Deadly Visions (23 page)

Joe shrugged.”Whatever puts bodies in seats.”

“Bodies,”Henderson repeated dryly. “Unfortunate word choice. Show us what you got.”

“Right.”Joe addressed the group. “Before Monica Gaines was injured, she thought she heard a voice.
She was taking a bath, and she reached for the one article of clothing in the room—a terry-cloth bathrobe.”

Sam raised the bathrobe for all to see.

“She put it on, and the voice threatened her.”

A television reporter jabbed her microphone toward Joe. “Do you know where the voice came from?”

“I'm afraid I don't. At least, not yet.”Joe slid the robe over his bodysuit. “But Monica did what almost anyone else would have done—run. She grabbed the doorknob—”

Joe gripped the knob and turned it.

“—threw open the door, and ran down the hall. She punched the elevator button, then grabbed the handle for the stairwell. I'm going to retrace her steps, so please move to the other side of the elevators.”

The group moved toward the elevators, where two firemen stood with large extinguishers.

Henderson's gaze narrowed on Joe.”You aren't going to do anything foolish, are you?”

“It'll be fine,”Joe said.”I promise.”

The spectators walked to the end of the hallway. As the cameramen set up their new positions, Sam leaned close to Joe. “You're sure about this?”

Joe smiled.”You might not want to stand so close, Sam.”

Sam recoiled.”Crap. You're right.”He stepped back. “You're a walking time-bomb. Get it over with, will ya?”

Joe motioned toward the firemen. They raised the long extinguisher nozzles.

Joe took a deep breath and ran down the hallway, picking up speed as he neared the elevators. He pushed the elevator button.

He turned and moved to the stairwell door, the robe's tail billowing behind him.

He reached for the steel door handle.

Ignition.

A flash of white light, then the robe burst into flames.

He whirled toward the spectators, who watched in shock. All except Tess Wayland. She was enjoying it, the coldhearted bitch, probably imagining how it would cut into the next episode's on-air promo piece.

Jesus, were those firemen just going to let him cook? In a moment, he'd be frying alive in front of all these—

The firemen went into action. Within seconds, the flames were replaced with white foam, covering him from head to toe.

The journalists and cops stared in stunned silence.

Sam rushed to his side, joining the firemen in brushing away the foam.”You okay?”

“Yeah. Just call me the Pillsbury Doughboy.”

“Well, it's better than burned toast.”

“Get me another robe, will you?”

“Don't tell me you're gonna do it again.”

Joe peeled off what was left of the charred bathrobe.”No way.”He turned toward the others.”I believe that Monica Gaines's robe was treated with what magicians call flash powder. In its usual form, it's harmless. Depending on the type used, it's activated either by heat or a low-voltage jolt of electricity.”

“Are we talking about static electricity?”Henderson asked.

“Exactly. Monica Gaines's robe could have ignited when she touched her doorknob, and that may have been the plan. But she may not have accumulated enough of a charge in the short distance between the bathroom and her front door. She ran down the hallway. The elevator button is plastic, so the charge still wasn't released. She grabbed the door handle, and that's when it happened.”

Tess glanced back to make sure her camera crew was getting it. “The static electricity ignited the flash powder, but you said it's usually harmless.”

Joe's chest itched. He scratched himself through the bodysuit. “It is. Flash powder alone couldn't have done this. It gives off very little heat. It was used as an activator for a much more flammable compound. We soaked my robe in alcohol, dried it in the sun, then treated it with the flash powder.”

Carla nodded. “So the static charge ignited the flash powder, which in turn ignited whatever compound was in the robe.”

“Yes.”

“Have you found anything in Monica's robe that confirms this?”Tess asked.

“Not yet. Unfortunately, there was very little left of her robe, and it could have been contaminated by the solutions used by paramedics on the scene. The crime lab is running tests.”

Joe scratched his chest again. It was now more than an itch; it
burned.
He unzipped the front of the bodysuit midway down his chest and rubbed the area. Tender.

Sam's face tensed. “Joe?”

