Chapter 26

I take pity on Dr. Fisher and offer my hand to help him to his feet. "I'm sorry," I say. "I didn't hurt you, did I?"

"What... what are you doing here?" he asks.

I can tell that he has been asleep. He is wearing pajamas with one of those old-fashioned cardigan sweaters over them. He is afraid.

I lean over and push the lost slipper toward him so that he can slide his foot into it. "I've come to see your wife."

"No," he says stubbornly. "She's very ill. She can't have visitors."

"But I feel like I know her." I take his arm, forcing him to walk through the foyer into the hall that I suspect will lead me to the master bedroom. The house, a 1940s Cape Cod with a large addition in the back, is nice inside. The furniture is cheery. The paint and wallpaper and artwork is in very good taste. I suspect that it is Sela who has done the interior decorating. She is a very classy woman, I can tell.

"Please," Jerome says.

I know that he is truly afraid now and I feel sorry for him. All he has tried to do is help me. I wish that I did not have to do this. I know that I must, though, so I set aside my feelings. "Take me to Sela," I say.

"What do you want? If you want me to help you, Blue, this is not the way."

"We're past that," I say.

We emerge from the dark hallway into the bedroom that is lit by two bedside lamps. It is a large room; the walls are painted a deep purple and the draperies and bedcoverings are a lovely African batik print. Sela, a tiny, frail black woman with a purple scarf on her head, is asleep in the bed. She looks half dead to me.

I will be doing her a favor.

"Will she wake up?" I say, still holding tightly to his arm. He has ceased struggling.

He stares at the gun in my hand. "No. No, she's sedated."

"Excellent." I study the drugs and medical equipment on the table beside the bed. Blood pressure cuff, digital thermometer, a red box for disposing of contaminated items. Syringes. Vials of medication. Diamorphine. A strong painkiller.

"When was her last dose of painkiller?"

"Um." He glances at the clock.

I loosen my grip on his arm a little. He adjusts his glasses. Stares at the clock. "T... two hours ago." He gazes into my face. "Please, Blue. Let's sit down and talk."

"You know it's me, don't you?"

He stares at me for a moment. The look on his face changes as he comprehends what I speak of. As he realizes that I know he knows.

"No," he says. He shakes his head. "I... I don't know what you're talking about."

I make a clicking sound between my teeth. I'm beginning to grow impatient. I need to get home, get something to eat, and get to bed. It's been a long day. "You know," I whisper. "I killed those students."

"Blue, listen to me. I... I can't disclose what you tell me. You don't have to—"

"Yes, you can. It's not like TV If I confess to killing someone, if I tell you I am going to kill again, then you're obligated to turn me in to the authorities."

"I... I wouldn't do that."

He is shaking all over now. Swaying and weak-kneed. I fear he's going to fall and won't that be a mess, if he falls and injures himself? Knocks himself out?

"Sit down," I say. I help him to sit in the easy chair beside Sela's bed. She is still sleeping. Keeping one eye on the doctor, I check her pulse.

"Don't touch her," he shouts.

"Shhh," I warn. Her pulse is thready. She is dying. I know it. She knows it. Dr. Fisher knows it.

"I need you to give her another injection," I say, pointing with the loaded pistol to the vial of diamorphine on the table.

"No," he cries. "She's already had nearly double what was prescribed."

"I'm sorry," I say softly. "Is she in a great deal of pain?"

Tears fill his eyes now. "Yes," he whispers.

"Then really," I say, looking down at the doctor, "we'll be helping her, won't we?"

He shakes his head. "No." Tears trickle down his cheeks. "I won't do it," he says in a moment of obstinacy. "I won't kill her."

I sigh. I rub my eyes with my gloved hands, taking care to keep the pistol aimed at Dr. Fisher. "If you don't," I say, "then don't you see, I'll have to." I smile down at him. "Only I won't do it with that." I nod toward the table with the syringes and medication. "I'll do it with this." I give the pistol in my hand a nod.

"Why?" He is crying full out now. "Why would you kill my Sela? What has she done to you?"

I glance away; amazed that such a smart man is so slow to comprehend. "Jerome... may I call you that?" When he doesn't answer, I go on. "Jerome, I have to kill you because you know what I've done. Surely you don't want Sela left behind? If you die and she doesn't have anyone to care for her, she'll have to go to a hospital. I know you don't want her to live out her last days in a hospital, cared for by strangers, mourning her loss of you."

