The Devil in Gray (8 page)

Jerry glanced at them both but said nothing. His eyes were bloodshot and swollen and it was obvious that he had been crying.

“Had any more thoughts about the knife, Jerry?” Decker asked.

“I told you. There
was
no knife.”

“Okay … how about this? Did you ever see a guy with a beard skulking around your neighborhood?”

“A beard?”

“That's it. Tall guy, wearing a wide-brimmed hat and one of those coats with a cape over the shoulders? Ever see anybody who looked like that?”

Jerry shook his head.

“Show him the picture, Hicks,” Decker said. Hicks produced a folded-up copy of Sandra's drawing and held it up in front of Jerry's face.

“Not the kind of guy you'd forget in a hurry, huh?” Decker asked him.

“That's the front of our house,” Jerry said, perplexed.

“That's right. And the person who drew this picture says that she saw this guy coming out of your front door round about the time that your wife was killed.”

“I never saw him before in my life.”

“He couldn't have been hiding in your house without you knowing it?”

“How could he? I mean, look at him. Besides that, Alison was killed right in front of my eyes and there was nobody there.”

“You're totally sure about that?” Hicks asked. “You couldn't have suffered a blackout or nothing like that?”

“I was losing a lot of blood and I was feeling pretty faint. But I'm sure I didn't lose consciousness. I saw Alison fall down, but I swear to God there was nobody there.”

“You realize you're not exactly helping your own defense?”

“I don't need a defense. I know that I was the only other person in the house but I didn't do it. It was like she was attacked by somebody invisible.”

Hicks took out his notebook. “You interested in military memorabilia at all, Mr. Maitland?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know … guns, knives, battle flags, that kind of stuff.”

Jerry shook his head.

“You've never owned, like, a sword, or a bayonet?”

“No, of course not. But this man in this picture … he's carrying some kind of a sword, isn't he?”

“That's right,” Decker said. “It's a bayonet, as a matter of fact, and our medical examiner is of the opinion that your Alison was killed by a very similar weapon.”

Jerry stared at him. “So it's possible that
he
might have done it? Even though I didn't see him?”

“That's what we're trying to establish. The only problem is, there were more than forty people in the immediate vicinity of your house when this guy was walking out of the front door, and only one of them saw him.”

“Maybe they just didn't notice him.”

“Dressed like that? In broad daylight?”

“I guess so,” Jerry admitted. “But it doesn't make any sense at all, does it?”

Decker stood up. “You're right. It doesn't. So we're still left with the circumstantial evidence that
you
killed Alison. You realize that if you admit it, the DA will go much easier on you.”

“Especially if you remember what you did with the weapon,” Hicks put in.

Jerry shook his head even more emphatically. “I can't admit it, because I didn't do it. I never owned a bayonet and I never touched a hair of Alison's head.”

“Okay,” Decker said. “The doctors say that you'll be fit enough to go in front of the judge on Tuesday. In the meantime, you know how to get in touch with me if you have a sudden revelation.”

“You're going to look for this man, though?”

“Oh, sure. We have to. Elimination of suspects, no matter how unlikely.”

Jerry frowned at the drawing again. “He reminds me of somebody. I can't think who.”

“You think you might have seen him before?”

“I don't know … there's just something familiar about him. I can't think what it is.”

“Well, if it comes to mind …”

“Sure,” Jerry said.

They left the room. “What do you think?” Decker asked Hicks.

“I think he did it. I'm
sure
he did it.”

“What about the So-Scary Man?”

“Didn't exist. Come on, Lieutenant, Sandra's mentally challenged. I know she draws good, but a good drawing isn't evidence, is it?”

“Yeah, you're right,” Decker agreed. “It's just that—why the hell did he do it?”

As they walked past the nurses' station, the helmet-haired nurse called out, “Lieutenant!”

“Yes? Oh, I'm sorry, nurse. We're through with Mr. Maitland for now.”

“Oh, that's all right. I just wanted you to know that I
do
like Mexican food. In fact, I like it very much.”

