SHE WAS EXTREMELY NERVOUS, AS SHE'D NEVER HAD ANYBODY PICK HER UP at home before, for good reason. The only person she ever saw regularly was the one who delivered her groceries and mail; and even then she'd tell him or her to leave them on the front step. So Anna Clare was pacing around her house early that morning, picking things up and uselessly rearranging them to keep her mind off things. What Father Damien had said over the phone she didn't like. He and his nephew had contacted her only twice before, once while trying to find a lost necklace of theirs, the other time asking her to testify in the trial against Luther Broderick. A whole lot of good the latter had come to. But she felt she had done her part, and wished no further involvement.
However, it seemed it wasn't quite over yet.
Of course it wouldn't be; Luther was the glue that held the order together. Before him it had been Alec Bodine, the one she'd known. She remembered Derrick from that time, and how well the two of them had gotten along. It seemed as if Bodine had had something seriously against him, and she also remembered the look of vindication upon his face when Bodine had ended up dead from Luther's gun. Derrick had very nearly been smiling.
The doorbell rang, and then there was a one-two-one knock. She jumped and knocked over a statuette that rested on a wall shelf. The knock must have been spontaneous because Father Damien had not told her to expect a code. Right now she wished he had. There was no way of telling who could be out there.
A voice, from outside: "Miss Clare?"
Evidently whoever it was had heard the object fall, and was wondering what was going on. Someone there to kill her wouldn't take the time to worry so much. She steeled herself, and told herself to quit thinking such stupid thoughts, just go answer the door--which she did.
There were five locks on her door--two chain-locks, a deadbolt, a key lock, and a door-stopper. She couldn't help it if her ex-companions were a little reluctant to let her go. She undid the bolt and peered out.
Well, Father Damien must have been right. There was a state trooper looking in at her, cocking his head a little to the side so he could see her through the crack. He raised his eyebrows and tilted his head forward. "Miss Clare?"
"Yes?" It was all she could say. He looked so much like Luther it was shocking. The only real difference was that his hair was not blond--it was dark brown--and he was dressed in a police uniform. Other than that, though, she would have thought the high priest of Scorpio himself was standing on her doorstep.
"I was asked to pick you up. Father Damien sent me. He's a friend of yours?"
"Yes."
"He told me to ask you how you like your doberman [sic]."
Her face dissolved into a smile at that; a long time ago, Father Damien's nephew had offered to buy her a doberman [sic] if they lived through the week. [Note--see D Is For Damien, Chapter 19.] She'd turned him down, of course--where on Earth would she keep a doberman [sic], of all things?--but had said thank you for the offer. If this trooper was saying this, there was no doubt he was in direct contact with Father Damien and his nephew. That was all the code she needed.
"Yes, all right. I'll be right out."
She grabbed her coat and put it on, then unlocked the door and let herself out. She locked it behind her and followed him out to the Highway Patrol vehicle waiting in her driveway. He opened the passenger door for her and she climbed in; then he went to his own side, got in, and started the engine. Looking over his shoulder, he backed out into the road and drove off.