Dr. Fisher looks at his wife. At me. "You want me to kill her with an overdose?"

I nod.

"And then what?"

"Then you'll have to take this gun and shoot yourself. A murder-suicide. Very tragic."

He gasps.

"Now, now, Jerome, it's really not as bad as it sounds. There's no pain. Not if you do it right. In one burst of light, you'll be gone. You'll be walking through the pearly gates with your Sela."

"No. No." He just keeps saying it.

"Don't you see?" I say, trying to persuade him. "Really, this is the perfect ending. You know you'll be lost without her. I could tell that, even back in your office when you spoke of her."

He just sits there. I check the clock. "Come now, Jerome," I say sternly. "Let's get moving here. You give her the injection, or I'll shoot her. Only it won't be in the head. Do you catch my drift?"

He stares at me. I can see in his dark eyes that he knows there is no other way.

"Come, come." I waggle the pistol to hurry him along. I am amazed how good it feels in my hand. How much I like the feel of it. It's a pity I'll have to leave it here with Dr. Fisher. Of course it is, after all, his, isn't it?

"Do it now," I whisper.

Jerome reaches out with a shaky hand and picks up a syringe. He lays it on his lap and slowly reaches for the vial of painkiller. It is funny how he suddenly appears to me to be an old man.

"Give her a full syringe," I suggest gently. "It will happen quickly this way. Her breathing will be suppressed. Her heart will just stop."

Hands shaking, he fills the syringe.

"That's it. Now give it to her."

I watch as he shifts forward in the chair, adjusts his glasses, and pulls back the blanket. He lifts her pajama top and gives her the injection in her hip. She is nothing but skin and bones.

"Good-bye, Sela," he whispers. "I'm sorry. So sorry. I love you."

I wonder if Jerome will give me a hard time now about killing himself. I am pleasantly surprised when he reaches out for the gun.

* * *

"Thanks for dinner, Dad," Liza Jane said, cramming another bite of cheeseburger into her mouth.

Adam sat back in the booth at College Park and sipped his beer. "I just thought it had been a while since we did this. Whenever I call, you're always too busy for your old man."

"Ignore him," M.K. said reaching for the salt. "It's supposed to be this way when you go to college." She shook the shaker over her basket of fries. "It's how young women are supposed to separate from their parents. Find their own way in the world."

Adam frowned. "Look who's talking. You went to a community college and stayed home."

She slid the saltshaker across the table at him. "Because I thought, at the time, that I had a responsibility to my siblings. I made a mistake. A mistake my parents shouldn't have allowed me to make."

Liza Jane chewed on a fry. "I can't imagine living at home again now that I've been gone a few months. I love you, Dad," she looked up at him, "but I sure don't want to live with you. I like coming and going when I please. Eating what I want to when I want to."

He set down his beer. "That's fine, just so long as you don't completely abandon me. I moved here so we could be closer." He reached for his chicken sandwich.

"So, M.K.," Liza Jane said, "what's happening with the investigation? Seems like things have been pretty quiet. It's almost scarier now."

"You win." M.K. looked up at Adam after checking her wristwatch. "I said it would take at least half an hour before she asked. You said less than half an hour. Twenty-seven minutes. I pay the bill."

Liza Jane laughed. "Come on. You couldn't expect me not to ask. I think half the kids in my classes have left or are skipping, saying there's no way the college can flunk them this semester."

"Of course we couldn't expect you not to ask. No more than you could expect us to answer," Adam smirked. His cell phone went off and he reached into the leg pocket of his cargo pants. He glanced at the screen that had lit up. "Hmm," he said. "It's my dad. Hello? Hey, Dad. What's—"

Adam's dad didn't let him go on. "Excuse me, ladies," he said to M.K. and Liza Jane as he slid out of the booth and walked away. Be right back, he mouthed.

"That's weird," Liza Jane said, watching her dad walk across the pub toward the hallway, where it was probably quieter. "Gramps never calls Dad on the cell phone. You know what that's about?"

M.K. watched him walk away, curious now, too. She and Adam were in a strange place right now in their relationship. In some ways they were becoming very close. They spent a lot of time talking about a lot of things painful to both of them. In the last week, M.K. had told him more about her family life, and the pain her father still caused her, than she'd ever told anyone. Adam talked a lot about the job, about his failed marriage. They hadn't discussed the Lombardi case, but they skirted the issue time after time, and M.K. had a feeling that once the anniversary passed, he'd be able to talk about it. The strange thing about this relationship was that though they held hands sometimes, kissed, it hadn't gone beyond that. In a way, that was okay with M.K. She felt like they were really getting to know each other.

