it."

  He was silent.

  "What sort of bible?" I asked him.

  Not any sort you've ever carried to Mass."

  "Satanic?"

  "No, I can't say it's like that. At least not like the ones I've seen, because it's not about worshiping Satan and doesn't have any of the sort of symbolism that you associate with that. But it sure as hell isn't something you'd want to read before going to bed." He glanced at Lucy again.

  "Where is it?" I wanted to know.

  He peeled foil off the top of the bottle and unwound wire. The cork popped loudly, and he poured champagne the way he poured beer, tilting the glasses sharply to prevent a head.

  "Lucy, how about bringing my briefcase here. It's in the kitchen," he said, and he looked at me as she left the room and lowered his voice. "I wouldn't have brought it with me if I thought I was going to be seeing her."

  "She's a grown woman. She's an FBI agent, for God's sake," I said.

  "Yeah, and she gets whacked out sometimes, and you know that, too. She don't need to be looking at spooky stuff like this. I'm telling you, I read it because I had to, and I felt really creepy. I felt like I needed to go to Mass, and when have you ever heard me say that?" His face was intense.

  I had never heard him say that, and I was uneasy. Lucy had been through hard times that had seriously frightened me. She had been self-destructive and unstable before.

  "It is not my right to protect her," I said as she returned to the living room.

  "I hope you're not talking about me," she said as she handed Marino his briefcase.

  "Yeah, we were talking about you," he said, "because I don't think you should be looking at this."

  Clasps sprang open.

  "It's your case." Her eyes were calm as they turned to me. "I am interested in it and would like to help in even the smallest way, if I can. But I'll leave the room, if you want me to."

  Oddly, the decision was one of the hardest ones I'd had to make, because my allowing her to look at evidence I wanted to protect her from was my concession to her professional acc
omplishment. As wind shook windows and rushed around the roof, sounding like spirits in distress, I moved over on the couch.

  "You can sit next to me, Lucy," I said. "We'll look at it together."

  The New Zionist bible was actually titled the Book of Hand, for its author had been inspired by God and had modestly named the manuscript after himself. Written in Renaissance script on India paper, it was bound in tooled black leather that was scuffed and stained and lettered with the name of someone I did not know. For more than an hour, Lucy leaned against me and we read while Marino prowled about, carrying in more wood and smoking, his restlessness as palpable as the fire's wavering light.

  Like the Christian Bible, much of what the manuscript had to say was conveyed in parables, and prophesies and proverbs, thus making the text illustrative and human. This was one of many reasons why reading it was so hard. Pages were populated with people and images that penetrated to deeper layers of the brain. The Book, as we came to call it during the beginning of this new year, showed in exquisite detail how to kill and maim, frighten, brainwash and torture. The explicit section on the necessity of pogroms, including illustrations, made me quake.

  I found the violence reminiscent of' the Inquisition, and it was, in fact, explained that the New Zionists were here on earth to effect a new Inquisition, of sorts.

  "We are in an age when the wrongful ones must be purged from our midst," Hand had written, "and in doing so we must be loud and obvious like cymbals. We must feel their weak blood cool on our bare skin as we wallow in their annihilation. We must follow the One into glory, and even unto death."

  I read other ruinations and runes, and perused strange preoccupations with fusion and fuels that could be used to change the balance of the land. By the Book's end, a terrible darkness seemed to have enveloped me and the entire cottage. I felt sullied and sickened by the reminder that there were people in our midst who might think like this.

  It was Lucy who finally spoke, for our silence had been unbroken for more than an hour. "It speaks of the One and their loyalty to him," she said. "Is this a person or a deity of some sort?"

  "It's Hand, who probably thinks he's Jesus friggin' Christ," Marino said, pouring more champagne. "Remember that time we saw him in court?" He glanced up at me.

  "That I'm not likely to forget any time soon," I said.

  "He came in with this entourage, including a Washington attorney who has this big gold pocket watch and a silver-topped cane," he said to Lucy. "Hand is wearing some fancy designer suit, and he's got long blond hair in a ponytail, and women are waiting outside the courthouse to get a peek at him like he's Michael Bolton or something, if you can believe that."

  "What was he in court for?" Lucy looked at me.

  "He'd filed a petition for disclosure, which the attorney general had denied, so it went before a judge."

  "What did he want?" she asked.

  "Basically, he was trying to force me to turn over copies of Senator Len Cooper's death records."

  "Why?"

  "He was alleging that the late senator was poisoned by political enemies. In fact, Cooper died of an acute hemorrhage into a brain tumor. The judge granted Hand nothing."

  "I guess Joel Hand doesn't like you too much," she said to me.

  "I expect he doesn't." I looked at the Book on the coffee table, and asked Marino, "This name on the cover. Do you know who Dwain Shapiro is?"

  "I was about to get to that," he said. "This is as much as we could pull up on the computer. He lived on the New Zionists' compound in Suffolk until last fall when he defected. About a month later he got killed in a carjacking in Maryland."

  We were quiet for a moment, and I felt the cottage's dark windows as if they were big, square eyes.

  Then I asked, "Any suspects or witnesses?"

  "None anybody knows of."

  "How did Eddings get hold of Shapiro's bible?" said Lucy.

