Aftershock (17 page)

I
can make my mind a centrifuge. When it stops spinning, I’m pretty wiped out, but I can read whatever was still sticking to its walls.

The best assassins always have one thing in common—the things they
don’t
need. Friends, family, even solace.

Experience can make you better at anything, but only if you learn from it. If you keep doing the same thing the same way, you’ll be no better at it than when you started.

There’s assassins who might as well sign their names over the bodies they leave. If you read about a man who fell to a barbed-wire garrote in a certain part of Paris, the cops might say something like “Looks like Pierre hasn’t lost his touch.”

Once the police start saying things like that, you know Pierre might have been working for a long time, but he isn’t going to die a free man.

The man who wanted his daughter back found me only by going through a half-dozen networks. I wasn’t a member of any of
them. Neither was he. But there’s a knowledge pool inside them all, and if you have the credentials—and the cash—you can tap into it.

So somebody, somewhere, knew I could kill, and do a clean job of it. But all they’d have is a name, and not the right one. Whatever they’d known about me was all used up—they couldn’t find me again, ever.

I’d worked outlaw for a long time, and I never lied to myself about that. The only difference between a mercenary and whoever hires him isn’t morality; it’s money. A mercenary rents out his own life, and it’s not up to him when the lease is up. An assassin is more like a landlord: one that can refuse any tenant he wants to, no explanation required.

But I hadn’t worked since Dolly and I came together. And that was a long time. So I’d put a lot of distance between myself and any kind of police.

Besides, I wasn’t wanted for anything.

It was the “wasn’t wanted” truth of my life that set me on my original path. It was
being
wanted that put me on another.

The hunters in the woods, the little maggot who tortured Alfred Hitchcock to death, none of that had been outlaw work, and not just because I hadn’t done it for money. But I still had all my knowledge. Things I’d never forget.

Like:

You don’t take a contract to kill unless you know who’s offering it. The best way to take out a contract man is give him a job, and then warn the target that he’s coming.

If you take a job, you never agree to deadlines. You take a contract; you take your time.

MaryLou is smart, and she’s strong, but she’s no assassin. If Cameron Taft was her target, why not just wait until she could catch him alone? She could have done the same job with a lead pipe. Probably better—she hadn’t even known enough to double-tap him
.

The only thing I felt sure of was that, for whatever reason,
MaryLou felt she just couldn’t wait. The job had to be done right then.

A
s soon as I walked in the door, I saw Dolly couldn’t wait, either. She was almost jumping up and down with excitement.

“Dell! I made some calls overseas. And you won’t believe—”

She caught my look, and her eyes went from glistening to dark in a second, but she rolled right over anything I might want to say. “And, yes, I used those International Calling Cards they sell everywhere, and, yes, I paid cash, and, yes, I—”

I should have known Dolly wouldn’t let enthusiasm get in the way of anything I’d taught her. “I’m sorry” is all I could think of to say. I guess it was enough, because all she said was:

“We have to go someplace. It’s about a seven-hour drive.”

“We, you and me?”

“Yes!”

“When?”

“Now!”

“Can we use the Lexus?”

“Of course! I was planning to have it detailed before we returned it anyway, so it won’t matter if Rascal comes with us.”

The dog gave me an “Any more stupid questions?” look. I didn’t say a word about dogs not being able to retract their claws, and the leather that covered every inch of the back of her friends’ car.

We were on the road in another fifteen minutes. A couple of soft-sided bags were already in the empty space behind the back seat—Dolly had packed while waiting for me to come home.

The back seat was all Rascal’s, and already covered in horse blankets. I caught his eye in the mirror. He was Dolly’s dog, all right.

D
olly was thrilled that the Lexus had two sockets for keeping cell phones charged.

“Now we can both stay on ‘full,’ ” she said, clapping her hands like a happy kid.

I had no doubt whose phone would have stayed on “full” if there had been only one socket. But at least I managed to stop her from playing with the navigation system.

