A Perfect Evil Part 10

"I didn't realize Jeffreys was gay. How do know this guy was his lover?" Again, her tone was matter-of-fact. No hint of condescension, though Nick knew she was capable of turning stubborn speculation into ridiculous trivia.

Lloyd loosened his tie and collar. The subject obviously made him uncomfortable.

"Well, they were living together at the time."

"Wouldn't that make them roommates?"

O'Dell was as tough and unflinching as she was beautiful. Nick found himself relieved that this time he wasn't on the other side of her questions. Lloyd looked to him for help. Nick only shrugged.

"Is it possible to check if Rydell kept in touch with Jeffreys after he was sentenced?" O'Dell asked Lloyd, instead of dismissing his hunch.

"They may have some information at the penitentiary."

"You might check out what other visitors Jeffreys had or who else he may have kept in touch with. See if there were any prisoners or even guards he befriended. On death row they don't have much contact with other prisoners, but there may have been someone."

Nick liked the way her mind processed information quickly, refusing to disregard even the slightest details. A lead that Nick had believed far-fetched materialized into something substantial. Even Lloyd, who proudly came from a generation of keeping women in their place, seemed satisfied. He had added more scratches to his notes while O'Dell had been talking. Now he nodded at both of them and wandered off to find a phone.

Nick was impressed once again. O'Dell caught him watching her, and he simply smiled.

"Hey, Nick. That woman called again," Eddie Gillick called out from behind his desk, a phone cradled under his chin.

"Agent O'Dell, here's a fax from Quantico for you." Adam Preston handed her a roll of paper.

"What woman?" Nick asked Eddie.

"Sophie Krichek. Remember, she was the one who said she saw an old blue pickup in the area when the Alverez kid was s.n.a.t.c.hed."

"Let me guess. She saw the pickup again. This time with another little boy who happens to look like Matthew Tanner."

"Wait a minute," O'Dell interrupted, looking up from the trail of fax paper that stretched to the floor. "What makes you think she's not serious?"

"She calls all the time," Nick explained.

"Nick, here's your messages." Lucy handed over a stack of pink "while you were out" slips and waited in front of him. She was dressed in the usual tight sweater and tight skirt. It would be so much easier to stop her if she didn't have such a voluptuous figure.

"Let me get this straight. You're not going to check out this lead because this woman has surpa.s.sed her quota of phone calls?" O'Dell had that look in her eyes that told Nick she thought he was bordering on incompetent. He wondered whether it had anything to do with his slight distraction over Lucy's stretched blue-and-green-knit stripes.

"Three weeks ago she called to tell us she saw Jesus in her backyard pus.h.i.+ng a little girl on a swing set. She doesn't even have a backyard. She lives in an apartment complex with a concrete parking lot. Lucy, are the transcripts from Jeffreys' confession and trial here yet?"

"Max said she'd bring them over herself as soon as possible." Lucy swayed on the spike heels, and he knew it was strictly for his benefit. "They need to make copies of everything. Max won't let the originals out of the clerk's office. Oh, Agent O'Dell, a Gregory Stewart called for you like three or four times. He said it was important and that you have his number."

"Your boss checking up on you?" Nick smiled at O'Dell, who suddenly looked distraught.

"No, my husband. Is there a phone I can use?"

Nick's smile disappeared. He glanced at her hand. No wedding ring. Yes, he was sure he had checked before, simply out of habit. She was waiting for an answer.

"You can use my office," he said, trying to sound disinterested and shuffling through the stack of messages. "Down the hall, last door on the right."

"Thanks."

As soon as she disappeared around the corner, Eddie Gillick stopped beside Nick on his way to the fax machine. "Why do you look so surprised, Nick? She's quite a catch. Why wouldn't she be married?"

It was ridiculous. This morning at Mich.e.l.le Tanner's he had been ready to strangle her. But now he suddenly felt as if someone had punched him in the stomach.

CHAPTER 23.

The office was simple and small with a gray metal desk and matching credenza. Shelves displayed a variety of trophies-all football champions.h.i.+ps of some sort. Several pictures hung on the wall behind the desk. Maggie sank into the soft leather chair, the only extravagance in the otherwise plain office. She picked up the phone while she got a better look at the wall of honor.

There were several photos of young men clad in red and white football jerseys. One photo was obviously a young Morrelli under the sweat and dirt. He stood proudly next to an older gentleman, who, from the scratched autograph, was a Coach Osborne.

