'Where exactly did you wire it?'
'New York, where Jayne is.'
'Where in New York, Mrs. Gault? And have you done this more than once?'
'A drugstore up there. Because she has to get her medicine.'
'For her seizures. Her diphenylhydantoin.'
'Jayne said it wasn't a very good part of town.' She sewed some more. 'It was called Houston. Only it's not pronounced like the city in Texas.'
'Houston and what?' I asked.
'Why, I don't know what you mean.' She was getting agitated.
'A cross street. I need an address.'
'Why in the world?'
'Because that may be where your daughter went right before she died.'
She sewed faster, her lips a thin line.
'Please help me, Mrs. Gault.'
'She rides the bus a lot. She says she can see America flow by like a movie when she's on the bus.'
'I know you don't want anyone else to die.'
She squeezed her eyes shut.
'Please.'
'Now I lay me.'
'What?' I said.
'Rachael.' Mr. Gault returned to the room. 'There isn't any ice. I don't know what happened.'
'Down to sleep,' she said.
Dumbfounded, I looked at her husband.
'Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep,' he said, looking at her. 'We prayed that with the kids every night when they were small. Is that what you're thinking of, honey?'
'Test question for Western Union,' she said.
'Because Jayne had no identification,' I said. 'Of course. So they made her answer a test question to pick up the money and her prescription.'
'Oh yes. It was what we always used. For years now.'
'And what about Temple?'
'For him, too.'
Mr. Gault rubbed his face. 'Rachael, you haven't been giving him money, too. Please don't tell me…'
'It's my money. I have my own from my family just like you do.' She resumed sewing, turning the canvas this way and that.
'Mrs. Gault,' I said, 'did Temple know Jayne was due money from you at Western Union?'
'Of course he knew. He is her brother. He said he'd pick it up for her because she hasn't been well. When that horse threw her off. She's never been as clearheaded as Temple is. And I was sending him a little, too.'
'How often have you been sending money?' I asked again.
She tied a knot and cast about as if she had lost something.
'Mrs. Gault, I will not leave your house until you answer my question or throw me out.'
'After Luther died there wasn't anyone to care about Jayne, and she didn't want to come here,' she said.
'Jayne didn't want to be in one of those homes. So wherever she went she let me know, and I helped when I could.'
'You never told me.' Her husband was crushed.
'How long had she been in New York?' I asked.
'Since the first of December. I've been sending money regularly, just a little at a time. Fifty dollars here, a hundred dollars there. I wired some last Saturday, as usual. That's why I know she's fine. She passed the test. So she was standing right there in line.'
I wondered how long Gault had been intercepting his poor sister's money. I despised him with a zeal that was scary.
'She didn't like Philadelphia,' Mrs. Gault went on, talking faster. 'That's where she was before New York. Some city of brotherly love that is. Someone stole her flute there. Stole it right out of her hand.'
'Her tin whistle?' I asked.
'Her saxophone. You know, my father played the violin.'
Mr. Gault and I stared at her.
'Maybe it was her saxophone that got taken. Lawww, I don't know where all she's been. Honey? Remember when she came here for her birthday and went out in the pecan trees with the dog?' Her hands went still.
'That was Albany. That's not where we are now.'
She shut her eyes. 'Why, she was twenty-five and had never been kissed.' She laughed. 'I remember her at the piano playing up a storm, singing «Happy Birthday» to beat the band. Then Temple took her to the barn. She'd go anywhere with him. I never understood why. But Temple can be charming.'
A tear slipped between her lashes.
'She went out to ride that darn horse Priss and never came back.' More tears spilled. 'Oh Peyton, I never saw my little girl again.'
He said in a voice that shook, 'Temple killed her, Rachael. This can't go on.'
I drove back to Hilton Head and got an early evening flight to Charlotte. From there I flew to Richmond and retrieved my car. I did not go home. I felt a sense of urgency that set me on fire. I could not reach Wesley at Quantico, and Lucy had returned none of my calls.
It was almost nine o'clock when I drove past pitch-black artillery ranges and barracks, trees hulking shadows on either side of the narrow road. I was rattled and exhausted as I watched for signs and deer crossing, then blue lights flashed in my rearview mirror. I tried to see what was behind me. I could not tell, but I knew it was not a patrol car because those had light bars in addition to lights in the grille.
I drove on. I thought of cases I had worked in which a woman alone stopped for what she thought was a cop. Many times over the years I had warned Lucy never to stop for an unmarked car, not for any reason, especially not at night. The car was dogged, but I did not pull over until I reached the Academy guard booth.
The unmarked car halted at my rear, and instantly an MP in uniform was at my driver's door with pistol drawn. My heart seemed to stop.
'Get out and put your hands up in the air!' he ordered.
I sat perfectly still.
He stepped back and I realized the guard was saying something to him. Then the guard emerged from his booth and the MP tapped on my glass. I rolled down my window while the MP lowered his gun, his eyes not leaving me. He did not look a day over nineteen.
'You're going to have to get out, ma'am.' The MP was hateful because he was embarrassed.
'I will if you'll holster your weapon and move out of my way,' I said as the Academy guard stepped back. 'And I have a pistol on the console between the front seats. I'm just telling you so you aren't startled.'
'Are you DBA?' he demanded as he surveyed my Mercedes.
He had what looked like gray adhesive residue for a mustache.
'
'Are you DBA?' he demanded as he surveyed my Mercedes.
He had what looked like gray adhesive residue for a mustache. My blood was roaring. I knew he was going to put on a manly show because the Academy guard was watching.
I was out of my car now, blue lights throbbing on our faces.
'Am I DBA?' I glared at him.
'Yes.'
'No.'
'Are you FBI?'
'No.'
He was getting more disconcerted. 'Then what are you, ma'am?'
'I am a forensic pathologist,' I said.
'Who is your supervisor?'
