Jeans, chambray work shirts, and a couple of cheap-looking suits hung on wire hangers. Idly, without much curiosity, she opened one of them. It was small but tidy, with a single bed and a well-thumbed copy of Twelve Steps and Twelve Traditions sitting on the bedside table. She heaved herself off the sofa, wandered into the bedroom. Then-plucking a lancet from his jacket pocket-he pricked his other thumb, took a blood sample, placed it into the test tube, inserted it in the machine, pressed a series of buttons, and settled down to wait. Taking one out, Pendergast held it between thumb and forefinger. Inside were a number of small, squat test tubes. A wide tray in its front panel popped free. He sat down before the machine, turned it on, and pressed a button on its side. Turning up the light, he strode over to a device that looked like a cross between a fax machine and a modern cash register. Descending this staircase to the mansion’s vast and rambling sub-basement, he made his way through a series of dimly lit chambers and galleries, perfumed with the scent of ages, until he came to a room full of long tables covered with modern laboratory equipment. Getting out, he progressed through long and secret corridors to an ancient stairway, hewn from the living rock, that corkscrewed down into darkness. Pendergast stepped in, pressed a button, and rode the elevator down to the basement. Behind it stood a folding brass gate that opened onto a solid maple door: the hidden service elevator to the mansion’s basement. The entire bookshelf swung away from the wall. He pulled out a particularly large and hoary old volume from it, which produced a muffled clicking sound. At this, he rose and walked over to one of the bookshelves. Ten minutes later, he heard the distant sound of a door closing. And now Helen Pendergast was dead.Īfter Corrie had left, Pendergast sat, motionless, in the darkened room. I can’t deploy an entire squad on a whim.” D’Agosta-whom Pendergast had sworn to silence anyway-hadn’t pushed it. “That’s ridiculous-even for Agent Pendergast. “Nazis here, in New York?” he’d told D’Agosta. So why-considering how much he respected the man-did D’Agosta feel a prickling of resentment at Singleton’s appearance now? Maybe it was because the captain had refused a police backup when a worried D’Agosta had approached him, off the record, about the boathouse meeting between Pendergast and Helen. But in Singleton’s defense, the captain had always tried to give him a fair shake. And, let’s face it, he and Singleton hadn’t always been best of chums: some years ago, in a disastrous case D’Agosta had been involved in with Pendergast, Singleton had been a stickler for the rules when D’Agosta came up before a disciplinary hearing. This second killing had catapulted the case to the top of every late-night news broadcast in the city, pushing the five-victim gun battle in Central Park completely out of the public consciousness. On the other hand, he couldn’t help but feel that the man’s sudden presence might be a vote of no-confidence. On the one hand, D’Agosta was grateful for the support: when the chief of detectives showed an interest, things really got done. ![]() This, too, quickly disappeared into his pocket.Ĭaptain Singleton had arrived half an hour before for the wrap-up. Stopping at the right rear tire, he knelt again and-using a pair of forceps-plucked several small pebbles from the treads of the tire and placed them in a second bag. Rising, he completed the third circuit, more slowly this time. Kneeling beside the front fender, his face creasing momentarily with the effort, he used the scalpel to scrape some shavings of dried mud into one of the bags, which he then sealed and returned to his pocket. ![]() Then, as he began a third revolution, he pulled some small ziplock bags, a few sample tubes, and a scalpel from his pocket. As the others watched, he peered carefully into the engine space the passenger compartment, front and back the trunk. Crouching over it, wincing briefly with pain, he circled once, then twice, spidery fingers running lightly over the scorched metal, glittering eyes taking in everything. Then, abruptly, he drew a pair of latex gloves from a coat pocket, snapped them on, and approached the vehicle. Although the agent remained utterly still, D’Agosta could feel a sense of desperation, of ruthless drive, radiating from him. Pendergast took this in without replying.
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