  "Obviously, that's the twenty-thousand-dollar question," Marino replied. "Maybe Eddings talked to him at some point, or maybe to his relatives. This thing ain't a photocopy, and it also says right in the beginning of it that you're not supposed to let your Book ever leave your hands. And if you're ever caught with someone else's Book, you can kiss your ass good-bye."

  "That's pretty much what happened to Eddings," Lucy said.

  I did not want the Book anywhere near us and wished I could throw it into the fire. "I don't like this," I said. "I don't like it at all."

  Lucy looked curiously at me. "You're not getting superstitious on us, are you?"

  "These people are consorting with evil," I said. "And I respect that there is evil in the world and it is not to be taken lightly. Where exactly in Eddings' house did you find this God-awful book?" I asked Marino.

  "Under his bed," he said.

  "Seriously."

  "I'm very serious."

  "And we're certain Eddings lived alone?" I asked.

  "Appears that way."

  "What about family?"

  "Father's deceased, a brother's in Maine and the mother lives in Richmond. Real close to where you live, as a matter of fact."

  "You've talked to her?" I asked.

  "I stopped by and told her the bad news and asked if we could conduct a more thorough search of her son's house, which we'll do tomorrow." He glanced at his watch.

  "Or I guess I should say today."

  Lucy got up and moved to the hearth. She propped an elbow on a knee and cupped her chin in her hand. Behind her, coals glowed in a deep bed of ashes.

  "How do you know this bible originally came from the New Zionists?" she said. "Seems to me all you know is it came from Shapiro, and how can we be sure where he got it?"

  Marino said, "Shapiro was a New Zionist until just three months ago. I've heard that Hand isn't real understanding when people want to leave him. Let me ask you something.

  How many ex-New Zionists do you know?"

  Lucy could not say. Certainly, I couldn't either.

  "He's had followers for at least ten years. And we never hear anything about anyone leaving?" he went on. "How the hell do we know who he's got buried on his farm?"

  "How come I've never heard of him?" she wanted to know.

  Marino got up to top off our champagne.

  He said, "Because they don't teach subjects like him at MIT and UVA."

  Chapter 5

  AT DAWN, I LAY IN BED AND LOOKED OUT AT MANT'S,backyard. The snow was very deep and piled high on the wall, and beyond the dune the sun was polishing the sea. For a while I shut my eyes and thought of Benton Wesley. I wondered what he would say about where I was living now, and what we would say to each other when we met later this day. We had not spoken since the second week of December, when we had agreed that our relationship must end.

  I turned to one side and pulled the covers up to my ears as I heard quiet footsteps. Next I felt Lucy perch on the edge of my bed.

  "Good morning, favorite niece in the world," I mumbled.

  "I'm your only niece in the world." She said what she always did. "And how did you know it was me?"

  "It had better be you. Someone else might get hurt."

  "I brought you coffee," she said.

  "You're an angel."

  "Yo, to quote Marino. That's what everybody says about me."

  "I was just trying to be nice." I yawned.

  She bent over to hug me, and I smelled the English soap I had placed in her bathroom. I felt her strength and firmness, and I felt old.

  "You make me feel like hell." I rolled on my back, placing my hands behind my head.

  "Why do you say that?" She wore a pair of my loose cotton flannel pajamas and looked puzzled.

  "Because I don't think I could even do the Yellow Brick Road anymore," I said, referring to the Academy's obstacle course.

  "I've never heard anyone call it easy."

  "It is for you."

  She hesitated. "Well, it is now. But it's not like you have to hang out with HRT."

  "For
that I am thankful. She paused, then added with a sigh, "You know, at first I was pissed when the Academy decided to send me back to UVA for a month. But it may end up being a relief. I can work in the lab, ride my bike and jog around the campus like a normal person."

  Lucy was not a normal person, nor would she ever be. I had decided that in many sad ways, individuals with IQs as high as hers are as different from others as are the mentally impaired. She was gazing out the window and the snow was becoming bright. Her hair was rosegold in shy morning light, and I was amazed I could be related to anyone so beautiful.

  "it may be a relief not being around Quantico right now, too." She paused, her face very serious when she turned back to me. "Aunt Kay, there's something I need to tell you. I'm not sure you're really going to want to hear this.

  Or maybe it would be easier if you didn't hear it. I would have told you yesterday if Marino hadn't been here."

  "I'm listening." I was immediately tense.

  She paused again. "Especially since you may be seeing Wesley today, I think you ought to know. There's a rumor in the Bureau that he and Connie have split."

  I did not know what to say.

  "Obviously, I can't verify that this is true," she went on. "But I've heard some of what's being said. And some of it concerns you."

  "Why would any of it concern me?" I said too quickly.

  "Come on." She met my eyes. "There have been suspicions ever since you started working so many cases with him. Some of the agents think that's the only reason you agreed to be a consultant. So you could be with him, travel with him, you know."

  "That's patently untrue," I angrily said as I sat up. "I agreed to be the consulting forensic pathologist because the director asked Benton, who asked me, not the other way around. I assist in cases as a service to the FBI and…"

  "Aunt Kay," she interrupted me. "You don't have to defend yourself."

  But I would not be soothed. "That is an absolutely outrageous thing for anyone to say. I have never allowed a friendship with anyone to interfere with my professional integrity."

  Lucy got quiet, then spoke again. "We're not talking about a mere friendship."

  "Benton and I are very good friends."