“It wouldn’t be fair to your friends,” I told her. “I don’t know anything about the electronics in this thing, and I’ve never read the manual—I didn’t think we’d have the car this long. It may already have some kind of navigational system installed, but there’s no reason to make it easier on anyone who feels like checking where this thing’s been the last few days. That’s why you have that paper map with you, instead of using MapQuest or something that would stay on your computer.”

That last part was a question, but even though she nodded, I could see she wasn’t really listening.

“I want to hear … well,
everything
about your visit with MaryLou, Dell. But if I don’t tell you this now, I’m going to burst!”

“I can see that.”

She punched me on the arm. Dolly did that whenever she felt like it, but she’d never felt like it when I was behind the wheel before. She was really amped to the gills.

“Oh, you! Just listen for a minute, okay?”

I knew Dolly well enough not to make any comment about her estimates of time, so I just said, “Go.”

“We’re going to see a SANE nurse. And not just any SANE nurse, but the one in charge of the whole state. She’s based in Salem, but she’s almost always on the road. Where we’re going, it’s where she is now.”

“SANE?”

“Sexual Assault Nurse Examiner.”

“But you said ‘sane nurse.’ ”

“That’s just how people say it, ‘SANE nurse.’ Maybe because it comes out easier that way. Remember, there’s all kinds of nurses. I was an R.N. That’s a high rank. But a Nurse Practitioner, that’s the peak. In this state, they can do all kinds of things that only doctors can do in other places.”

“I didn’t mean to interrupt you, Dolly. It’s just that we’ve got plenty of time until we get where we’re going, and the more I understand, the better, right?”

“Yes.” She sighed as dramatically as one of her teenagers.

I shut up after that. It was a good three seconds before Dolly went back to what she wanted to say so badly.

“It all started when I had this … I don’t know what to call it, but I know to trust it when it comes. Anyway, the more I thought about MaryLou, the more I listened to what the girls went on and on about, the more convinced I was that the key to all this was a kind of controlled violence.”

MaryLou’s no assassin
flicked into my mind. Was Dolly picking up my thoughts now? But I didn’t say a word.

“MaryLou beat up her little sister, Danielle, remember?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “Like I said, the school thought it was the parents, but nothing ever came of that. After a while, everybody knew the real story. The whole story except for one thing: why?

“So, I thought, well, no way MaryLou lost her temper and took it out on her little sister. She’s not like that. She must have done it for a reason. And when she walked into school with that pistol, she did
that
for a reason. So maybe it’s not two
different
reasons. See?”

“Yes,” I said, thinking of the qualities of a good assassin again. They don’t all have to be mercenaries—some only kill for a cause. My old comrade Patrice, he never said it out loud, but I always saw him as an IRA soldier who had to go on the run. If the Brits wanted him bad enough, there was only one place he’d be safe, no matter who asked. Or came looking.

And the only reason they’d want him that bad would be if he’d taken a lot of high-value targets. If Patrice had been a sniper, he sure hid it well—he was the last man you’d pick for that kind of job when we were legionnaires. So I was guessing bomb-building was in his near past. Maybe a bomb that killed a whole mess of people. Or one really important one.

But maybe he was wanted for something he hadn’t been ordered to do, something he believed he
had
to do: avenge his mate, Mickey.

“So, like I started to say,” Dolly went on, “I made a slew of phone calls. I finally located an old pal, in Switzerland. She said she didn’t recognize my voice, even after I switched to French. I couldn’t believe she
still
didn’t recognize me. So I told her enough stuff that only I could know. Stuff about her, I mean. She still never said my name. That’s when I figured she was just playing it safe—maybe trying to tell me she wasn’t the only one listening.

“But once I told her what I wanted, you could feel her … not relax, exactly, more like she was relieved. She didn’t know the woman we’re going to see, but she found someone who does, and that’s when she agreed to see us.”

“Us?”

“Well, just me, actually. But I think I can get around that.”

“Or I could just play fetch with Rascal while you talk to her.”

“I’d rather you be there, Dell. If I’m right, you’ll know better questions to ask than I would.”

“I guess we’ll see.”