The waitress was going to have a field day. She'd never seen such a large group come in without reservations. There were seventeen people altogether, five women and twelve men. Many of them appeared to be police officers. One of them was a priest; another looked like some kind of counselor or psychiatrist in her pressed suit. A few of them just looked like regular people. After she'd seated them in the upper level--it was the only place with enough room besides the meeting area--they all started talking to each other and greeting each other. From the way they talked she figured out at least one of them was a lawyer; he spoke with an English accent and shook the hand of the well-dressed woman, as if just being introduced. Names started flying. One of the other women, one in a dress who otherwise stood off to the side being very quiet, next shook the lawyer's hand, then the doctor's--the waitress heard the well-dressed woman being called "Dr. Leja" by the lawyer. The first woman didn't look very comfortable. [Note--I believe I meant Miss Clare by this, though it sounds like I'm talking about Dr. Leja--Leja would be unlikely to be uncomfortable in such a situation, so I think this was just a misphrasing. Dr. Leja, BTW, takes her surname from a doctor who worked at our local clinic, but who I never knew or met. Her first name began with an L as well and I liked the sound of it so much that I changed the first name to "Lynn" and kept the surname. It's pronounced "LEE-jay." Before I leave off, one more detail about her--I call her a psychologist, but I don't think psychologists are called "Doctor," so I might have to revise her to be a psychiatrist in future versions.] Two of the regular people, a sullen-looking man and a blond lady, shook hands as they were introduced. One of the other women, with frizzy brown hair, hugged the state trooper; from their eyes it seemed there was at least some relation. He called her "D. J.," and she called him "Uncle." The lawyer ended up shaking all of the policemen's hands--and policewomen, too, for there was one, her red hair spilling from underneath her cap--and lingered talking to a pair standing off to the side, also being quiet, one tall and stocky, the other short and with a bland expression on his face, his hair graying at the sides, a brace on his knee. [Note--Kincaid is not short! I meant "shorter"! As it is, Kinnie is taller than Damien is (around 5'10" and 5'8", respectively)!] The lawyer must have said something funny, for the taller of the two men laughed out loud while the other gave a faint smile. Then the doctor came over to meet them, and the hand-shaking started anew.
"Well, guess we'd better get down to business," Damien said, loud enough to be heard over the hubbub. The others quieted and started sitting down. Puck ended up sitting by Psyche; he cast a brief look at her as she said hello. They knew each other already, but not too well; Psyche knew he'd read her file and wondered what he thought. Then again, he'd read everybody's file. She still wondered what he thought.
He just wished they didn't end up sitting so close to each other. [Note--cripes, sorry for the wandering POV!!]
The lawyer, Davison Temple, offered a seat to Lynn Leja. She accepted it and let him push her chair in. "Old World charm," she said to the group around her. "Chivalry isn't dead yet, folks."
A murmur of laughter.
"Am I sitting on anybody?" Mulroy offered, looking around, especially at his seat. "I thought I felt a hand in a place no hand has gone before."
They laughed harder this time. It seemed they'd never get situated.
"C'mon, people!" Jones nearly had to yell. "You're being a bunch of immature--" He cut himself off as a paper airplane made of a napkin hit him in the eye. Puck snickered and everyone around him had to hide their faces. "Oh, that's so funny, buddy. Real funny."
"Can we have a few minutes to order?" Father Damien asked the waitress. She shrugged and walked away. They could take all the time they wanted, as long as they paid the bill.
There followed a period of deciding what to order. Dr. Leja pointed out a dish to Temple and described the "fabulous noodles." Kincaid frowned and looked like he'd never be able to choose. Brown was busy describing the burger he was going to order to Slatinsky, in minute detail; a moment later she decided on the same thing. D. J. Broderick, Trooper Broderick's niece, wondered aloud if she should even have anything at all. Puck leaned over with a gracious smile and whispered something in her ear; immediately she looked offended and smacked him with the menu.
"I think we're just about ready," Damien murmured into his own menu. He shut it as the waitress returned, and they all gave their orders. She took up several sheets of paper writing everything down. She was wondering how she was going to carry all this stuff.
After she'd left again they chatted about nothing in particular--particularly nothing serious. They'd all silently agreed to keep any conversation about Scorpio till after eating. Puck smiled at Temple, who seemed to be flattering Leja on her choice of dress. "No wonder you're not in jail, Dami," he said, leaning across the table and tapping the singer's hand. "Look at how he sways the audience."
Temple just smiled back at him. "Careful," he replied, "or else I'll find you in contempt." [Note--he's a lawyer, not a judge. Duhr. Need to brush up on my Law & Order.]
"Is that a threat, sir?"
"Do they filter this water?" D. J. asked, examining her glass.
"I think they do," Mulroy murmured, only half listening as he played with his napkin.
Haley finished folding another napkin and held it up to reveal a stork. "Look! Origami!"
