“Shit, you’re zeroing in on See Jane Run, right? I’m coming up there.”
“Not that Washington, Jack.”
This totally puzzled me and then my internal computer spit out a new scenario. Rachel had parlayed uncovering the Unsub into a return to the job she wanted and was best suited for.
“Are you working for Behavioral?”
“I wish. I’m at Washington Headquarters for an OPR hearing Monday morning.”
I knew that the OPR was the Office of Professional Responsibility, the bureau’s version of Internal Affairs.
“You told them about us? They’re going after you for it?”
“No, Jack, I didn’t tell them anything about that. It’s about the jet I took to Nellis on Wednesday. After you called me.”
I jumped off the bed and started pacing again.
“You have to be kidding me. What are they going to do?”
“I don’t know.”
“Doesn’t it matter that you saved at least one life—mine—and in the process brought this killer to law enforcement attention? Do they know that they released a sixteen-year-old kid falsely accused of murder from jail yesterday because of you? Do they know an innocent man who has spent a year in a Nevada prison will get out soon? They should be giving you a medal, not a hearing.”
There was silence and then she spoke.
“And they should be giving you a raise instead of laying you off, Jack. Look, I appreciate what you are saying, but the reality is, I made some bad judgments and they seem more concerned about that and the money it cost than anything else.”
“Jesus Christ! If they do one thing to you, Rachel, it’s going to be all over the front page. I will burn—”
“Jack, I can take care of myself. You have to worry about yourself right now, okay?”
“No, it’s not okay. What time is the hearing Monday?”
“It’s at nine.”
I was going to alert Keisha, my ex-wife. I knew they wouldn’t let her into a closed-door personnel hearing, but if they knew a Times reporter was hovering outside, waiting on the results, they might think twice about what they did inside.
“Jack, look, I know what you’re thinking. But I want you to just cool your jets and let me deal with this. It’s my job and my hearing. Okay?”
“I don’t know. It’s hard to just sit back when they are fucking with somebody… somebody I care about.”
“Thank you, Jack, but if that is how you really feel about me, then I need you to stand down on this one. I’ll let you know what happens as soon as I know.”
“You promise?”
“I promise.”
I yanked open the curtain again and a blast of sunlight entered the room.
“Okay.”
“Thank you. Are you going to your house? If you really want it, I can get somebody to meet you there.”
“Nah, I’ll be all right. I was just making a play for you. I want to see you. But if you’re not even in town… When did you get there, anyway?”
“This morning on a red-eye. I tried to delay it so I could stay on the case. But that’s not the way the bureau works.”
“Right.”
“So I’m here and I’m meeting with my defense rep to go over everything. In fact, he’s going to be here any minute and I need to put some stuff together.”
“Fine. I’ll let you go. Where are you going to be staying?”
“The Hotel Monaco on F Street.”
We ended the call after that. I stood at the window, looking out but not seeing what was there. I was thinking about Rachel fighting for her job and the one thing that seemed to keep her tethered to the world.
I realized she wasn’t that much different from me.
NINE: The Dark of Dreams
Carver watched the home in Scottsdale from the darkness of his car. It was too early to make his move. He would wait and watch until he was sure it was safe. This didn’t bother him. He enjoyed being alone and in the dark. It was his place. He had his music on the iPod and the Lizard King had kept him company his whole life.
I’m a changeling, see me change. I’m a changeling, see me change.
It had always been his anthem, a song to set his life by. He turned the volume up and closed his eyes. He reached his hand down to the side of the seat and pushed the button that reclined him further.
The music transported him back. Past all the memories and nightmares. Back to the dressing room with Alma. She was supposed to be watching him but she had her hands full with the thread and needlework. She couldn’t watch him all the time and it wasn’t fair to expect it. There were house rules about mothers and children. The mother was ultimately responsible, even while onstage.
Young Wesley made his move, slipping through the beaded curtains as quiet as a mouse. He was so small he only disturbed five or six strands. He then went down the hall past the foul-smelling bathroom to where the flashing lights emanated from.
He made the turn and there was Mr. Grable in his tuxedo, sitting on a stool. He was holding the microphone, waiting for the song to end.
The music was loud at this end of the hall, but not so loud that Wesley didn’t hear the cheers—and some of the jeers. He crept up behind Mr. Grable and looked out between the legs of the stool. The stage was splashed with harsh white light. He saw her then. Naked in front of all the men. The music pulsing through him.
Girl, you gotta love your man…
She moved perfectly with the music. As if it had been written and recorded just for her. He watched and felt entranced. He didn’t want the music to stop. It was perfect. She was perfect and he—
He was suddenly grabbed from behind by the back of his T-shirt’s collar and yanked backward down the hall. He managed to look up and see it was Alma.
“You are a very bad little boy!” she scolded.
“No,” he cried. “I wanna see my—”
“Not now, you don’t!”
She dragged him back through the beads and into the dressing room. She pushed him down onto the pile of feather boas and silk scarves.
“You are in big troub—What is that?”
She was pointing at him, finger aimed low. At the place where he felt strange feelings begin from.
“I’m a good boy,” he said.
“Not with that, you aren’t,” Alma said. “Let’s see what you’ve got there.”
She reached down and put her hand under his belt. She started to pull his pants down.
“You little pervert,” Alma said. “I’m going to show you what we do with perverts around here.”
Wesley was frozen in terror. That word she called him. He didn’t know what it meant. He didn’t know what to do.
The sharp knock of metal on glass cut through the music and the dream. Carver jumped up in his seat. Momentarily disoriented, he looked around, realized where he was, and pulled the buds out of his ears.
He looked out the window, and there was McGinnis, standing in the street. He was holding a leash that led down to the collar on a little pip-squeak dog. Carver saw the fat Notre Dame ring on his finger. He must have hit the window with it to get his attention.
Carver lowered the window. At the same time, he used his foot to make sure the gun he’d placed on the floor was out of sight.