“It's okay, Sam. It's just a little—”

“Holy shit.”Tess Wayland's cameraman zoomed in on Joe's bare chest.

Joe looked down at what everyone else in the hallway had already seen.

A circle with two intersecting lines.

They arrived at the Grady Memorial Hospital emergency room twenty minutes later.

“Cut it off,”Joe said curtly to Dr. Taylor Grant from the examination table.”Get as much skin around it as you can.”

The doctor frowned. “Relax. We don't want you to bleed to death.”

Carla and Howe stood in the doorway. “We have enough samples from the murder victims,”Carla said.

Joe shook his head.”Not like this one. This sample is fresh. It might make a difference, right, Doctor?”

The doctor nodded. “Possibly, but we can find out what we need to know with just a thin layer of your skin. Please relax.”

“Get as much as you need.”

“Don't worry. Just lie still.”

The nurse injected him near the mark.

“What's that?”Joe asked.

“A local anaesthetic.”

“It won't contaminate the sample, will it?”

The doctor shook his head.”No.”

Joe settled back and took slow, measured breaths.

The doctor leaned over him with a gleaming scalpel that reflected the large examination room lights back
to his forehead. Did the doctor ever blind himself from the glare? At the moment, it was probably better not to know.

“Did you see any sign of the marking before tonight?”Howe asked.

“None. I mean, I haven't given myself a breast exam lately, but I haven't seen or felt it. Sam saw me without my shirt right before I stepped out there, and I don't think he noticed anything. It may have been brought out by the heat.”

Howe nodded. “The markings on the victims almost appeared to be an allergic reaction. From what, we can't tell. There was no trace of foreign matter on the skin samples.”

Joe winced as the doctor's scalpel cut deeper. Evidently, the anaesthetic hadn't taken full effect. “It could have been laid there days before. That's why I think it's important to get this one right away.”

“Laid how?”Carla asked.

Joe winced again. “Don't know. Kind of hard to think with a scalpel cutting into my chest.”

It took only a few minutes for the doctor to finish cutting and bandaging, but it took another quarter hour for Joe to convince Howe and Carla that he was all right.

“Come on, I'll drive you home,”Carla said.

“I'll rest a little, then take a taxi.”

“But I really don't think you should—”

“Get going. I'll be fine.”

After several more minutes of arguing, they finally left. Good. He needed some time to himself, and there
was something he wanted to do before he left the hospital. His skin throbbed beneath the bandage. How had it happened? How in hell had he gotten the death mark? The same mark that the murder victims had worn. The mark that Monica Gaines had worn before bursting into flames.

The pattern was going to stop here.

Monica Gaines. He needed to check up on her.

If she was still alive.

He took the elevator to the hospital's third floor. He flashed his badge at the nurses'station and walked to Monica Gaines's ICU room. She was alive but still unconscious.

“How are you, Bailey?”

Joe turned to see Tess Wayland standing in the hallway outside Monica's room.

“Shit. I have no comment about what you saw earlier.”

“I'm not asking you for one. I have a reporter and cameraman waiting outside the hospital for that.”

He was surprised she'd told him. “Thanks for the warning. Why are you here?”

“I visit Monica every day. Why are
you
here?”

“I was in the neighborhood.”

Tess walked to the bed and brushed Monica's hair away from her face. “She hates it when her hair covers her ears.”

“Is that right?”

Tess nodded. “Monica is the only one who has ever really believed in me, you know that?”

“Have you worked for her a long time?”

“From the very beginning. When she started her show, I'd never worked in television in my life. I was
a website designer. I designed her Internet site, and when that took off, she hired me to run it full-time. Then, when she got a shot at her own TV show, she insisted that I produce it. Two syndicators passed on it because they didn't trust me to run things. Hell, I wouldn't have trusted a website designer from Oregon to run a national television show. But Monica wouldn't have it any other way.”

“That kind of loyalty is hard to come by.”

“Damned right.”

Her expression was amazingly soft, Joe saw in surprise.”Is there any way I can talk you out of using the footage of my branded chest?”

She smiled.”Nope.”

