Twice Dead (59 page)

Savich frowned into his cell phone. What was this all about? “I know you like my grandmother's paintings, Simon. She gave you your favorite when you graduated from MIT, but you don't have to come down to Washington to see them right away.”

“Yes,” Simon said, “trust me on this, I do.” And he hung up.

Sherlock was standing on the far side of the bedroom, her own cell phone dangling from her hand. “Sweetheart,” he called out to her, “strangest thing. Simon is all hot under the collar to see Lily's eight Sarah Elliott paintings. He's being mysterious, won't tell me a thing, insists he has to see the paintings as soon as they arrive in Washington.”

Sherlock didn't say anything. Savich felt a sharp point of fear. She looked shell-shocked, no, beyond that. She looked drop-dead frightened, her pupils dilated, her skin as pale as ice. He was at her side in an instant. He gathered her against him, felt that she was as cold as ice as well, and held on to her tightly. “What's wrong? Tell me what's wrong. It's Sean, isn't it? Something's happened to our boy?”

She shook her head hard, but still no words.

He pulled back, saw the shock of fear still deep in her eyes, and shook her lightly. “Please tell me, Sherlock, talk to me. What's going on? What happened?”

She swallowed, and managed finally to get the words out. “Sean's all right. I checked in at the office. I heard Ollie yell in the background that he had to speak to us. Dillon, Ollie said that Tammy Tuttle just up and walked out of the jail wing of Patterson-Wright Hospital.”

“No,” Savich said, shaking his head in utter disbelief, “you've got to be kidding me.” Things like that didn't happen. She was very dangerous, and everyone at the hospital knew it. He continued to stare down at his wife, wanting to see some flicker of doubt that wasn't there. “That can't be possible,” he went on slowly. The panic of it was nearly under control, but he didn't want to believe it, to accept it. “She was in the jail ward. She was well guarded. The woman is nuts. Everyone knows what she's done. She couldn't walk out.”

“They were going to put her in restraints tomorrow or the next day, when they thought she was well enough to be a danger to them. Then there was a screwup in the scheduling of the guards. Evidently, she was ready for something to give her a chance. When she got her break, she snagged a nurse, knocked her out cold, and took her white pantsuit. At least she didn't kill her. But she walked out.”

“It hasn't been even a week since they amputated her arm. How could she have the strength to take down a nurse? They're used to violent patients; they're trained. She's got only one arm.”

“Obviously no one thought she had the strength or the ability, and that's why when there was the scheduling foul-up, no one was really concerned. And that's why no one even discovered she was gone until a nurse went in to give her a shot and found another nurse tied up naked in the closet. They figure she got herself at least a two-hour window.”

Savich shook himself. His brain was back in gear, finally. “All right. Where would she go? Do they have any leads?”

“Ollie says there are more cops looking for her than the hunt for Marlin and Erasmus Jones. Everyone knows she's really scary, that she's truly dangerous. No one wants her free again.” Sherlock cleared her throat. “There's the question of those things you saw in the barn, Dillon—the Ghouls.”

He squeezed her again and said against her temple, her curly hair tickling his nose, “I know what I want to do right this minute. I want to talk to Sean and listen to him gurgle. That little guy is so sane, and that's what we need right now, a big dose of normalcy.” He didn't add that he wanted to know for sure, all the way to his soul, that his little boy was all right. As for the Ghouls ... if they were real—and Savich knew to his bones that they were—then it was possible there was more danger than anyone could begin to imagine. Would the FBI let all the people looking for Tammy Tuttle know that she could have accomplices? Or were they going to ignore everything he'd told them?

They took turns gurgling with their son, who was busy gnawing a banana, not a graham cracker. Then they called Ollie back to see if there was any news yet.

“Yes,” Ollie Hamish said, “but not good.” Sherlock could see him leaning back in his chair, spinning it just a bit, because he was nervous and scared. “Tammy Tuttle murdered a teenage boy a block outside of Chevy Chase, Maryland. She left a note on the body. Well, actually, she didn't leave it
on
the body, she left it attached to the body. It's addressed to you, Savich.”

“Read it, Ollie.”