"Okay, while he's gone," Liza Jane said, scooting over closer to M.K., "tell me what's going on with the case. The papers say it's stalled. What the heck does that mean?"

M.K. took her time answering. She certainly wasn't giving Liza Jane any information she shouldn't, but there was no reason why the young woman shouldn't have a better understanding of police investigative terms and procedures. If she really was interested in some kind of career in the reporting field, the more she comprehended, the better she would be at her job.

"It basically means that the case is open, but we're not moving forward."

"You've given up?"

M.K. reached for her diet soda. Since the night at the ball, she was staying away from alcohol. Adam was intoxicating enough for her right now. "No, we haven't given up. We've just exhausted all of our leads. We have some suspects we're watching—"

"Like Buddy and Professor Connelly."

M.K. frowned. "You think maybe you need to spend a little more time on your biology homework and less time jumping to conclusions?"

"I know you questioned them," she accused.

"I questioned you, too." M.K. glanced up. She could see Adam still talking on the phone. Something was wrong. She could tell by the look on his face. She hoped no one was seriously ill.

Liza Jane scrunched up her face. "Oh, please. That's so lame. You asked me about who I saw near Wooten Hall that night. That's not the same thing."

"Liza Jane." She shook her head. "I'm not giving you anything."

"There was sex involved in the last case, wasn't there?" Liza Jane pressed. "Homosexual sex. But that doesn't really fit in, does it? Except for the part about the killer taking his dick." She munched on another fry. "What do you think he's doing with all those body parts? Building a Frankenstein or something?"

To M.K.'s relief, Adam returned to the table.

"M.K. was just updating me on the campus killer case," Liza Jane said as her father slid back into the booth.

"I was not." M.K. sank an elbow into the teen's side. She liked Liza Jane and she thought the young woman liked her. Theirs wasn't quite the kind of friendship adults shared, but it was definitely a friendship apart from what M.K had with Adam. She liked the idea of that, of having friends... of any age.

"My dad," Adam said, setting his cell on the table. "He's really upset."

"What's wrong?" M.K. asked.

"You remember Jerome Fisher, the psychiatrist? He and Dad were friends."

"Sure." M.K. wiped her mouth with her napkin and laid it down, giving him her full attention. "Distinguished black gentleman."

"He... he killed his wife and then himself. Dad just heard."

"Oh, my God," Liza Jane exclaimed. "You're kidding." She grabbed her messenger bag from beside her on the bench and dug into it, pulling out a notebook.

"Put that away," her father snapped. "This is a person, Liza Jane. He was your grandfather's friend."

"What happened?" M.K. asked.

Adam lifted his hand. "Apparently Dr. Fisher, Sela, was doing very badly. She wasn't expected to live much longer. She was in a great deal of pain." He paused. "Apparently he... Jerome gave her an overdose of some kind of morphine. Killed her and then killed himself."

"He had enough medication to overdose, too?" she asked.

"No." He shook his head looking down and then up at M.K. "That's the weird thing. He probably did have enough to overdose as well, according to my father, but he shot himself."

"Oh, heavens," M.K. breathed. "Is your father all right?"

"Yeah. I mean, he's shook up, but he's all right."

Liza Jane reached for her burger again. "Poor Gramps."

M.K. hadn't finished her meal but she wasn't hungry anymore. She was finding the job did that to her. In the last three months, she'd lost the ten pounds she'd been wanting to lose for ages without even trying.

"I think I'm going to go over and see my parents."

"Sure," M.K said. "Of course."

"You have your car here?" he asked Liza Jane.

"Yeah. It was so cold I chickened out and drove over from my dorm," she answered. "I couldn't get anyone to walk over with me anyway."

"You mind giving M.K. a ride home? I'll give you money for gas." He slid out of the booth. "I think I should go now. Dad's really upset. Says he's known Jerome for years. Says he can't believe he would do such a thing."

"I don't need gas money, Dad. I'm fine. You go see Gramps. Tell him I love him."

M.K. slid out of the booth. "You want me to go with you?" she asked quietly, looking up at him.