Decker looked at Hicks in desperation but all Hicks could do was grin.

“What's your name?” Decker asked her.

“Marion.”

“Okay, Marion. Next time I call by, I'll bring you my recipe for cheese
empanadas
.”

CHAPTER NINE

They were driving back to headquarters when Decker's cell phone played Beethoven.

“Martin.”

“Decker? It's Rudisill. The captain wants you over at 2024 Laburnum Street, just off Nine Mile Road. Like, you know, instantly.”

“Want to tell me why?”

“It looks like your invisible guy has been at it again. Some old coot's been gutted like a salmon.”

Decker said, “On our way,” and switched on his siren and flashing lights.

“Whoo,” Hicks said, slapping his armrest.

Decker U-turned the Mercury in the middle of Broad Street, its tires squittering, and headed east. “Did I tell you that I was going to be a father?” he asked Hicks.

They stepped cautiously into the bathroom where the forensic team were already at work, waddling around in white Tyvek suits and taking tissue samples and footprints and measuring the smears of blood on the walls of George Drewry's shower cubicle.

Decker took a long look inside the shower. George Drewry's eyes were still half open, as if he were right on the point of nodding off to sleep. A fly settled on his heaped-up intestines and one of the forensic team flapped it away.

Decker turned back to Hicks and Hicks had his hand pressed over his nose and mouth. There was nothing guaranteed to bring up your breakfast more than the sweet smell of human insides.

Decker looked around the white-tiled floor, which was decorated with blood, like blotchy crimson roses. “How many sets of footprints?” he asked Lieutenant Bryce, who was kneeling on the floor beside the toilet bowl, painstakingly dipping Q-tips into one of the gradually congealing petals.

“Only one, as far as I can tell,” she said. “Major Drewry's wife.”

“
Major
Drewry?”

“That's right. Fort Monroe, TRADOC, retired.”

They left the bathroom and went back to the living room, where Cab was talking to the medical examiner, Erin Malkman. She was a handsome blond woman with a strong chin, deep-set eyes, and lips that were so full and glossy that they always looked to Decker as if she were halfway through eating an overripe apricot. Her Tyvek suit was half unzipped and she was tugging off her protective gloves.

“Hi, Erin. How's the meat trade these days?”

“Hello, Martin. Haven't seen you in a while.”

“Oh, I've been around.”

“I'm sure you have.”

He gave her a tight, humorless smile. “So what's the picture here?”

“I was just telling Captain Jackson that Major Drewry's wounds are distinctly different from those that were inflicted on Alison Maitland. They're triangular, and they were probably caused by a large blade that was sharp on one side and serrated on the other.”

“Bowie knife?”

“Something of that order. I've prepared some profiles of Alison Maitland's entry wounds and of course I'll be doing the same for Major Drewry.”

“Bryce said there was only one set of footprints in the bathroom—Mrs. Drewry's.”

“That's right,” Cab said. “Major Drewry had been out jogging … he came in and went directly to the bathroom to take a shower. When he didn't reappear after ten minutes, Mrs. Drewry went in to see why he was taking so long, and that's when she found him.”

“She didn't see anybody?”

“Nope. We have some similarities with the Maitland killing here … no evidence of any intruder, no murder weapon, no witnesses. But, I don't know … with Gerald Maitland in custody, my opinion is that we're probably looking at a copycat.”

“What about Mrs. Drewry? Is she a suspect?”

“Are you kidding me? You should see her. She had blood on her hands and feet, but that was only consistent with going into the bathroom and finding Major Drewry's body.”

“Where is she now?”

“Next door, with her neighbor.”

“We'd better go talk to her then.”

Erin said, “I'll start on the autopsy as soon as I get the body into the lab. I should be able to give you a preliminary report by midday tomorrow.”

“Well, I thank you, kind medical examiner.”

