"What were you wearing?" asked Mac.
"Wearing? I slept in my clothes. A lot of the time I fall asleep in my clothes."
"Your shoes?"
"I guess I was wearing them too," said the boy. "I don't remember. I just kept thinking, 'He's going to come and kill me next.' I ran downstairs to the garage, got my bike and started pedaling fast, getting away."
"You didn't think about going to a neighbor?" asked Mac.
"He was right behind me. I knew it. I could feel it. I just kept riding. Cars, a truck maybe went by. I think I was heading for the police station or the all-night gas station or the hospital. Then I heard him behind me, looked back. I drove off the road before he could run me over. Got scratched up, crawled into some bushes. I could hear Kyle coming after me. Then I saw the light, Kyle's flashlight. I got the crazy idea of taking off my clothes, dropping them on the way toward town, making him think that was where I was going."
"Why would he think you were taking off your clothes?" asked Mac.
"I don't know. I couldn't think of anything else. But it worked. I ran back here."
"Naked," said Mac.
"Yes," said the boy.
"Why didn't you call the police when you got back?"
"I thought Kyle might be right behind me," he said. "I closed my eyes when I passed Becky's room. I didn't want to see her and my mom laid out on the bed. I could smell the blood. I climbed up into the space over my closet. Even there I could smell the blood."
"Did Kyle come back looking for you?"
"Yes. I could hear him."
"He came in your room?"
"Yes. I could hear him moving around. I think he looked under the bed and I know he opened the closet door and turned on the light. I didn't cry till he was gone."
"Why didn't you come down when the police came?"
"I was afraid Kyle would find out and kill me. I just wanted to hide a few more days and then run away."
The boy was shaking. He was pale, sallow cheeked, filthy and covered with insect bites. Rufus sat next to him.
"He likes you," said Mac.
Jacob looked down at the dog and reached out a hand to pet him.
"You like dogs?" asked Mac.
"Some," said the boy. "Some scare me."
"Rufus is very friendly," said Mac. "Almost all bloodhounds are."
"He smells bad," said Jacob. "He stinks."
"Bloodhounds smell bad, especially when they're wet, which is why you don't see them at dog shows. Ever been to a dog show?"
"Seen one on television."
"It's better live," said Mac. "You sense it. The pride, training, grooming of the dogs."
The boy wasn't really listening. His hand rested on the head of the dog, whose eyes were closed in pleasure at the human touch. After he saw to taking care of the boy's injuries, he would make an appointment with a psychologist, hopefully Sheila Hellyer.
"Jacob," he said.
The boy looked up.
"Did you memorize what you just told me?"
The boy didn't answer. He took his hand from the dog's head and sat upright.
"Most of it wasn't true, was it?" asked Mac.
No answer from Jacob, whose eyes met Mac's and then turned away.
"That's the way it happened," the boy finally said without conviction.
Couldn't have, thought Mac. The boy had been through enough. He should be cleaned up, his wounds cared for and someone found who could comfort him. We'll go over it again in the morning, Mac thought, and see if we can get it right.
It was after midnight.
While she was waiting for the paramedics to arrive at her apartment, Stella had called in for an emergency department vehicle to pick her up immediately. When it arrived, she had simply told the uniformed officer behind the wheel where they were going.
The driver's last name was Fannon. When Stella told him that they were heading for St. Martine's Church in Brooklyn and a priest might be in danger, Fannon had made a serious attempt to break the sound barrier.
When George Melvoy had taken the poison, Stella had acted instantly. She knew the principle poison was turpentine. She had ipecac in her bathroom cabinet, but Stella knew that with turpentine poisoning vomiting should not be induced. Instead she gave him sips of water to ease the burning in his throat.
Stella helped the man off the chair. He resisted, but he was weak now and breathing hard. The convulsions were stronger now. She led him to the bathroom and sat him on the floor next to the tub.
Melvoy gagged twice, leaned over and spewed out a thick greenish spray of liquid that splattered in the tub. She held his head as he convulsed in pain again, that which he most prized, his dignity, now gone.
When the paramedics had arrived, Stella had held the hand of the man who had planned to kill her. The hand was dappled with age spots and his face looked as old as he really was.
At the hospital, they would probably place a tube down Melvoy's nose and into his stomach, a nasogastric tube, to wash out his stomach. He would be treated with activated charcoal and examined with an endoscopy, the placement of a camera down the throat, to determine the extent of the burns to the esophagus and stomach. IV fluids would be given. If the treatment worked, there could still be extensive damage to the mouth, throat and stomach. Damage might continue for weeks. He might recover and he might die in pain a month later. A hard way to die.
Now Stella sat across from Joshua in the same room at CSI headquarters where they had sat before. Aiden was working on the contents of the tote bag and Flack was in the next room listening. They had decided that Joshua would be more likely to talk to a single person. Stella, after a cup of thick, terrible tasting coffee, had volunteered.
Stella remembered that she would have to clean Melvoy's vomit off her tub. It might take a while. It would be hard and she would have to work at getting rid of the foul acrid odor. She had seen worse, worked with worse, but not in her own home.
"You won't believe me," said Joshua. "My faith is being tested."
"Try," said Stella.
Joshua looked tired. He leaned forward, hands clasped. He wore black Dockers, a gray polo shirt and sneakers. He sighed deeply and said, "The priest killed Glick and Joel Besser."
"Why?"
"They were Jews," said Joshua. "That's enough."
"Why the shooting and the crucifixion?"
Joshua shook his head.
"Anti-Semites have tortured Jews, crucified Jews, for over two thousand years. Yeshua was one of thousands of Jews crucified."
"How do you know he killed Glick and Besser?"
"Got a phone call," Joshua said. "Man with a heavy Spanish accent said he had found something and was afraid to go to the police. He told me where it was and said he thought his priest was a murderer. He was crying. I tried to ask him more but he hung up."
He lifted his head and faced Stella.
"You don't believe me," he said.
"Go on," Stella said.
"I went to the church," Joshua said. "I went behind the altar, behind the statue of Yeshua, and there it was."
"The bag," said Stella.
"Yes."
"You hadn't put it there earlier?"
"No."
"You had the gun in your hand when we came," said Stella. "Were you going to shoot Father Wosak?"
"I wanted to stop him from killing more Jews."
"That's not an answer," said Stella.