“Here goes: ‘I'll get you and I'll rip your arm off and then I'll cut your head off, you murdering bastard. Then I'll give you to the Ghouls.'”

“That's real cheery,” Savich said. “Was it addressed specifically to me?”

“Yeah, which means she knows your name. How? Everyone thinks she probably heard people talking about you in the hospital. She left her fingerprints all over the paper and envelope, obviously didn't care. Oh yes, at the murder scene, there was also a black-painted circle, and the boy was inside it. She's loose, Savich. Everyone is shaken to their toes. It was a really gruesome crime scene. That poor kid, he was only thirteen years old.”

“Black-painted circle,” Savich said. “Tammy called to the Ghouls to come get the boys in the circle.”

“I was hoping maybe you really hadn't seen anything, Savich, that maybe you'd experienced a temporary vision distortion. Since the boy's body was a mess, maybe more of a mess than a single one-armed sick woman could have done, then maybe these things—these Ghoul characters—were somehow involved. Jimmy Maitland brought it up. And the bosses even had a big meeting about it. They've all decided that what you saw in that barn were dust devils.”

Savich said finally, “Mr. Maitland has my number here if he wants to talk about it. Now, here's something to do. Bring in Marilyn Warluski.”

“We already went looking. She's long gone, no one knows where.”

“MAX found out she has an ex-boyfriend in Bar Harbor, Maine, name of Tony Fallon. Check there. Maybe she'll be with him and know something. Tammy has to go somewhere, and Marilyn loaned her and her brother that barn for their use. Did Tammy steal any money?”

“Not at the hospital, but elsewhere? We haven't heard of anything yet. Also, there have been a dozen reports of stolen vehicles. We're checking all those out as well.”

“Okay. Find Marilyn and wring her out, Ollie. I think you should be the one in direct contact with her. You know more than the others.”

“Okay. Let me take a deep breath here. I'm very glad you aren't listed in the phone book and your phone number's private. It's unlikely she could find you where you are, but I want you to be careful, Savich, really careful.”

“You can count on that, Ollie.”

“Okay. How are things going out there with Lily?”

Savich said, “She managed to hurt a guy who tried to kill her on an empty bus a couple of hours ago. Clark Hoyt in the new Eureka field office is checking all the hospitals. No word yet. Lily drew a picture of him and we just heard from a Lieutenant Dobbs at the Eureka Police Department that the guy's a local hood-for-hire, a freelancer, who would kill his own mom for the right price. Name of Morrie Jones. Everyone's looking for him. He's a kid, only twenty.”

Savich could see Ollie shaking his head back and forth as he said, “Big troubles on both coasts. Ain't nothing easy anywhere in this world, is there?”

 

LILY Slept for three hours—no nightmares, thank God—and awoke to see her brother seated on a big wing chair pulled near her lovely Victorian canopied bed, a gooseneck lamp beaming light over his right shoulder, reading through a sheaf of papers.

He looked up immediately.

“You're fast. I opened one eye and you knew I was awake.”

“Sean got both Sherlock and me trained in a matter of days. He yawns or grunts, and we're ready to move.”

She managed a smile, but truth be told, the day's events had caught up with her. She'd gone from being euphoric about drawing Remus again, to nearly being murdered, to getting back her paintings. At least she'd had a great Mexican lunch and it hadn't made her sick to her stomach.

But now, even after a very long sleep, she still felt wrung out. Her side ached something fierce, and her head sat heavy and dull on her shoulders. “No, Dillon, don't get up. What are you reading?”

“Articles and reports MAX found for me on weird phenomena. I'm trying to find other reported crimes with similarities to the Tuttles' rampage and the Ghouls.”

“You told me a little bit about the Tuttles and these Ghoul things, Dillon. Tell me more.”

