Beautiful Maids All in a Row (8 page)

“What makes you think it was me?”

“Gee, how about the fact that there are only two people who knew we slept together, and they're both in this car? I know
I
didn't say shit. So, what did you do? Take out an ad in the
Post
?”

He paused. “No, it was BNN.”

“Not funny.”

He let out a long sigh. “I would have taken it to my grave, you know that. But—”

“But what? You had a few too many beers one night?”

“
But
they asked me directly during the investigation if we had ever slept together. I knew people were suspicious of us, and I thought that if I lied they might not believe the rest of my testimony, and you'd end up either in prison or the psych ward.”

“Great, so I'm the whore of the FBI. Perfect.”

“You think I wanted everyone to know? Do you know how much shit I've gotten in the past two years over that?”

“Oh gee, poor you,” I said sarcastically. “You had to survive a little ribbing in the locker room.”

“It was more than ‘a little ribbing.' I have a reprimand in my file.”

“I'll cry you a river.”

His hands clenched the steering wheel so hard his knuckles cracked. “I don't want to talk about this anymore.”

“Good, neither do I.”

I looked out of the window. The traffic picked up, and we were finally out of Washington. I reached over to turn on the radio and the new Taylor Swift song came on. I looked at the passing buildings along I-395. Not a lot had changed in two years. Tall office buildings towered over endless strip malls and gas stations. When we finally reached Justine Romy's town house in Arlington, I was downright homesick for Spanish moss, wraparound porches, and sprawling landscapes of lush green. Who knew I would have turned into such a country girl?

A tricycle lay on its side on the small patch of grass that served as a front lawn for the two conjoined houses. Luke walked ahead of me, climbing the steps to the door and knocking before I was even on the first step. The door opened as I reached the top step. An exhausted man with disheveled hair and clothes, somewhere between ages sixty and a hundred, stood in the doorway. I could only assume that this shell of a man was Justine's father. She had his upturned nose and blue eyes.

Luke pulled out his shield, flashing it at the man. “Mr. Romy, I'm Special Agent Luke Hudson, and this is Dr. Iris Ballard. We're here to ask you a few more questions about your daughter. May we come in?”

The dazed man waved us in. The house was cozy, a real home. Pictures filled the walls, most of a little boy, the spitting image of his mother. I didn't stop to look. Mr. Romy led us into the living room, where a wide assortment of toy cars littered the carpet. The secret lair of some comic book people I couldn't remember was in the middle of the floor with the tiny people arranged for a meeting inside. Patrick loved the Avengers too. He was a Hulk fan.

Mr. Romy motioned to the couch across from him. “Sit down.”

“I actually knew your daughter many years ago,” I said as I sat.

“Really?”

“Yes, my husband worked at her hospital. She was so full of life. It's a tragedy what happened to her.”

“Yes.”

“We just have a few questions for you,” Luke said.

“Fine.”

I knew what Luke was going to ask. He'd ask about her routine, her friends, her job, and all the things her file already had. I stood up. “Actually, while you two do that, would you mind if I have a look around?”

“Why?” Mr. Romy asked.

“It would help me get a better sense of Justine. What she was like, anything to tell why she was chosen. It's a part of the process of profiling called victimology.”

Mr. Romy sneered at me as if I had just spit in his face. “My daughter was not a victim! She didn't have a weak bone in her body! Don't you ever call her a victim!”

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean anything by it.”

He scoffed. “Go do what you have to do.”

With a half-smile I left the room. I opened my purse and took out the recorder in case I had any insights. I started at the pictures on the wall, which told me the story of Dr. Justine Romy. A beautiful little girl sitting on a horse, smiling. A teenager in a poufy pink dress, dancing with her father at her sweet sixteen party. The same smiling girl holding her high school diploma along with her friends. A woman touching her pregnant belly. A doctor examining a child. A mother pushing her son on the swing, both laughing uproariously. He saw what I did. He was drawn to her inner light, like a moth to a flame, only in this case the moth literally snuffed out the flame.

Quietly, I crept upstairs as Luke continued his questions in the living room. The door to the master bedroom was open. I stepped in and found the room almost bare. The mattress was stripped, and there were no knickknacks or cosmetics on any surface. Inside the closet all Justine's clothes were gone; not a shoe remained. The room had been sanitized.

A floorboard creaked behind me. I spun around quickly, startled by the intrusion. I recognized the boy sloped like an old man in the doorway instantly. Gabriel, though he wasn't the happy boy from the photos. He had the dark circles under his blue eyes common only to overworked adults and traumatized children. He probably hadn't slept since his mother disappeared. His clothes were mismatched as well, stripes with polka dots, and dirty. Worse, he had that haunted look of someone who had been to hell and back. In other words, he looked like a miniature me.