In the corner, almost hidden behind a file cabinet, hung two framed degrees collecting dust. One was from the University of Nebraska. The other was a law degree from... Maggie almost dropped the phone. The other was a law degree from Harvard University. She stood up to examine it more closely, then sat back down, embarra.s.sed that she even, for one fleeting moment, thought it a fake, a practical joke. It was, in fact, very real.

She looked back at the football photo. Sheriff Nicholas Morrelli was certainly full of surprises. The more she learned, the more curious she became. It didn't help matters that they seemed to spark off each other with an unhealthy amount of electricity. It was a part of Nick Morrelli's personality. It was not, however, a part of her own, and she found it annoying.

She and Greg had always had a comfortable relations.h.i.+p. Even in the beginning it wasn't so much heat or chemistry that had brought them together, but friends.h.i.+p and common goals. Goals that had changed over the years. And a friends.h.i.+p that had turned to complacency. They didn't even extend each other the common courtesies of friends.h.i.+p anymore. Lately, she wondered if they had drifted apart, or if they had ever been close.

It didn't matter. Marriage was something a person worked at, despite the changes. She believed that. She wouldn't have made it this far if she didn't. Now, at least, Greg had called her, made the first move toward reconciliation. That had to be a good sign.

She dialed his office and waited patiently through four, five, six rings.

"Brackman, Harvey and Lowe. How may I help you?"

"Greg Stewart, please."

"Mr. Stewart is in a meeting, may I take a message?"

"Could you please see if you can interrupt him. This is his wife. He's been trying to reach me all morning."

There was a pause while the receptionist decided how unreasonable a request it was. "One moment, please."

One moment turned into two, then three. Finally, after five minutes, Greg's voice said, "Maggie, thank G.o.d, I got ahold of you." His voice sounded urgent, but not remorseful. She was immediately disappointed instead of alarmed. "Why isn't your cellular phone turned on?" Even in his urgency he had to get in a scolding.

"I forgot to recharge it. I'll have it by this evening."

"Well, never mind." He sounded irritated, as if she were the one who had brought it up. "It's your mother." His tone automatically changed to that sympathetic one he used with clients who had just lost their case. She dug her fingernails into the leather armrest and waited for him to continue. "She's in the hospital."

Maggie leaned her head back, closed her eyes and swallowed hard. "What was it this time?"

"I think she might be getting serious, Maggie. She used a razor blade this time."

CHAPTER 24.

Maggie hung up the phone and ma.s.saged her temples. A throbbing invaded her head, reaching down into her neck and shoulder blades. She had spent the last twenty minutes arguing with the doctor a.s.signed to her mother's case. He had graduated at the top of his cla.s.s, the arrogant, little b.a.s.t.a.r.d had rea.s.sured her. Fresh out of medical school and he thought he knew it all. Well, he didn't know her mother. He hadn't even looked at her history yet. When Maggie recommended he call her mother's therapist, he sounded relieved, even grateful when she gave him the name and phone number. She wondered how many people kept the name and phone number of their mother's therapist in their memory bank.

They did did agree that Maggie shouldn't hop on the next plane to Richmond. Her mother was screaming for attention, but Maggie dropping everything and rus.h.i.+ng to her side only seemed to reinforce the behavior. Or at least it had the last five times. Dear G.o.d, Maggie thought, one of these times her mother would succeed, if only by sheer accident. And although she agreed with Greg that razor blades were a serious advancement, the cuts-according to Dr. Boy Wonder-were horizontal, not vertical. agree that Maggie shouldn't hop on the next plane to Richmond. Her mother was screaming for attention, but Maggie dropping everything and rus.h.i.+ng to her side only seemed to reinforce the behavior. Or at least it had the last five times. Dear G.o.d, Maggie thought, one of these times her mother would succeed, if only by sheer accident. And although she agreed with Greg that razor blades were a serious advancement, the cuts-according to Dr. Boy Wonder-were horizontal, not vertical.

Maggie sank her throbbing head into the soft leather back of the chair and closed her eyes. She had been taking care of her mother since she was twelve. And what did a twelve-year-old girl, who had just lost her father, know about taking care of anyone? Sometimes she felt as though she had let her mother down, until she remembered that it was her mother who had abandoned her with her drunken stupors.

There was a soft tap on the frosted gla.s.s of the office door. Without prompting, the door eased open just enough for Morrelli to peek in.

"O'Dell, you okay in here?"

She remained paralyzed, her body scrunched down in the chair. Suddenly, legs, arms, everything seemed too heavy to move. "I'm fine," she managed to say, but knew immediately that she didn't sound or look very convincing.

