call came late in the afternoon while Mac was sitting alone going over the computer-generated crime scene images Danny had created, checking the Internet for information on linden trees and their parasites.
“Someone wants to talk to the CSI in charge of the Vorhees case,” the lab tech who had taken the call said.
“Man?”
“Yes.”
“And he said ’CSI’?” asked Mac, who was looking at the screen, where a pulpy white creature was inching its way along the rim of a heart-shaped leaf.
“Right,” said the lab tech. “You taking it?”
“Put it through,” said Mac. When he heard the click indicating an open line, he said, “Detective Taylor.”
“Kyle Shelton,” Shelton replied calmly.
Mac hit a button on the white phone carrier and put the phone back in its cradle. The call, now on speaker, was being automatically traced.
“What’s on your mind?” asked Mac, who was busily going to the desktop file on the Vorhees case. He opened it and quickly found the pages on Kyle Shelton.
“You ever serve in the military?”
“Marines,” said Mac.
“Me too,” said Shelton, “but you know that.”
“I know it,” he agreed. “Is the boy alive?”
“Depends,” said Shelton. “Life and death are transitions, a continuum.”
“Is he alive?” Mac asked again.
“Yes,” said Shelton wearily.
“You killed his family,” said Mac.
“ ‘I am become Death, shatterer of worlds,’ ” said Shelton. “You know who said that? J. Robert Oppenheimer when he saw the first atomic explosion.”
“You’ve been playing games with us,” said Mac. “Why?”
“Games aren’t over,” said Shelton. “I have a present for you.”
“What’s that?”
“You’ve had time to trace this call,” Shelton said. “Come here and find it.”
“Shelton,” Mac said.
“Sorry,” said Shelton. “Out of time.”
He hung up. Mac pressed a button and a voice answered.
“We’ve got it. We’re on the way.”
“Where?” asked Mac.
“He called from the Vorhees’ house.”
Flack sat back, his hands folded on the table, his head cocked slightly to the right. He was looking at Joshua and waiting.
“I’m not a fraud,” said Joshua. “My mission is no small sordid cult.”
“Do the others know about the drinking?” asked Flack.
“No,” said Joshua. “I’m being tested by the Lord. Yeshua will show me the way.”
“Meanwhile you have to have a drink during the day,” said Flack.
“Yes,” said Joshua with a sigh, “but I do not get drunk and I’m always lucid and focused.”
“You kill Glick?” asked Flack.
“No.”
“Joel Besser?”
“Why would I kill one of our own?” Joshua said incredulously.
“Divert suspicion,” said Flack. “Or maybe he knew you killed Glick and was going to tell us.”
The room was air-conditioned, but the air-conditioner was unable to function at full strength during a heat wave like this one. Flack knew from experience that there would be deaths from the heat, mostly old people living with open windows and unable to afford a fan, unable to get up, go down a flight of stairs or two and walk a block or more to an air-conditioned food market or a museum or the library. More people would die because of the suffocating heat than from murder.
“You have a devious mind,” said Joshua.
“The job requires it,” said Flack without emotion. He opened a file folder in front of him.
“And the murder of an innocent like Joel Besser brings on the images I see waking and sleeping, the images that fade, but not completely, when I have a drink or two,” said Joshua.
“Images?” asked Flack.
“Black babies, children,” said Joshua, leaning forward. “Starving, ribs showing, leg bones without muscle, heads too large, pleading eyes too wide, beyond hope, mouths open, letting in flies. My faith is tested every moment of every day. Why would a benevolent God and His son allow this to happen? My mission is to understand. My weakness is that I am
“Someone wants to talk to the CSI in charge of the Vorhees case,” the lab tech who had taken the call said.
“Man?”
“Yes.”
“And he said ’CSI’?” asked Mac, who was looking at the screen, where a pulpy white creature was inching its way along the rim of a heart-shaped leaf.
“Right,” said the lab tech. “You taking it?”
“Put it through,” said Mac. When he heard the click indicating an open line, he said, “Detective Taylor.”
“Kyle Shelton,” Shelton replied calmly.
Mac hit a button on the white phone carrier and put the phone back in its cradle. The call, now on speaker, was being automatically traced.
“What’s on your mind?” asked Mac, who was busily going to the desktop file on the Vorhees case. He opened it and quickly found the pages on Kyle Shelton.
“You ever serve in the military?”
“Marines,” said Mac.
“Me too,” said Shelton, “but you know that.”
“I know it,” he agreed. “Is the boy alive?”
“Depends,” said Shelton. “Life and death are transitions, a continuum.”
“Is he alive?” Mac asked again.
“Yes,” said Shelton wearily.
“You killed his family,” said Mac.
“ ‘I am become Death, shatterer of worlds,’ ” said Shelton. “You know who said that? J. Robert Oppenheimer when he saw the first atomic explosion.”
“You’ve been playing games with us,” said Mac. “Why?”
“Games aren’t over,” said Shelton. “I have a present for you.”
“What’s that?”
“You’ve had time to trace this call,” Shelton said. “Come here and find it.”
“Shelton,” Mac said.
“Sorry,” said Shelton. “Out of time.”
He hung up. Mac pressed a button and a voice answered.
“We’ve got it. We’re on the way.”
“Where?” asked Mac.
“He called from the Vorhees’ house.”
Flack sat back, his hands folded on the table, his head cocked slightly to the right. He was looking at Joshua and waiting.
“I’m not a fraud,” said Joshua. “My mission is no small sordid cult.”
“Do the others know about the drinking?” asked Flack.
“No,” said Joshua. “I’m being tested by the Lord. Yeshua will show me the way.”
“Meanwhile you have to have a drink during the day,” said Flack.
“Yes,” said Joshua with a sigh, “but I do not get drunk and I’m always lucid and focused.”
“You kill Glick?” asked Flack.
“No.”
“Joel Besser?”
“Why would I kill one of our own?” Joshua said incredulously.
“Divert suspicion,” said Flack. “Or maybe he knew you killed Glick and was going to tell us.”
The room was air-conditioned, but the air-conditioner was unable to function at full strength during a heat wave like this one. Flack knew from experience that there would be deaths from the heat, mostly old people living with open windows and unable to afford a fan, unable to get up, go down a flight of stairs or two and walk a block or more to an air-conditioned food market or a museum or the library. More people would die because of the suffocating heat than from murder.
“You have a devious mind,” said Joshua.
“The job requires it,” said Flack without emotion. He opened a file folder in front of him.
“And the murder of an innocent like Joel Besser brings on the images I see waking and sleeping, the images that fade, but not completely, when I have a drink or two,” said Joshua.
“Images?” asked Flack.
“Black babies, children,” said Joshua, leaning forward. “Starving, ribs showing, leg bones without muscle, heads too large, pleading eyes too wide, beyond hope, mouths open, letting in flies. My faith is tested every moment of every day. Why would a benevolent God and His son allow this to happen? My mission is to understand. My weakness is that I am
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