“Didn't think so.”

“I have to ask myself, what would Monica do? No question about this one. She'd run the hell out of it.”

“I'm sure you're right.”

“But, as always, you're welcome to come on the show and explain it.”

“Right. Which will be reduced to one weak, out-of-context sound bite followed by ten minutes of commentary explaining why I don't know what I'm talking about. I think I'll pass.”

“Your call. We're having Barry Roth and Alicia Dobal on tomorrow.”

“I've met Roth. So
that
'
s
what brought him to town.”

“We're starting a new series, 'In the Footsteps of Monica Gaines.'“Every day, our guest psychics are going to use articles of Monica's to try to summon up her feelings and impressions in the last days before
her accident. You worked with her most closely, so it might help if you were there.”

“Help
who?
”

“The psychics, of course, but you too. It might help you in your investigation.”

“I seriously doubt that, but I'll think about it.”

“Fine, but while you're thinking, be careful.”She lightly patted his chest. “That little mark on your chest isn't exactly a good-luck sign.”

Dylan sat in the dark hotel room, watching the man fumble for the light switch. Finally. Face-to-face with the monster.

The light switched on.

“Rakkan?”He snapped the cartridge firmly into his Beretta.

The man whirled around.

“Be still,”Dylan said. “Do as I say and you'll live. That's a promise. If I wanted to kill you, you'd be dead already. Do you understand me, Rakkan?”

“Why do you call me …Rakkan?”

“That's how you think of yourself, isn't it? A modern-day Rakkan, roaming the countryside in search of a worthy man?”

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Let's not play that game. I've known about you for weeks, and I really don't care that you're a sick fuck. I need some information, and you're in a unique position to give it to me.”

“Who are you?”

“That's none of your concern. Just know that you've been closely observed on an entirely unrelated matter,
and that my colleagues discovered your nasty little secret.”Dylan leaned forward. “Tell me what I need to know, and you can continue your sick game. Do we have a deal?”

Early the next morning, Joe woke Nikki to tell her about his fire demonstration and the mark that had appeared on his chest. Better to hear it from him than from a reporter, he thought. He was surprised and relieved to see how calmly she took it.

“Can I see it?”she asked.

He raised his T-shirt, and she ran her fingers over the unbandaged area.”Does it hurt?”

“No. It burned a little at first, but now I don't feel anything. Honey, some people are going to be saying some strange things, but I want you to know—”

Nikki cut in.”It wasn't an evil spirit.”

Joe pulled down his T-shirt. “I'm glad you realize that.”

“And I know that Mommy hasn't really been talking to us, and that she didn't move things around in here.”

He looked at her, puzzled. “What changed your mind?”

“I just know.”

“You don't have to say that to make me feel better, honey. I know that you may still have doubts—”

“No doubts. Somebody out there wants us to think she's been talking to us. Some bad person, maybe the same person who put that mark on you. But how could they do that?”

“I don't know, but I'm working on an answer.”Joe
sat on the edge of her bed. “Just yesterday, you were convinced that Mommy was trying to warn me of something. What changed your mind?”

“Well, you told me it wasn't true.”

“I've been telling you that for days, but you've never believed me.”

Nikki shrugged.”I feel different now.”

“Why?”

Nikki shrugged again. “Can't I change my mind? I've had time to think about it. I still wish you weren't working on this case. It's scary that somebody came in here.”

“Well, we got Grandpa hanging around to watch over things.”

Nikki nodded. “Yeah, I'm glad. He says he can still kick your butt.”

“He did, huh? Well, he's probably right. He can still kick almost
anybody
'
s
butt.”

Nikki sat up.”I need to get ready for school now. Is there anything else?”

“I guess not.”

“Okay.”She bounded out of her bed and turned on the CD player on her dresser.

He was clearly dismissed. He supposed he should ve been happy about her sudden reversal, but it filled him with uneasiness. Nikki didn't usually change her mind so quickly.

He stood listening as she hummed the Tchaikovsky Violin Concerto along with the CD. Everything appeared normal with her.

Too damned normal.