The Dead Man (14 page)

I wondered whether she would change her mind when she found out that Jason Bolt's expert witness agreed with her. "Does that make them better or worse?"

"It depends on the inhibition. Overcoming an inhibition to assert yourself can make you a better employee. Overcoming an inhibition about sex can make you a better lover."

"What about the inhibitions that protect us from our worst impulses?"

"It should be obvious that overcoming those inhibitions can have unfortunate consequences."

"Like suicide?"

"I'm a neuroscientist. I study the effects of psychological trauma on the brain. Dr. Corliss is a psychologist. He deals with behavior."

"How?"

"By helping people overcome their inhibitions."

"Even if it kills them?"

"You'll have to ask Dr. Corliss."

"I'm asking you. Did Tom Delaney and Regina Blair die because Corliss taught them to overcome their inhibitions?

"You are asking a question I cannot answer."

"Can't or won't?"

"Can't. Who can say why such things happen?"

"But if that is what happened to Delaney and Blair, their deaths would be powerful proof of your theories. Harper might even keep funding you if no one found out that your study had a fatal flaw."

"Those are Dr. Corliss's theories, not mine."

"I thought you were partners in this project."

"He is the lead investigator. We have different responsibilities. I'm concerned with memories, the input, if you will, of dreams. He's concerned with dreams and their effect on behavior, the output from those memories. That said, if what you suggest is true, it would be powerful proof, though I admit it raises ethical questions I leave to philosophers. As for the funding, well, I don't share Anthony's ambitions. I'm tired and I'll be relieved when my work ends."

"That's a pretty casual attitude about an experiment that may kill people."

"Perhaps, but I suppose I'm too used to death. I've studied many people who were perpetrators or victims of violence and I can tell you one thing I've learned. Killing is easy. Dying is hard."

"How about you? Have you learned to control your dreams?"

Her eyes searched mine and I saw in them a shared pain. We both knew the aftermath of violent death.

"Nightmares, Mr. Davis. I have nightmares that never leave me and no one can control. If you'll excuse me, I have a long drive. I live in the country where roads don't get plowed and the snow stays until it melts."

She pushed the Call button for the elevator to the parking garage.

"It's possible that Delaney didn't commit suicide but that his dreams still caused his death," I said.

The garage elevator opened. She stood, her back to me, as three people stepped onto the elevator, turning around when the doors closed.

"You're suggesting he and Walter Enoch were both murdered?"

"And maybe Regina Blair, though I've got nothing to go on there except that she was a dream project volunteer like Delaney and Enoch."

"And was it their dreams or their participation in our project that proved fatal?"

"It could be both," I said.

"You look as though you are concerned about more than that. Are you worried about me? Do you think there is a madman at work who might threaten me because I have nightmares?"

"There may be."

"You needn't worry. I've known for a long time how my life will end."

"You sound like a fatalist. I thought scientists were rationalists."

"I know what I know," she said.

"Knowing how you'll die is one thing. Knowing when is another."

"The when will take care of itself," she said. In the meantime, will you protect me?"

"Yes."

She patted me on the arm. "Then I won't worry. I'll leave that to you."

Nancy flagged me as I passed the front desk.

"You leaving already?" she asked.

"Hell, I'm lucky they haven't fired me yet."

She laughed. "I don't think luck's got anything to do with it."

"Are you a religious person?"

"I know that Jesus Christ is my Lord and Savior, if that's what you mean," she said.

"I heard you reciting the Twenty-third Psalm this morning. I couldn't tell whether that was a prayer or a warning."

"A little of both."

"Should I be worried?"

"I'd worry if people who come in here keep on dying. I heard about the mailman on the news. He's the third one in a month. People better wake up and pray."

***

Lucy was waiting in the circle drive. I slid into the passenger seat. Before I could buckle the seat belt, I was shaking and grunting, my back arched and rigid, my neck wrapped around the headrest. Concentrated activity, like the day I'd put in, held the tics at bay but when I took a break, they swarmed. The guerrilla attack didn't last long, maybe ten seconds, but it made time stand still.

"How about if I drive?" Lucy asked when order had been restored.

I appreciated her pragmatic response. It took me a long time before I was able to shake off the shakes like water off a duck's back, but Lucy got it right, acknowledging my condition without dramatizing it.

"Great idea. So, how was your day? Did you find a car?"

"Drove past some dealerships," she said, pulling into traffic.

Though not yet dark, drivers crept along, leading with their headlights, wary of slick spots on the pavement though much of the snow had been pushed to the curb. We got caught in the aftermath of a six-car chain reaction rear-end collision that turned a ten-minute drive from the institute to our house into a thirty-minute crawl.

"Didn't see anything you liked?"

"Didn't look."

"What did you do all day?"

"I took a tour."

"What kind of tour."

"The dead man tour. It was great. No waiting. I started at Walter Enoch's house, then swung by Tom Delaney's apartment, and finished up at Regina Blair's parking garage."

I should have been surprised but I wasn't. She'd told me that she had read Delaney's and Blair's incident reports. I could yell at her, tell her to mind her own business. I could make her pull over, give me the keys, get out, and call a cab. I could move out of her house, stay at Joy's while she was out of town, and look for a new place if that's what it took to get rid of Lucy. But I didn't do any of that because she had done what needed to be done, knowing that I couldn't and that I was too bullheaded to ask for her help.

"How'd that work out?"

She flashed me a grin that showed her molars. "Fair to middling. I'll show you what I've got when we get home."

While we were stuck in traffic, I called Kate Scranton.

"You busy tonight?" I asked her.

"Nothing too important. Catching up on paperwork."

"Come on over and bring your laptop."

"What about my toothbrush?"

"Absolutely. And dinner for four wouldn't hurt either."

"You're having a party, I'm bringing dinner, and lap-tops are included?"

