"We'll get you a caller-ID phone," said Karen. "He'll probably call back, he'll want to know if you found whatever it is he thought you ought to find in the garage."
"You think he'll call back, then?"
"He'll call," Becker said. "He called to make trouble in the first place. If he wanted to be a crime buster, he would have told you what to look for and where. He wants to pull your chain a little bit before he's through."
"You think it's all just bullshit? That there's nothing in McNeil's garage, and it's just my imagination about the knife?"
Becker looked to Karen, who shrugged. "We could run tests on the knife, Tee, but it's a real long shot. I suppose it's still possible to match blood or tissue traces with DNA samples from the bone, if they can get any decent samples from the bone at this point-"
"If he hasn't cleaned the knife as thoroughly as you think he has."
"It looked clean as a whistle to me..
"But it might look different under a microscope."
"But right now it's inadmissible evidence," said Karen. "It was taken during an illegal search."
"It wasn't taken," said Tee. "I was going to take it, but then I heard a noise and… I took off. I just got the hell out of there."
"Not a bad idea."
"For the wrong reason. I felt creepy. There was something strange in the air there. Maybe just because I don't approve of McNeil in the first place, I don't know. Probably the whole thing is my imagination-all of the little things can be explained away, they wouldn't amount to a pinch of shit if we were talking about somebody besides McNeil."
"There are a couple of things that aren't your imagination, Tee," Karen said. "One is the phone call from Kiwasee, or whoever it was. The other is the skeletons of six young women. Those are far too real."
"Something occurs to me," said Becker. "You were looking at this X-Acto knife that you think could have been used to cut up the bodies, then you heard a noise and decided-wisely, I think-to get the hell out of there."
"Right."
"Does that mean your fingerprints are on what could be the murder weapon?"
Tee stared at Becker for a moment. "Oh, shit Chrice," he said.
Late in the afternoon Metzger loaded his dog in the car and returned to the nature preserve. He started with Sandy on a long leash but within a few yards the dog was already tangled around a tree trunk, so he released it and the dog bolted happily into the woods. Metzger walked toward the place where he had fallen the previous night, Sandy roaming in a large, active circle around him. The dog found the hole before he did. Metzger came upon Sandy sniffing excitedly around the edges of the excavation. There was nothing eerie or otherworldly about it in daylight. A human being had been digging a hole. Footprints were pressed into the loose dirt piled beside the hole, the sharp marks of the shovel were still visible on the sheer sides. The digger had encountered a large rock-Metzger could see a slash of white through the dirt where the shovel had hit stone. He could see where the digger had squatted, his butt leaving an impression in the dirt, and where another weight, broader, lighter, and smoother, had flattened the soil but left no trace of its identity.
The dog continued to sniff excitedly, tracing a path around the hole.
Metzger snapped on a shorter hand leash, then said, "Find, Sandy. Find."
The dog circumnavigated the hole in a larger circle, and moved off through the trees, nose to the ground.
After several minutes and as many sidetracks, the dog stopped by the roadside, roaming round in a small circle, its nose always fixed by one point. The ground litter had been matted down and Metzger could see the distinct impression of heel prints where they had pressed through the litter and dug into the dirt. He stood there, trying to see what the man would have seen-the road, a driveway, and the upper story of a house visible through the leaves just across the road. The chimney of another house farther east. He stood here at night, Metzger thought. He would have seen house lights if any were on. He tried to remember if any had been on when he drove by, but could not recall. He would have seen me though, he thought. He would have seen me drive by, one way and then the other. Metzger imagined the man, crouched by the road, hidden by the trees and the darkness of the night, watching the cop car cruise by.
Was he laughing at me? Metzger wondered. He felt angry, and a little shamed by his own incompetence.
13
Luv knew that Denise was ready. Really ready. He met her in a restaurant parking lot and drove with her to the motel in his "company" car. He almost always used the company car for his assignations. A four-year-old beige Chevy Caprice, it was as innocuous as a car could be, almost impossible to describe because it would never catch the viewer's attention. He kept it clean, serviced it often, made sure his emissions sticker was up to date. Luv took no chances on random inspections by the police, gave no one a reason to look any closer. That was the kind of stupid mistake that got people caught all the time.
Idiots were stopped because of broken headlights with several kilos of cocaine lying in the back seat. Luv had something a bit more incriminating that could be discovered by some overzealous cop-if Luv gave him the chance. He had Inge's remains in the trunk. Tonight he would be rid of them. Right after he took care of Denise.
When they stepped inside the motel room and he took her in his arms, she was trembling already. Luv thought it was with excitement and anticipation and he continued to embrace her, allowing her to collect herself, but when he gradually released her and tried to put his lips to hers she put up her arms and stopped him.
"I have something I have to tell you," she said.
"What?" he asked softly, ready for any kind of foolishness. They often needed reassurance of some sort at this crucial point.
"I had-I have a mark," Denise said. She looked shyly at his chest, then lifted her eyes to his, summoning the courage. "A birthmark," she said.
"Oh, my darling," said Luv with genuine sympathy. "That's all right."
"It's ugly," she said. "I don't want it to-repulse you."
"It won't bother me."
Luv sat on the edge of the bed as she hesitantly lifted her blouse, revealing a purple stain that spread across her stomach. It looked raw, painful, as if freshly applied, as if her skin had been seared.
"It doesn't matter," Luv said, meaning it. He was not offended by ugliness any more than he was swayed by beauty. Appearances were beside the point. "Not at all."
"Larry used to make fun of it," she said, lowering the blouse to cover herself again. "I think it made him sick. It made him think-It disappointed him to be with me when he looked at it."
"The sonofabitch," Luv said angrily. "The dirty sonofabitch. He didn't deserve you."
"No," Denise agreed. "No, he really didn't."
Luv took her face in both hands and looked deeply into her eyes. "It doesn't bother me, Denise. Only if it bothers you. Will you be self-conscious about it?" Denise hesitated only slightly. "No." He smiled sweetly. "Good."
He peeled the blouse away and pressed his face against the mark, which spread across her stomach and trailed tendrils beneath her skirt waist like a giant amoeba.
"Listen, I'm crazy about you. You're more woman than anyone else I know. I feel so lucky that you want to be with me."
"Oh, Lyle," she said, her eyes big and teary.
He kissed her and laid her back on the bed and made love to her as if he really meant it. She quivered and trembled and her breath came in excited gasps whenever he moved his hand or his lips. When he removed her clothes and put his hand between her legs she said, "I've waited so long for you."
Afterwards, she clung to his neck, her gratitude so huge and exposed that he felt protective. Some decent feeling stirred within him, touched by her vulnerability, cajoled by her brush with mortality. He wrapped his arms around her and then his legs, pressing himself against her to shield her from all of life's evils, including himself. "You are so brave," he said. "I admire you."