“Hi. You must be Gabriel.” I didn't get a response. He was probably shy. Although I wouldn't have spoken to a strange woman wandering around my dead mother's room either. “My name's Iris. I knew your mom.”

“She died,” he said matter-of-factly.

“I know. I'm very sorry.” His expression didn't change. He'd probably heard it a thousand times before. I knew from personal experience that the sentiment lost all meaning after the tenth time you'd heard it.

“The policemen took all of Mommy's things.”

“I can see that. I'm sure you'll get them back soon.”

“Are you a policeman?”

I took a step toward him, but still skeptical about me, he took a step back. “I was. I'm here to help them find who killed your mom.”

“The bad man?”

I smiled. “Yeah, the bad man.”

Gabriel gazed down at the floor, frowning. I could only imagine the face this little boy had given “the bad man.” Probably Voldemort and Loki rolled into one. And he was right. The man was the stuff of nightmares come alive.

“Do you want to play cars with me?” he asked solemnly.

“Okay.”

Gabriel led me down the hall past the photos on the wall into his room. The walls were painted sky blue, but most of the space was covered with posters of race-car drivers and comic-book heroes. The room was a mess, with dirt-stained clothes and toys covering almost every inch of the carpet. A small race-car-shaped bed sat near the window looking out onto the front lawn where Justine was taken. The UNSUB, if he had been watching Justine, could have seen her tuck Gabriel in. A tiny light bulb went off as I gazed down at the street. That was why he picked her front lawn to take her. Bigger thrill. The man enjoyed danger, lived on the edge. Hopefully it would be his downfall.

Gabriel sat down on the carpet in one of the few uncluttered spots in front of a large, intricate track for small cars. He pressed a button and a car went zooming around the track, through loops and zigzags that rivaled the biggest roller coasters. “Watch this,” he said. He picked up a small red car and placed it across the track. The first car completed its second loop and hit the second, sending them both flying to the ground.

“Neat,” I said. Boys did love destruction.

As I sat beside him, Gabriel placed the cars back on the track, and they went on their merry way. Gabriel was enthralled by the cars moving round and round, almost hypnotized. Everything but the cars faded away. I wondered how many hours he'd spent in that very spot since his mother disappeared. Too many, I decided. I glanced around, looking for something to draw him out. It was hard to start a conversation with a five-year-old even under the best circumstances. A poster of Luke Skywalker brandishing a lightsaber hung above his bed.
Perfect.

“You like
Star Wars
?” I asked.

“Yep,” he answered, not looking away from the track.

“Who's your favorite character? Mine's Princess Leia.”

“That's because you're a girl. All girls like Princess Leia best. And Rey. I like Luke Skywalker. He can fight good.”

“Yes, he can. He beat that mean old Emperor all by himself.”

“No, he didn't,” he corrected. “His Daddy, Darth Vader, beat the Emperor. He could fight good too.”

“Where's
your
daddy?”

“My daddy's in California with his new family. But I'm gonna find the bad man and kill him just like Luke killed the Emperor.” He said this so matter-of-factly it unnerved me. To be so full of rage at such a young age, it was heartbreaking.

“That's my job,” I said, “to find the bad man and punish him for what he did to your mom. It's
your
job to stay here and be strong for your grandparents. That's all you have to do. I'll do the rest.”

He turned to me. His wide blue eyes stared at me in disbelief. “You'll find him? You promise?” he asked.

If I had a quarter for every time I was asked that question during an investigation, I would have owned a private island. We were taught at the Academy to say, “I'll do everything I can,” which was a total cop-out. I was tempted to say it then as well, but the words didn't come. Looking into those blue eyes, so full of pain and rage at the world, the same damn look I saw every day in the fucking mirror, I knew I would find that man. I would hunt him down even if was the last thing I ever did. “I swear on my life, I will find this man, and I will make him pay for what he's done to you and your mom. I swear to God above, I will.”

Then the strangest thing happened. The little boy made of stone stood up, wrapped his tiny arms around my neck, and hugged me with all his strength. I was seriously taken aback for a moment as the beautiful little boy burrowed his weary face into my neck like an ostrich hiding from its enemy. It was unprofessional, but…
fuck it.
I hugged him back, smoothing his brown hair that smelled of hot dogs and blueberry shampoo.

Someone clearing his throat behind us suddenly interrupted this wonderful moment. Both Gabriel and I glanced toward the door to find Luke and Mr. Romy standing in the hallway, staring at us. I immediately released the boy.