“There were two of them, two distinct white cones that sometimes came together. You can imagine how the two boys—Tammy and Timmy Tuttle called them ‘Little Bloods'—were reacting. I've never seen such terror. I nearly swallowed my own tongue I was so afraid. Then Tammy Tuttle called to the Ghouls, yelled for them to bring their axes and knives, their ‘treats' were ready for them. The boys wanted out of that circle and Tammy pulled her knife. She was going to nail them to the barn floor, inside that circle. That's when I shot her, and the bullet nearly tore her arm off. Timmy pulled his gun then, but he wasn't going to shoot me, no, he was aiming at the boys, so I had to kill him clean and quick, no choice. Then one of those white cones was coming at us, and I shot it. Did the bullet hurt it? I have no idea. I pulled the boys out of that circle and then both of the white cones whooshed out of there. No one outside the barn saw them. So it was the two boys, me, and Tammy, who had called them.”

“That's scary.”

“More than you can imagine.”

Lily said, “I wonder, did their victims have to be inside that circle?”

“Good question. Since I was there and saw all of it, I think they did have to have their victims inside the circle. Or maybe it was a ritual that they themselves had developed over time, a ceremony that gave the Tuttles more of a kick out of what they were doing. However, I didn't see that the Ghouls had any knives or axes, so why did they say that?” He paused a moment, thinking back. “You know, Tammy had a knife but I didn't see any axes anywhere.”

“Maybe she was speaking dramatically.”

Savich thought about the teenage boy, his body mutilated. “Maybe. I don't think so.”

“What sorts of things has MAX dug up?”

He paused for a moment, then gave a slight shake of his head as he said, “You'd be surprised what's turned up over the years.”

“Yeah, I bet I would, only you're not going to tell me anything, are you?”

There was a knock on the door.

Sherlock's voice. “Quick, Dillon. Open up!”

She was carrying three covered trays, stacked on top of one another. “From Mrs. Blade, downstairs,” she said and handed them to Savich. “Besides doing crossword puzzles, she likes to cook. She insisted that if we couldn't come down to the dining room, she was sending this up.”

Two huge plates of spaghetti with meatballs, one huge plate without the meatballs for Savich, lots of Parmesan cheese in a big bowl on the side, eight slices of garlic bread, and three large bowls of Caesar salad.

No one said a word for at least seven minutes, just groaned with pleasure and chewed. Finally, Lily sat back, patted her stomach, and sighed. “That garlic bread makes your back teeth sing the Italian anthem. Goodness, that was nearly as good as our Mexican lunch.”

Sherlock wanted to laugh, but her mouth was full of spaghetti. Savich said, “Nah, Lily, give me a salty tortilla and salsa hot enough to burn the rubber off my soles any day. I wonder which one of your in-laws is going to pay us a visit this evening?”

Lily turned a bit pale. “But why would any of them want to see me again?”

Sherlock took the tray off her lap and said matter-of-factly, “Because their pigeon is bent on flying out of the coop. You survived the attack on the city bus this morning. No more attacks since Dillon and I have been with you. Nope, now they've got to visit you and try to convince you that Tennyson can't live without you.”

“A final shot,” Lily said.

“Yes, that's right,” Sherlock said.

Savich smiled. “Only thing is, they also know that their little pigeon has two big crows guarding her. We'll see exactly what tack they take. Ah, look at that dessert Sherlock was hiding from us. Chocolate mousse, one of my favorites.”

Tennyson and his mother showed up an hour later, at precisely eight o'clock.

Charlotte Frasier had come to the hospital only once, stood by Lily's bed, and told her at least three times that she desperately needed to see dear Dr. Rossetti, a fine doctor, an excellent man who would help her. She was so worried about her dear Lily, everyone was. No one wanted her to try to kill herself again. To which Lily had simply stared at her, not a single word coming to mind after that outrageous speech. This evening, she was beautifully dressed in a dark wine-colored wool suit, a pale pink silk blouse beneath. Her thick black hair, not a hint of white, was cut short and tousled in loose curls and waves around her face. It was a very young style, but it didn't look ridiculous at all. Her teeth were white and straight, her lipstick bloodred. Charlotte looked good; she always had.

As for Tennyson, he paid no attention to either Savich or Sherlock, just marched directly to Lily's bed, grabbed her hand, and held on tightly.

“Come home with me, Lily. I need you.”

“Hello, Tennyson. Hello, Charlotte. What more could we possibly have to say to each other? Dillon thought you would come by this evening, but I have to admit I'm very surprised.” Lily finally got her hand back and asked, “Oh yes, where is your father? Isn't he well?”