Brown boredly picked up his spoon and balanced it on his nose. Slatinsky followed his example, and soon there were six cops with spoons hanging from their noses. Only Broderick and Jones hadn't bothered to do the same. Jones snorted with disgust and rubbed his eyes. "Immature," he muttered.
Finally the waitress--or more like waitresses--came with the food. The gathering took up several tables; they continued talking as they ate. No one asked for desert [sic]. After the waitresses had cleared away the dishes and departed, the group fell silent. All eyes turned to Damien. No one spoke for a few minutes. Finally, it was Temple who folded his hands and leaned on the table.
"Okay, Damien," he said. "Tell us exactly what's going on." [Note--I don't think Temple would be likely to say a word like "okay."]
"I assume you've all read the newspaper," Damien said.
A general nod from the group. Puck was absently swirling one finger around in his water; Psyche kept throwing glances at him.
"So you all know about that murder?"
"All that the newspaper was willing to say," Leja replied. "And there wasn't very much of that."
"Does this have to do with Scorpio?" Temple asked.
Miss Clare remained silent, but she was looking around at everybody in the group, each in turn.
"That's what we thought, at first," Mulroy explained. "But the murder doesn't fit the pattern."
"Every time Scorpio has committed a crime, they've left a clue," Broderick added. "The spiked M. Their signature, if you will. This didn't have that."
"It was a lot messier too," Mulroy said.
"Messier?" Even Jones wasn't convinced. "Excuse me if I'm wrong, but I'm assuming all murders are at least a little messy, Detective."
"I can think of one," Damien said, though he didn't go into any detail. Everyone at the table knew what he was talking about, and was surprised he said even that much.
Trooper Broderick tilted his head to indicate he recognized the exception. "True," he said. "But Scorpio has a certain style when it comes to killing. Maybe that style has evolved over the years, but it's there. Scorpio murders tend to be well thought-out and executed. Rarely are victims chosen at random. If they are, it's to leave a warning for someone else. But whatever the case, they always leave the spiked M somewhere at the scene."
"You're saying this was a random killing," Temple tried to understand.
He shrugged. "I'm not saying anything yet. We don't know enough to jump to any conclusions. But it most certainly didn't resemble any Scorpio murders I've investigated."
"Too random," Mulroy said, taking a drink of water. "Too unthought-out."
Leja sighed and also rubbed her eyes. "So what are we all doing here if we don't even know what's going on yet? Isn't this meeting just a jump to conclusions?"
"The thing is, we don't know what this murder is yet," Damien tried to explain. "We were wondering if we should set up some kind of task force to investigate it." He was standing, his hands upon the table; he turned to look directly at Trooper Broderick. "I was thinking we should reopen the Scorpio files."
Dead silence. Everyone at the table, except Mulroy, Jones, and Derrick, turned to gape at Broderick. Derrick was only looking at Broderick, waiting for an answer. Mulroy and Jones were gaping at Damien. Broderick held his stare, never wavering. The silence went on forever.
"'Scorpio files'?" Temple said softly. He was studying Broderick's face for any sign of deceit, something he'd grown used to doing in court.
"They actually had something set up for this?" Haley's voice was faint.
"The investigation was shut down years ago," Damien answered. Now everybody turned to look at him. "At the insistence of the City Police. But it was headed by Trooper Broderick."
"Where'd you hear this?" Mulroy asked. At the tone of his voice, Damien looked down at him. There was open surprise on the detective's face. Evidently someone other than Broderick had been in on the original investigation.
"A reliable source," Damien replied. He didn't bother glancing at Derrick. Instead he turned to Jones, who was looking extremely uncomfortable. All heads turned to face him now.
"Hey!" Jones said defensively, sensing their stares. "All I knew was that there was a file, and that it was closed. I never knew anything about the City Police being involved."
"How many people were on this task force?" Leja inquired.
"Five," Broderick said. Now everyone was staring exclusively at him. He proceeded to list the names: "Myself, Mulroy, Danser and Felman, and Lieutenant Mabarak."
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