“Gabriel, go downstairs and play,” the old man commanded. Without a word, the boy rose and walked out of the room with his head hung. I stood as well and smoothed my pants to regain some professionalism. “I think it's time for you both to leave.”

We walked down the stairs and out of the house without a word, but I could feel Romy's glare on the back of my neck like a sharpshooter's. When we stepped outside of the house, Romy slammed the door shut and locked it, leaving us on the steps.
That could have gone better.

Luke scowled at me and was about to open his mouth, but I held up my hand to stop him. “Don't.” I started down the steps in case he decided to disobey.

I made it halfway to the car before Luke grabbed my arm and spun me around. “What the hell were you thinking promising that to him? What if we don't, Iris? He's killed four women. He's left no clues. You
never
give false hope to people, especially emotionally damaged little children!”

I was about to call him some choice four-letter words when the front door of the house swung open. Gabriel came running toward us as fast as his short legs could carry him. He was almost out of breath when he reached us. He looked up at me, holding out his hand. “Here,” he panted. His fingers unfurled to reveal a small action figure of Luke Skywalker, lightsaber ready. “To protect you from the bad man.”

I was speechless, utterly speechless. My trembling hand took the gift from the wide-eyed little boy. Looking down at that little piece of plastic, my protector, I bit my lip to choke back the tears. It would look bad if the fearless monster hunter cried like a little girl over a toy. “Thank you,” I said, sounding neutral.

Gabriel nodded and ran back toward the house. Luke looked at me, concern brimming from his eyes. I didn't care; let him worry. I tucked my protector away safely in my purse and met Luke's eyes.

“I'll get him.”

I ran along the river in Grafton, the summer sun hot against my sweat-soaked skin, with nothing but emptiness and the trickling river to keep me company. I'd been running for an eternity. The lactic acid in my muscles made my legs feel like they'd been run over by a steamroller. I feared one more step would break my legs, snapping them like twigs. Despite my deep breaths, no air filled my lungs. But I couldn't stop. I heard him screaming, his pleas for me so loud in my head I thought I'd go mad. He called, “Help me! Please help me!” over and over again like a record forever spinning. I picked up the pace, fighting back the pain and exhaustion with all my might.

Just as my body could take no more, I saw
him.
The monster. His tall frame was colossal against the setting sun, with a large shadow black as midnight reaching out to me like the hand of death. I stopped running, and the pain was swept away. Terror locked my body in place.

“I have the boy,” a booming voice called to me.

“I want him!” I shouted back.

“You…for him.”

Without missing a beat I said, “I accept.”

I took a step toward the figure, then another as my heart pounded. I pressed my left breast to stop my heart from popping out. I continued walking, but was still unable to make out features, only the monster's black outline against the blinding sun. I stopped thirty feet away from him but still could not see his face. “I want to see the boy,” I ordered. The figure said and did nothing. “Show me Gabriel or I walk.”

The figure began moving slowly toward me, but I still couldn't see his features or any details beyond the murky outline. It was as if he was enveloped by shadows, as if he
were
darkness. As he came closer, I saw the boy with his brown hair tangled and a urine stain covering half of his pants. I would have pissed myself too with a large hunting knife against my throat. I knew from experience. The metal purposely blinded me for a moment. I shielded my eyes, the figure lost to me.

“Now you see him…” the monster said. He moved the knife so it wasn't blinding me anymore. Instantly, he drew the knife across the boy's throat. “Now you don't.”

“No!” I screamed as the blood poured out of Gabriel's throat onto the pavement below, his tiny body dropping along with it. I lunged at the man before the body finished its descent. But the darkness was too fast, reaching me before I'd even taken a second step.

The knife slid inside me, shredding my insides like so much meat. Warm blood trickled from my mouth onto my chin. The monster's slimy tongue licked it off me as I shuddered. The figure pulled away from me as all his darkness lifted. Meriwether smiled at me with a bullet hole in the middle of his forehead where I'd put it. He leaned into me, jamming the knife in deeper. “I'll be seeing you in hell…soon,” he whispered like an old lover.

I let out a bloodcurdling scream.

“Iris.”

I jerked awake, sending papers flying onto the floor below. I turned to see Luke staring at me, his eyes urgent, before looking away to try to figure out where I was. A large conference table covered with papers and files lay in front of me. The FBI seal was to my left. Okay, I remembered now. I was in Washington.

“Iris, are you—”

I rushed out of the room and down the hallway toward a water fountain. The cool water assuaged my burning throat. It almost washed the phantom taste of blood and bile out of my mouth. Most people didn't feel things in their dreams, but I did. A sharp pain where my scar cut across my abdomen was not abnormal after I'd been stabbed in my dreams. I got to relive the pain night after night. Wasn't I a lucky girl?