"It will be good for your bottom line. And don't scrimp on dinner. I've got an expense account."

"Who was that?" Lucy asked.

"Kate Scranton. She's a jury consultant and a psychologist and she's an expert in reading facial expressions."

"I'm no expert, but from the 'cat-that-ate-thecanary' look on your face, she's more than that," she said, the flush I felt in my face egging her on. "She's the one, isn't she? Your friend from Saturday night."

I nodded. "Am I that easy?"

"Make it tougher on me next time, keep your tongue in your mouth."

"I'll try to remember that."

My next call was to Simon Alexander.

"It's payback time," I told him.

"What did I do?"

"Hooked me up with Milo Harper. I need you at my house. Bring your laptop, a couple of printers, and a lot of paper. Kate's bringing dinner."

"What's the name of the game we're playing?"

"The dead man."

Roxy and Ruby jumped us when we came home, forcing us onto the kitchen floor to play with them. Lucy and I sat opposite one another, our backs against cabinet doors. Roxy settled into Lucy's lap, raising her head so that Lucy could stroke her neck and belly in one continuous motion. Ruby planted her front paws on my chest, her eyes boring into mine until I conceded her dominance.

"That dog owns you," Lucy said.

"I could do worse."

I lifted Ruby off the floor, spun her onto her back, rubbed her belly, and let her go. She scrambled to her feet, ready for the best two out of three falls. Roxy sprang to life, not wanting to be left out.

"You're on your own," Lucy said. "I'm going upstairs and clean up."

"Dinner," I announced to the dogs, clapping my hands.

Ruby eats at the speed of light. Roxy dawdles while Ruby watches, waiting for a chance to poach her food, forcing me to stand guard to make sure Roxy doesn't go hungry. I grabbed my laptop and loaded Walter Enoch's dream video from my flash drive so I could watch it while the dogs ate.

The doorbell rang as the video finished downloading. Roxy bolted for the front door. Ruby froze, torn between greeting company and raiding Roxy's bowl until I picked it up. She gave me a dirty look and then raced after Roxy.

I opened the door. It was Kent and Dolan. Cockapoos are known for their indiscriminate affection and weak bladders when they are excited and nothing excites them more than greeting someone new. The dogs clambered over both agents before they could cross the threshold, peeing on their shoes.

"Goddamn mutts," Dolan said.

He kicked at Roxy and Ruby. They dodged his shoe and retreated into the house behind me.

"You touch my dogs and I'll shoot you with your gun."

"Easy. Easy. We've got a search warrant," Kent said, reaching into his overcoat and handing it to me.

The warrant was for any written or electronic communications to or from Wendy Davis.

"You've also got dog piss on your shoes. Take them off."

"Give me something to wipe them off with," Dolan said.

I stuffed the warrant in his hand. Dolan wadded it into a ball and reached for me when Kent stepped in front of him.

"See what I'm doing," Kent said. "I'm taking my shoes off." A vein in Dolan's forehead throbbed as he faced his partner. "Take yours off and we'll get what we came for and get out of here."

"Goddamn mutts," Dolan said, as he kicked off his shoes, leaving them next to Kent's on the front stoop.

They didn't take long with their search, rifling through drawers and pulling books off of shelves, fanning the pages and waiting for incriminating evidence to fall out. I followed behind them as they went upstairs, Dolan catching Lucy's bedroom door with his chin when she came out while he was going in.

"Son of a bitch!" Dolan said. "Who the hell are you?"

"Who the hell are you?" she asked.

"We're FBI agents," Kent said. "We're executing a search warrant. Please identify yourself."

"It's okay," I said. "The dogs peed on their shoes."

Lucy giggled. "Really? Roxy and Ruby peed on their shoes?"

"Golden rain," I said.

"I love those dogs," she said. "I'm Lucy Trent. This is my house."

Kent looked at me. "That right?"

"She's my landlady."

We finished the search as a foursome, ending in the kitchen.

"That your laptop?" Dolan asked, pointing to my computer sitting on the kitchen counter next to Roxy's dinner.

I nodded. "You can search the dog food too if you want."

He tucked the laptop under his arm. "Warrant covers electronic communications. We'll let you know when you can have it back."

The dogs stayed in the kitchen, letting me escort Kent and Dolan to their shoes.

"What was that about?" Lucy asked after we watched them drive away.

"The envelope Ammara Iverson found on Walter Enoch's body was from my daughter Wendy. She used the initials MG for the return address, which stands for Monkey Girl. That was my nickname for her."

"I didn't know you had a daughter."

"She died ten months ago."

"I'm so sorry. What happened?"

We sat on the sofa in the living den, a dog in each of our laps, and I told Lucy about Wendy, just the broad strokes, how she struggled, how she rallied only to fall back, how her addiction claimed her, and how her mother and I failed her.

"The FBI is convinced Wendy stole five million dollars from the drug ring. They think that whatever was in the envelope had something to do with the money and that I know where it is. They also think I found out that Walter Enoch had stolen Wendy's letter so I killed him when I stole it back."

"How do you know that's what they think?"

I told her about my meeting with Kent and Dolan and Ammara Iverson and my conversation afterward with Ammara.

"Do you know where the money is?"

"No."

"Do you know what was in that envelope?"

"No."

"Did you kill Walter Enoch?"

"No."

"Do you have an alibi for when he was killed?"

"I don't know when he was killed other than it was a day or two before his body was found. I can account for where I was and what I was doing but I don't have witnesses who can vouch for every minute."

"Why didn't you ask Dolan and Kent when Enoch was killed?" Lucy asked.

"It wasn't important to me. I didn't think I was a suspect."

"Yeah, but they may not see it that way. They may have expected you to ask, figuring if you didn't it was because you already knew. That's the way I'd see it."