“Dell, listen! This woman has a record of all the sexual-assault hospital examinations done statewide. Done by the people she’s in charge of. Going back a good seven years, my … old friend said. And what that means is that she’ll have the names of all the girls who were examined in our area.”

“You think … what?”

“I think that some of those names are going to be connected.
To this thing with MaryLou. And to each other, even if they don’t know it.”

“But if all those girls were examined … I know they can’t put their names in the paper, but when a rapist goes on trial, they could give
his
name.”

“There’s two ‘if’s there, Dell. Did the girl know enough to identify the rapist? And did the DA’s Office ever bring him to trial?”

I remembered that “soft as warm custard” crack about the DA’s Office. Maybe it wasn’t the exaggeration I’d thought it was.

“And this SANE woman, she’d know?”

“I’m not sure. But if she has the names of all the girls who were examined, we could find out the rest ourselves.”

“That’s right. Damn, Dolly! I’m running around in a mineshaft, poking at little seams, and you maybe hit the mother lode.”

“We’ll see,” she said. All the bounciness was gone now. Her lips were set in a hard, grim line.

H
owever Dolly had figured seven hours, she’d miscalculated. I made it in five and change, and never went more than a couple of miles over the limit.

“Cabin Nine” is all Dolly said.

I could see what had to be the car—a pale-green Prius with State plates. “I’m going to park over on the other side,” I answered. “Rascal needs some time to himself, anyway. So you can either walk over and knock, or, if you want to try me coming along, I will. But that’s no office building, honey—it’s a cheap motel court. She may balk if she’s expecting one person and—”

“It’ll be okay, Dell. We’re early, remember? So, while you let Rascal take care of his business, I can call her. That way, she won’t be surprised at seeing us both.”

D
olly rapped lightly on the flimsy door. It was opened by a slender, coppery-skinned woman with long, straight black hair and high cheekbones. She stepped back, and we both walked in.

“I don’t know how to thank you,” Dolly said. “Whoever you talked to wouldn’t be exaggerating if she told you that this could save a girl’s life.”

“What I was told is that you could be trusted. And Médecins Sans Frontières was all the proof I needed. I only speak a few words of French, just the little I remember from my elders.
Mwen pa konnen w’ mennen yon zanmi.
”

“C’est mon mari. C’est lui qui s’est occupé de tout pour sauver cette fille.”

So far, neither of them had used a name, not even their own. This woman’s name was no secret, so it had to be a way of protecting each other’s contacts.

The woman gave me a no-emotion, measuring look. “You are her husband. And what else, a detective?”

“No,” I said, being very careful—what had been a credential for Dolly might be a cross-out for me. “I have certain skills that I’ve been using, that’s all.”

“So you wouldn’t need to actually
see
anything?”

“Excusez-moi. Si vous préférez, je peux m’en aller. Je m’appelle Dell.”

“Mine is Iris,” she said. Then she took a pack of cigarettes out of her jacket pocket. If Dolly was shocked at that, she was blown away by the woman’s offering one to me.

I knew that to refuse would have been a grave mistake. The woman had made a judgment—not of my character, of my experience. Somehow, she guessed I would know that when an American Indian—I had guessed Creole from the first words she spoke—offers to share tobacco, it goes way beyond a handshake. It is a gesture among warriors of a shared cause. Telling me that she
respected Dolly for saving lives, but also that she knew me for what I was.

I didn’t make the mistake of offering her a light. We each took a couple of ceremonial puffs before we dropped our cigarettes into a half-filled glass of water. The woman got up with the glass. I could hear the toilet flush. She came back without the glass. Took out a hand-wipe packet and gave one to me. We scrubbed the smoke off ourselves before tossing the wipes into the garbage can.

The woman opened a folder on the little desk that a cheap motel gives “business travelers.”

Dolly hunched forward.

“Thirty-nine girls between the ages of twelve and sixteen were examined at your local hospital in the past four years. All clearly had been raped very recently. Sixteen of them said they knew who had raped them. Of the remaining twenty-three, another ten said they would tell only if nobody ‘got in trouble’ as a result. Every examination result was reported to the local police.”