I heard footsteps behind me and pulled away from the fountain. Luke stood nearby, eyes wide. “Are you okay?”

“I'm fine. Just one of the many joys of post-traumatic stress disorder.” Shaking my head, I walked back toward the conference room, pinning back stray strands of my hair still plastered to my sweat-soaked forehead.

I heard Luke follow behind me. “I think you should go to the hotel. Get some sleep.”

“No point. I won't be able to sleep again tonight.”

“You barely got two hours.”

“I'll be fine—I'm used to it.”

We both entered the conference room, and I started collecting the papers and photos I'd dropped on the floor. Luke gazed down at me, but instead of helping he stood in a defensive pose with his hand on his hip. “How often do you have the nightmares?”

“Depends. Some weeks it's every night. Others only once or twice.”

“Are they always that bad?”

“No,” I said, getting increasingly annoyed, “sometimes they're worse.”

“I'm amazed you haven't gone crazy.”

I stood up with the papers in my arms, meeting his eyes. “Who says I haven't?” I smiled wickedly and plopped down in my chair. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him shaking his head slowly. He did that to buy time when he was trying to figure out how to talk to me without pissing me off even more. He never did it long enough.

After a few seconds he sat down in the chair next to mine, moving closer to me. “You aren't crazy,” he said, his voice firm yet sympathetic. “You're
trying
to drive yourself crazy as some sort of punishment.”

“Will you please stop trying to psychoanalyze me? It's getting
really
old.” I turned away from him and began to organize the papers I'd dropped.

Luke didn't take his eyes off me. I tried to ignore him, concentrating on the papers, but he wouldn't look away. I continued to put the witness sheets back in order for another minute, then just couldn't stand it anymore. I spun toward him. “Will you please stop that?”

“Not until you talk to me.”

I fell back in my chair, crossing my arms. “Fine. What do you want to talk about? The weather? The Redskins?”

“We used to be really good friends. We could tell each other anything.”

“Emphasis on ‘used to.' ”

“Why do you have to make everything so damn difficult?” he asked, leaning toward me. “I'm trying to help you!”

“I…don't…need…your…help,” I said, drawing out every word. “And unless you want me on the next plane out of here, you'll stop trying.”

“No,” he stated plainly.

“What?”

“No, I won't let this go. You need to talk to me.”

“We have nothing to say to each other. I am not your partner or your friend anymore. My life is none of your business.”

“I brought you in on this case. I need to know you can keep it together.”

“I
am
keeping it together.”

He pointed behind us. “I heard you screaming four rooms away. When I woke you up you were gawking around like a crazy person. You barely recognized me.”

“You shouldn't have woken me up!” I said. “Don't you know not to wake up someone when they're in the middle of a nightmare?”

“I know nightmares. What you were having goes beyond a normal nightmare.” He paused. “Please talk to me,” he whispered. His eyes implored me to speak, almost as if he were the one who needed saving.

“You don't know what it's like to…go through what I did. You can imagine, but you don't really
know.
” I bit my lip. “One minute I was closing up boxes and waiting for my husband to come home with champagne. And the next thing I knew I had a knife sticking out of my abdomen and my husband's brains in my hair. How the hell do you recover from that?”

“Not a clue,” he said quietly.

“He was supposed to be locked up. The man went through two federal marshals to get to me. Those men had families. Children lost their fathers because of me. My…husband was shot in the head because of me.”

“No,” he said. “Meriwether was to blame.
He
killed them.”

“Because of me. He killed those marshals to get to me. He killed…” I said, my voice breaking, “he killed Hayden to punish me. Tell me how it isn't my fault.”

“You had no way of knowing he'd get free and do what he did.”

“I should have. Wasn't it my job to know what these guys were going to do next, how they were going to react?”

“It isn't like peering into a crystal ball. We don't have all the answers. And you caught him. You stopped him from raping and ripping up more little girls. You're not to blame. You're a victim just like Hayden.”

I turned to him, my eyes made of steel. “I am not a victim,” I said through clenched teeth. “I'm alive, and he's rotting in the ground. I blew him away.
He's
the victim.
My
victim.”

Luke turned away from my gaze as if my icy eyes burned him. “You don't feel any remorse, do you?”

“Would you?”

“Yeah, I would.”

“Then you're a better man than I.” I stood from the table and got my purse from the floor. “You can't help me Luke, so don't waste your time or your breath. There are more important things to worry about. I'm a lost cause.” I put on my coat. “I'll see you tomorrow.”

I walked out of that conference room without even a glance back. I half expected him to follow, but he didn't. Maybe he'd finally wised up. I hoped so. For his sake.