His brow furrowed, and soft blue eyes showed concern. He hesitated, then came into the office slowly, cautiously. He set a can of Diet Pepsi in front of her. The cold condensation dripped down the side, and she wondered how long he had stood outside his own office before getting the nerve to come in.

"Thanks." She still made no effort to move, and it obviously made Morrelli uncomfortable. He stood with arms crossed, then shoved his hands into his pockets.

"You look like h.e.l.l," he finally said.

"Thanks a lot, Morrelli." But she smiled.

"Listen, could you do me a favor? Call me Nick. Every time you call me Morrelli or Sheriff Morrelli, I start looking around for my dad."

"Okay, I'll try." Even her eyelids felt heavy. If she closed her eyes right this minute, would she finally sleep?

"Lucy is ordering lunch up from Wanda's. What can I get for you? Blue plate special on Monday is meat loaf, but I'd recommend the chicken-fried steak sandwich."

"I'm really not very hungry."

"I've been with you since two this morning, and you haven't eaten a thing. You need to eat, O'Dell. I'm not going to be responsible for you whittling away that cute little..." He caught himself, but it was too late. The embarra.s.sment washed over his face. He wiped a hand across his jaw as if to erase it. "I'm ordering a ham and cheese sandwich for you." He turned to leave.

"On rye?"

He glanced at her over his shoulder. "Okay."

"And with hot mustard?"

Now he smiled, and there were definitely dimples. "You're a pain in the a.s.s, you know that, O'Dell?"

"Hey, Nick." She stopped him again.

"What now?"

"Call me Maggie."

CHAPTER 25.

"Do you like the baseball cards?" The mask m.u.f.fled his voice. He sounded as though he were underwater. With all the dripping perspiration, he felt like it, too.

Matthew stared at him from the small bed in the corner. He sat on top of tangled bedcovers and hugged a pillow to his chest. His eyes were red and puffy. His hair stuck up in places. His soccer uniform was wrinkled. He hadn't even taken off his shoes to sleep last night.

Light filtered in through cracks in the boarded-up window. Pieces of broken gla.s.s rattled as the wind crept in through the rotted slats. It whistled and howled, creating a ghostly moan and licking at the corners of the posters hiding the cracked walls. It was the only sound in the room. The boy hadn't said a word all morning.

"Are you comfortable?" he asked.

When he approached, the boy skittered into the corner, smas.h.i.+ng his small body against the crumbling plaster. The chain that connected his ankle to the steel bedpost clanked. There was enough length for the boy to reach the middle of the room. Yet, the cheeseburger and fries he had left last night sat untouched on the metal tray table. Even the triple-chocolate shake was still filled to the brim.

"Didn't you like your dinner, or do you prefer hot dogs? Maybe even chili dogs? You can have anything you want."

"I wanna go home," Matthew whispered, squeezing the pillow, one hand twisted so he could bite his fingernails. Several were chewed down to the quick and had bled during the night. Dried blood spotted the white cotton pillowcase. It would be h.e.l.l to wash out.

"Maybe you'd enjoy comic books more than baseball cards. I have some old Flash Gordons I bet you'd like. I'll bring them with me next time."

He finished unpacking the contents of the grocery sack: three oranges, a bag of Cheetos, two Snickers bars, a six-pack of Hires root beer, two cans of SpaghettiOs and a snack pack of Jell-O chocolate pudding. He laid each item on the old wine crate he had found in what must have been a supply room. He had gone to great lengths to get all of Matthew's favorites.

"It may get chilly tonight," he said as he unrolled the thick wool blanket and draped it over the bed. "I'm sorry I can't leave a light. Is there anything else I can get for you?"

"I wanna go home," the boy whispered again.

"Your mom doesn't have the time to take care of you, Matthew."

"I want my mom."

"She's never home. And I bet she brings strange men home at night, doesn't she? Ever since she threw your dad out." He kept his voice calm and soothing.

"Please let me go home."

"She leaves you alone all the time. She works late. She even works on weekends."

"I just wanna go home." The boy began to cry, quiet sniffles he m.u.f.fled with the pillow.

"And you can't stay with your dad." Calm and cool. He must remain calm, though already he could feel the anger starting in his gut. "Your dad beats you, doesn't he, Matthew?"

"I just wanna go home," the boy whined, no longer keeping quiet.

"I'm going to help you, Matthew. I'm going to save you. But you must be patient. Look, I brought all your favorite things."