your chance, later.”
“What is it? An ongoing letter? A poem?”
“Song lyrics.”
“Song lyrics? Really? Our mutilator is interested in music? Don’t tell me, bedtime lullaby?”
“A little known tune from Gordon Lightfoot. My Troubles and I.”
“I want a copy of it, every line. Maybe it’ll tell us something about this creep.”
“Trust me. We’ve gone over every line for clues, but sure,” said Orvison, “you’ll get a copy.”
“Someone in the earlier FBI team told you about his stuffing song lyrics down the victim’s throat, didn’t they?” asked Kunati.
“’Fraid not; we don’t communicate so well. They have less faith in me than you do, Detective.”
“I never made out I believe in this stuff.” “But your chief brought you to Quantico with him, why?” she asked both men.
“Kunati has a lot to learn,” Orvison shot back. “There’s more between heaven and hell than thought of in any one man’s philosophy.”
“I see. So not only am I here to help solve a murder but to ahhh…educate Detective Kunati?”
“Kill two birds with one stone.” Orvison shrugged. “He may look black, but his prevailing color is green.”
Kunati exploded but kept his outburst controlled, saying through clenched teeth, “Come on, Chief! She got the business about the lyrics from one of the other agents. They may be FBI but their lips are as loose as any public office.” Kunati stormed out.
“I promise you, I didn’t know until now!” Rae called after the black man. “Bite me,” she muttered to herself.
“I take it the session is over?” asked Orvison, pressing a button that closed off his camera lens. He then got on his cell phone and said to the man at the other end, “Tell Dr. Hatfield that he’s got my all clear now.”
Rae stepped from the death room ahead of Orvison, who caught up. Just as she opened the outer door on the street noise and the crowd of curious and reporters, the Chief whispered in her ear, “Best say nothing to the press right now, especially nothing of the information we’ve held back. Besides, I wanna keep this as low key as possible.”
“What? That you’ve got another victim? Or that you called in a psychic?”
“Both,” he said, but his slight twitch gave it away as a lie.
“It’s ultimately your show, Chief. I’ll follow your lead.”
Orvison waved at the press and assured them. “My department is on the cusp of capturing the maniac that’s created so much havoc…a larger fear than this city has ever known.” Orvison then forced open a path for himself and Rae. Once at the cruiser, he scoured the crowd for Kunati, and Rae spotted the tall black detective at the same time that Orvison did. Kunati was busy gabbing with another detective who’d come by with a CSI unit. She got a quick glimpse of Dr. Hatfield’s help, as Orvison whispered, “Hatfield’s decided not to show at all. Guess we hurt his feelings.”
She and Orvison climbed back into the cruiser. The brilliant sunlight and contrast of blue against fluff-ball clouds overhead, instantly sent a feeling the sick juxtaposition through Rae, the irony of life and energy just outside this house so full with death, and yet Gene had come to her in that house, here in West Virginia. Why? To absolve her? Or was he afraid for her? Was he unable just yet to stop looking out for her? Had she in a sense brought him with her from Quantico? Had he all this time been hovering nearby? With her whenever she went into trance? Was Gene unable to end the role that had identified and defined him in life—Rae’s protector? Her loving protector and friend.
Kunati stuck his head in the car and said he’d get a ride back to HQ with a fellow named Keller, to which Orvison replied, “Not a word about the damn case to anyone outside HQ.”
“You got it, Chief.” To Rae, he gave a perfunctory peace sign and said, “Enjoy your
“What is it? An ongoing letter? A poem?”
“Song lyrics.”
“Song lyrics? Really? Our mutilator is interested in music? Don’t tell me, bedtime lullaby?”
“A little known tune from Gordon Lightfoot. My Troubles and I.”
“I want a copy of it, every line. Maybe it’ll tell us something about this creep.”
“Trust me. We’ve gone over every line for clues, but sure,” said Orvison, “you’ll get a copy.”
“Someone in the earlier FBI team told you about his stuffing song lyrics down the victim’s throat, didn’t they?” asked Kunati.
“’Fraid not; we don’t communicate so well. They have less faith in me than you do, Detective.”
“I never made out I believe in this stuff.” “But your chief brought you to Quantico with him, why?” she asked both men.
“Kunati has a lot to learn,” Orvison shot back. “There’s more between heaven and hell than thought of in any one man’s philosophy.”
“I see. So not only am I here to help solve a murder but to ahhh…educate Detective Kunati?”
“Kill two birds with one stone.” Orvison shrugged. “He may look black, but his prevailing color is green.”
Kunati exploded but kept his outburst controlled, saying through clenched teeth, “Come on, Chief! She got the business about the lyrics from one of the other agents. They may be FBI but their lips are as loose as any public office.” Kunati stormed out.
“I promise you, I didn’t know until now!” Rae called after the black man. “Bite me,” she muttered to herself.
“I take it the session is over?” asked Orvison, pressing a button that closed off his camera lens. He then got on his cell phone and said to the man at the other end, “Tell Dr. Hatfield that he’s got my all clear now.”
Rae stepped from the death room ahead of Orvison, who caught up. Just as she opened the outer door on the street noise and the crowd of curious and reporters, the Chief whispered in her ear, “Best say nothing to the press right now, especially nothing of the information we’ve held back. Besides, I wanna keep this as low key as possible.”
“What? That you’ve got another victim? Or that you called in a psychic?”
“Both,” he said, but his slight twitch gave it away as a lie.
“It’s ultimately your show, Chief. I’ll follow your lead.”
Orvison waved at the press and assured them. “My department is on the cusp of capturing the maniac that’s created so much havoc…a larger fear than this city has ever known.” Orvison then forced open a path for himself and Rae. Once at the cruiser, he scoured the crowd for Kunati, and Rae spotted the tall black detective at the same time that Orvison did. Kunati was busy gabbing with another detective who’d come by with a CSI unit. She got a quick glimpse of Dr. Hatfield’s help, as Orvison whispered, “Hatfield’s decided not to show at all. Guess we hurt his feelings.”
She and Orvison climbed back into the cruiser. The brilliant sunlight and contrast of blue against fluff-ball clouds overhead, instantly sent a feeling the sick juxtaposition through Rae, the irony of life and energy just outside this house so full with death, and yet Gene had come to her in that house, here in West Virginia. Why? To absolve her? Or was he afraid for her? Was he unable just yet to stop looking out for her? Had she in a sense brought him with her from Quantico? Had he all this time been hovering nearby? With her whenever she went into trance? Was Gene unable to end the role that had identified and defined him in life—Rae’s protector? Her loving protector and friend.
Kunati stuck his head in the car and said he’d get a ride back to HQ with a fellow named Keller, to which Orvison replied, “Not a word about the damn case to anyone outside HQ.”
“You got it, Chief.” To Rae, he gave a perfunctory peace sign and said, “Enjoy your
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