Erin didn't say anything, but then she didn't have to, because she and Decker understood each other only too well. Eighteen months ago they had both used each other—Decker to recover from his grief for Cathy, and Erin to get over a protracted and nasty affair with a city official called Simon who used to beat her. After two and a half months together Decker had turned up at her apartment one afternoon to find her with two black eyes. She had spent the previous night with her city official, and her city official had made doubly sure that Decker knew about it.

As they left the Drewry house, Cab said, “This case gives me dyspepsia.”

“Relax, Captain, there has to be some explanation. Somebody killed Major Drewry whether that somebody was seen by anybody or not.”

“It still makes my stomach hurt. Listen—I've called a news conference for four o'clock and I want you back at headquarters by two-thirty to give me an update. We can't let this one get out of hand, public-relations-wise. You see that headline about the Maitland killing?
Homicide Squad Chase Their Own Shadows
. I don't want no more b.s. like that.”

They crossed the lawn toward the next-door neighbors' house. There was a clamor of shouted questions from the gathered reporters, and a blizzard of flash photography, but Cab gave them nothing more than a dismissive wave of his hand. “Goddamn media. They give me a pain in the ass.”

“Have we released that drawing yet?”

“No, I had a talk with Major Greaves and we decided against it.”

“What? What do you mean you decided against it?”

Cab dragged out his handkerchief and blew his nose. “Think about it, Decker. The only person who saw this character was mentally challenged. Nobody else saw him, not even her own mother, who was standing right next to her, and to whom she actually pointed this imaginary character out. Even if we
could
find a guy who looked like her drawing, Sandra's evidence would never stand up in court.

“Major Greaves agrees with me that it's in everybody's best interests if we quietly forget about it. Ours, and Sandra's.”

“So we're not even going to look for this guy?”

“He walked through the door without opening it? A door that was locked and chained on the inside, and the paramedics had to kick down? The house was a bloodbath but he didn't leave a single footprint or fingerprint? Come on, Decker.”

“What happened here then, at the Drewrys' house? Don't tell me that Major Drewry committed suicide. What with? A bowie knife, which we can't find, any more than we could find the bayonet that killed Alison Maitland?”

“I don't know, Decker, for Christ's sake. Don't make me irritable. Like you say, there has to be an explanation and it's your job to find it.”

“I want that drawing released.”

“No, Decker. We have a watertight case against Gerald Maitland and I'm not going to jeopardize it by making it look as if we're searching for another suspect. This ain't
The Fugitive
.”

They found Jean Drewry on the shady verandah at the back of the house, sitting with her neighbor on a flowery-cushioned couch. The electric storm had passed over now, although it was still grumbling and complaining out over Powhatan County. In spite of the humidity, Jean Drewry was wrapped in a thick maroon shawl. Her neighbor was a plump woman in pink ski pants. She looked up sharply as Decker and Hicks came out of the house.

“Can't this wait?”

“I'm sorry, ma'am. But I have to ask Mrs. Drewry one or two questions just to help us get a handle on this thing.”

Jean Drewry was very white, as if her face were powdered with flour. “Is George gone yet?” she asked. “Have they taken him away?”

“The forensic people are going to need a couple more hours. But they'll move him as soon as they can.”

“It's his
pride
, you see?” Jean Drewry said. “He wouldn't like people to see him like that.”

“Mrs. Drewry, I can assure you that your George will be treated with the very greatest of respect,” Decker assured her, thinking of Erin Malkman taking out her circular saw and cutting off the top of Major Drewry's skull, so that she could weigh his brain. He sat down on a wickerwork chair close to her, while Hicks perched on the verandah railing behind him. At the end of the garden there was a row of beehives and the afternoon hummed with steamy heat and bees.

“You were in the house when George came back from his run?”

“Yes. I was making us a salad. He's supposed to have salad, because of his arteries.”

“You were in the house the whole time he was out?”

“Yes, except when I went out into the yard to take down my washing.”

“Was the back door unlocked?”

“Yes, it was. But I was in the kitchen the whole time, and I can see right down the corridor. Nobody could have gotten into the bathroom. It's just not possible.”