He shook his head, reaching out to rest his hands on her hips. "Nah. Thanks, though. You mind me not taking you home?"

"Of course not. It's your father. He called you because he needed you. You should go."

"Okay, well, I'll see you at the office tomorrow?" He looked into her eyes.

She smiled. "Sure."

He brushed his lips against hers and she couldn't resist closing her eyes. She couldn't wait for December fifteenth to pass. She couldn't wait to see what was going to become of her Adam. She was getting more cautiously optimistic with each day.

"See you, kiddo," he called to Liza Jane as he released M.K.

"See you, Dad. Don't worry," his daughter called after him as M.K. slid into his seat. "She won't tell me any FBI secrets. At least not any big ones!"

* * *

"What the hell is this?" Crackhow demanded, practically throwing the morning paper across his desk.

M.K. glanced at Adam standing beside her, and then stepped forward to pick up the paper. It was open to page two of the Baltimore Sun.

LOCAL STUDENT CRACKING CASE, the headline read.

M.K. didn't have to read on to know who it was about. A snapshot of Liza Jane in her signature pink bandana and blond dreadlocks was featured with the article. Her name ran just before the article.

"I'm going to ask you two again," Crackhow shouted across his desk. "What the hell is going on here?"

"I don't know." Adam grabbed the paper out of M.K.'s hands. "Maybe I could read it first so I would know what you were talking about."

"She's telling people that this killer is someone on the inside, that it's a law-enforcement agent," Crackhow said. "Possibly even someone from the Bureau. Where the hell did she get that? Where's she getting the information?" He slammed his fist on the desk.

M.K. felt so bad for Adam. She knew very well that he didn't know anything about the news article. "I can assure you, Captain, neither Special Agent Thomas nor I have provided this student—"

"His daughter—" Crackhow interrupted, pointing a bony finger.

"Neither Special Agent Thomas nor I have provided his daughter with any information about these cases."

"He's right. She says it right here," Adam grunted. "She says it's a law-enforcement agent, someone with an educated understanding of police procedure." He slapped the paper with the back of one hand. "She provides evidence that suggests her theory." He looked up at M.K., accusation in his eyes. "All circumstantial, but readers aren't going to see that, are they?"

She stared back at him. He thought she had told Liza Jane her theory. The jerk thought—M.K. looked back at Captain Crackhow. "We'll speak with her, sir. Find out where she got her information."

"Little late now, isn't it?" he demanded. "I'll have the governor calling me again."

"We'll let you know what we find out, sir." M.K. walked past Adam and out the door.

He followed her, still carrying the newspaper. "You told her your damned lame-ass theory, didn't you?" he demanded. "You told her about the weird feeling you had."

She kept walking. "I did not."

Other agents were rising out of their chairs to see what the commotion was about. They were used to her and Adam arguing by now, but this was obviously bigger, better than usual.

"Adam—"

"You wanted her to like you. You wanted to be friends with her, to get to me, so you—"

"You—" M.K. wanted so badly to curse at him. With one hand she shoved opened the door to the ladies' room; with the other, she grabbed his arm and dragged him in behind her.

"Will you please lower your voice?" she demanded.

"Do you have any idea what this could do to our case?" he exploded, shaking the paper at her. "Any idea what it could do to our careers? You don't take your weird feelings, your unsubstantiated theories, and pass them on to a reporter. Not even if she is only nineteen years old!"

M.K. stood with her arms crossed over her chest, staring at the tiled floor. Adam's voice echoed all around her. "You done?" she asked quietly when he was at last silent.

"That's all you're going to say?"

She looked at him, so angry she could have slapped him. "How dare you question my integrity," she whispered harshly. "How dare you suggest I would allow my personal feelings for you—" She cut herself off, looking away, too angry even to express what she was thinking. "I'll call her," she said, walking past him. "I'll find out where she got the idea from."

"No. You stay away from her. I'll call her."

M.K. threw up her hands, close to tears, refusing to let him see them. "Fine," she said, walking away. "You talk to Liza Jane. I'll go back to trying to find out who's killing these kids."

"What's that supposed to mean?" he called after her. "You saying I'm not doing my part in this investigation?"

M.K. grabbed the bathroom door and jerked it open. "What I'm saying, Adam, is that you can just... just go to... Hades," she said. And she let the door swing shut behind her, leaving him in the women's bathroom.