Lockwood could hear pounding somewhere in the basement. He slowly let out all of his breath. His lungs were empty. His reflexes were screaming at him to breathe, while his iron will was forcing him not to. He couldn't hold his breath any longer. He was seconds from death when his hand brushed against his side coat pocket and he felt something. His allergy inhaler! He yanked it out and jammed it against his nose, then took one life-sustaining inhalation, sucking the little plastic vaporizer empty. He almost choked on its pungent fragrance, but he had quarter-filled his lungs with the aerosol mist. Then, seconds later, he began to lose consciousness. Falling forward, he grabbed the elevator rail, his chin just above the deadly fog.
As Lockwood floated into the tunnel of death, he thought he saw the fire door at the far end of the building fly open. He thought he saw Heather rushing toward him, carrying an oxygen bottle, but she was too far away to save him. "Daddy, Daddy, don't leave me," she cried, but it was too late.
Lockwood fell forward into the deadly mist.
The Rat shut off his computer and went up on the deck of the barge. He climbed down the ladder into the water. He rolled in the shallows next to the rustling hull, to cool his blazing skin. The salt water stung him, bringing tears to his eyes. He could bear the pain no longer. Finally, he rolled up on his knees. He raised his hands over his head.
"The Wind Minstrel is coming," he screamed at the heavens, "and He is God!"
A flock of herons broke from the treetops and wheeled in crazy circles above him.
Chapter 31
Karen had visited Malavida for an hour on Thursday night. He was conscious but very weak. The Federal agent sat outside the door with one ear cocked, but they were talking so softly that he finally gave up and went back to the book he was reading.
Karen filled Malavida in on the close call he'd had with his blood type, and the one she and Lockwood had had at the Ramada Inn.
"Where's Lockwood now?" he said, his voice raspy from the anesthetic tube he'd had down his throat for ten hours yesterday.
"He got arrested," she said softly. "They took him back to Washington Tuesday. He's having a hearing tomorrow at nine, for a bunch'a stuff they say he did… It's all bullshit. In the meantime, I'm going to get you out of here."
Malavida lay there looking at the ceiling for a minute. She watched him and, when he didn't comment, she went on. "Look, I think if you stay here with all the shit they're pumping into you, you're taking a big chance. The Rat will out-think this bunch'a white coats. You'll be getting battery acid in your coffee or some damn thing."
"You're gonna move me? I feel like hell. I can't even sit up."
"I got chummy with the surgical nurse. She said the surgery was a success. They have you scheduled for X-rays tomorrow at ten to check their work. The big danger for you now is peritonitis, 'cause your intestine got ruptured. They've been pumping you full of vancomycin. But they're slacking off now. If you start running a fever, I'll bring you back. Another thing… that Fed out there isn't gonna let you get your hands on a computer, and I need you to help me get The Rat."
"Am I the Lone Ranger or Tonto?" he said softly.
"You're Snoopy, remember?" She smiled at him and took his hand. "They say they're gonna keep you in here for another three days. According to the nurse, all they're gonna do is watch you, take your temperature. I can do that… and remember, Mal, in three days, you're on your way back to Lompoc." She knew he would do anything to avoid that.
"I'm a Federal prner," he said softly. "You bust me outta here and you're gonna be guilty of conspiracy, and aiding and abetting. Both felonies. You could get five years yourself."
"I don't want to go to jail… but in case you haven't noticed, I can handle risks. And I've developed an affection for you, so shut up." He smiled at her, and she reddened slightly and rushed on: "I also think The Rat is about to go hot again. It's been two weeks since Candice Wilcox died. I don't want another woman killed and mutilated. We said we were gonna get him for what he did to Claire. I haven't changed my mind; I hope you haven't."
Malavida finally nodded. "Okay, you're on."
"I've been working at the library all afternoon. I found some pretty interesting stuff in the newspaper morgue."
"Like what?"
"The woman you saw in the barge, the blowup taped on the wall with the markings and dates on it…?"
"Yeah?"
Karen dug into her purse and pulled out a Xerox of an old Tampa Tribune newspaper article she had found at the Miami Public Library that afternoon. "Was this her?" she asked and held up the picture.
Malavida was looking at a shot of the same woman he'd seen on the wall of the barge. "It's her… Who is she?" Malavida finally said.
"Meet Shirley Land, Leonard's foster mother. That's the obit photo. She died in a fire twelve years ago. Shirley had quite a history. She was a seventies hippie who turned away from sex and drugs, and found religion. According to this, she was a Seventh Day Adventist, but the church in Water Valley, Mississippi, where she lived, threw her out for bizarre behavior. Apparently she was religiously obsessed. She had a foster child in 1980 named Robbie Land. I checked with Social Services in Water Valley, and their records said they'd been out there a bunch of times 'cause Robbie's grade-school teachers said he looked beaten up. One time, when he was twelve, his hair got set on fire. Shirley said he'd done it himself, playing with matches. Social Services was getting set to take him back when Robbie ran away, never to be seen again. Shirley took off and left the state. My guess is Robbie is dead, buried in a shallow grave somewhere. Shirley moved to Florida and applied for and got another foster child. That was Leonard Land. Nobody checked with Mississippi, 'cause she never told 'em she was from there. She bought a house out in the boonies not too far from the Everglades. There were no Social Services complaints on Leonard's condition. Then, twelve years ago, her house caught fire and she died. Leonard disappeared, end of report," she said. "Not too hard to read between the lines, is it?"
"That's pretty good." He smiled weakly.
"It all fits the profile of a killer dominated by a violent female adult. The blitz attacks are because he's afraid of women, he needs to kill them before they have a chance to dominate him. His 'relationships' are all post-mortem. He probably feels he can only interact with women once they're dead."
"Did you call Lockwood with this?"
"I'm gonna get in touch after his hearing tomorrow," she told him. "You didn't call him because he'll put the kibosh on this nutty idea of breaking me out of here, right?"
She started to smile and he smiled back.
"How you gonna do it?"
She sat next to his bed and filled him in.
At 8:30 that night, Karen pulled off her first computer crime. She was sitting on the bed at the Ramada Inn, talking with Malavida in the hospital on her cellphone. With the hard line from the Ramada phone, she had hooked up Malavida's computer and modem. Malavida talked her through a computer crack into Jackson Memorial Hospital. It was harder than they had anticipated because the hospital administrator had already started to upgrade his security. Malavida finally found a hole in the system, going in through the Payless drugstore in the hospital lobby. The drugstore had a link that interfaced with the hospital billing records. He used that to move into the Jackson Memorial computer network and, before long, he talked Karen right into the Patient Records Log. She found Ray Gonzales's ID number and deleted it, then put Malavida's ID number in its place. She found Malavida's account, deleted his number, and supplanted it with Ray's, completing the switch. She then found Ray Gonzales's medical record… It was extensive. She scanned it, feeling guilty as she snooped. Ray's prognosis wasn't good. He was going to need a kidney transplant soon. Then she skipped to the bottom of Ray's records and started typing. She scheduled him for an X-ray at ten the next morning.