“Check back with me tomorrow,” Rex says.
He plans to spend time in the trace evidence lab looking at samples of residue found in the wine, seeing what might turn up on the scanning electron microscope. In the meantime, he’ll let me know if there are new developments, and I end the call, the lights of my building up ahead. I look over at Benton, feeling guilty before saying it.
“It may be rather late by the time I get home.” I tell him what he already knows. “Having been out the entire day with all that’s going on? There’s lasagna and extra sauce in the freezer, also the makings for salad.”
“Don’t worry about me.” He reaches for my hand, lacing his fingers through mine. “I have a feeling I’ll be pretty tied up with Lucy, following up on Jared Horton and everything else. Her data mining might be useful now that we’re getting a better idea what he and Gwen were up to.”
He’ll throw together something for a late supper, have it ready when I get there, he promises, always this thoughtful.
“For sure I’ve got to check in with Maggie, get up to speed on what I’ve missed.” I feel overwhelmed as I go down the list, this day a washout. “And Marino and I need to take a look at Daingerfield Island, at the areas where Gwen Hainey’s and Cammie Ramada’s bodies were found.”
“I understand but it’s already dark. I don’t suppose it can wait until tomorrow?”
“Since we don’t know who’s killing whom, it doesn’t seem anything can wait, Benton. I need to look around in the dark. It’s better for what I have in mind.”
“I prefer you’d get home at a decent hour tonight, that’s all.” He sounds like an overprotective husband, and I know when he’s unsettled.
“I wish I could,” I reply, my parking lot in the next block, an unbroken line of bright red taillights leading to it.
“Considering what the last twenty-four hours have been like, it would be good if you could get some rest, Kay,” he says, and by now if nothing else, we know how to negotiate.
“I have a thought.” I dig my keys out of my briefcase, mindful of the empty gun compartment.
Maybe my husband can pack a pistol on the White House grounds but people like me certainly can’t. The Sig Sauer is tucked in my bedside drawer, the trigger lock on.
“We’ll make a deal,” I suggest.
Instead of meeting Marino at Daingerfield Island or having him follow me there, I’ll ask him to pick me up here at the office. As I’m saying it, I’m sending him a text to that effect.
“Later he can drop me back at the house. We’ll deal with my car tomorrow,” I explain, and after the day I’ve had I wouldn’t mind being chauffeured by Marino in his big truck full of weapons.
“Fine,” Benton says. “That would make me much happier. With all that’s going on I don’t want you driving yourself around in the middle of the night.”
CHAPTER 26
REACHING MY PARKING LOT, we stop at the security gate. I take off my shoulder harness, placing my briefcase in my lap.
Benton opens his window, entering my code on the keypad, and I think of Marino driving me to Colonial Landing last night. Strains of the creepy Shock Theater theme play in my mind, and it’s ironic that the townhome development has better security than my state government headquarters.
The security gate’s red-striped wooden arm lifts, a barrier you can walk around. Some employees are headed to their cars, the streetlights on their tall masts pushing back the darkness. We park next to my take-home Subaru in its assigned spot where I left it barely twenty-four hours ago.
“I’ll be home as soon as possible.” I grab our White House takeout trash, walking around to the back, and Benton pops open the tailgate.
I pull out the scene case I carried home last night, and his window rolls down as I walk by.
“Be careful, and I mean it,” he says with a smile. “Don’t forget I love you.”
“And don’t you forget,” I reply, and he drives off quietly as I enter the bay to the strong odor of exhaust, the loud noise of a diesel engine running.
A funeral home’s old white van is parked inside, its rear doors open wide. Fabian helps a smartly dressed attendant maneuver an unwieldly stretcher down the concrete ramp that leads into the intake area of the building. The rotund pouched body is covered with a blue velour quilt, the name of the funeral home, Rivers Rest, embroidered on it.
They’re careful not to let their heavy payload get away from them or topple over, the attendant hanging on for dear life while Fabian mutters a few choice words under his breath. He’s dressed in dark blue scrubs and rubber clogs instead of his usual investigative garb, his long jet-black hair tied back in a ponytail.