فصل 57

CHAPTER 57

There were about fifty people at National Airport in Washington, meeting the red-eye flight from Columbus, Ohio. Most of them were meeting relatives and they looked sleepy and grumpy enough, with their shirttails sticking out below their jackets.

From the crowd, Ardelia Mapp had a chance to look Starling over as she came off the plane. Starling was pasty, dark under the eyes. Some black grains of gunpowder were in her cheek. Starling spotted Mapp and they hugged.

“Hey, Sport,” Mapp said. “You check anything?”

Starling shook her head.

“Jeff’s outside in the van. Let’s go home.”

Jack Crawford was outside too, his car parked behind the van in the limousine lane. He’d had Bella’s relatives all night.

“I…” he started. “You know what you did. You hit a home run, kid.” He touched her cheek. “What’s this?” “Burnt gunpowder. The doctor said it’ll work out by itself in a couple of days—better than digging for it.” Crawford took her to him and held her very tight for a moment, just a moment, and then put her away from him and kissed her on the forehead. “You know what you did,” he said again. “Go home. Go to sleep. Sleep in. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” The new surveillance van was comfortable, designed for long stakeouts. Starling and Mapp rode in the big chairs in the back.

Without Jack Crawford in the van, Jeff drove a little harder. They made good time toward Quantico.

Starling rode with her eyes closed. After a couple of miles, Mapp nudged her knee. Mapp had opened two short-bottle Cokes. She handed Starling a Coke and took a half-pint of Jack Daniel’s out of her purse.

They each took a swig out of their Cokes and poured in a shot of sour mash. Then they stuck their thumbs in the necks of the bottles, shook them, and shot the foam in their mouths.

“Ahhh,” Starling said.

“Don’t spill that in here,” Jeff said.

“Don’t worry, Jeff,” Mapp said. Quietly to Starling, “You should have seen my man Jeff waiting for me outside the liquor store. He looked like he was passing peach seeds.” When Mapp saw the whiskey start to work a little, when Starling sank a little deeper in her chair, Mapp said, “How you doing, Starling?” “Ardelia, I’m damned if I know.”

“You don’t have to go back, do you?”

“Maybe for one day next week, but I hope not. The U.S. Attorney came over from Columbus to talk to the Belvedere cops. I did depositions out the wazoo.” “Couple of good things,” Mapp said. “Senator Martin’s been on the phone all evening from Bethesda—you knew they took Catherine to Bethesda? Well, she’s okay. He didn’t mess her up in any physical way. Emotional damage, they don’t know, they have to watch. Don’t worry about school. Crawford and Brigham both called. The hearing’s canceled. Krendler asked for his memo back. These people have got a heart like a greasy BB, Starling—you get no slack. You don’t have to take the Search-and-Seizure exam at 0800 tomorrow, but you take it Monday, and the PE test right after. We’ll jam over the weekend.” They finished the half-pint just north of Quantico and dumped the evidence in a barrel at a roadside park.

“That Pilcher, Doctor Pilcher at the Smithsonian, called three times. Made me promise to tell you he called.” “He’s not a doctor.”

“You think you might do something about him?”

“Maybe. I don’t know yet.”

“He sounds like he’s pretty funny. I’ve about decided funny’s the best thing in men, I’m talking about aside from money and your basic manageability.” “Yeah, and manners too, you can’t leave that out.” “Right. Give me a son of a bitch with some manners every time.” Starling went like a zombie from the shower to the bed.

Mapp kept her reading light on for a while, until Starling’s breathing was regular. Starling jerked in her sleep, a muscle in her cheek twitched, and once her eyes opened wide.

Mapp woke sometime before daylight, the room feeling empty. Mapp turned on her light. Starling was not in her bed. Both of their laundry bags were missing, so Mapp knew where to look.

She found Starling in the warm laundry room, dozing against the slow rump-rump of a washing machine in the smell of bleach and soap and fabric softener. Starling had the psychology background—Mapp’s was law—yet it was Mapp who knew that the washing machine’s rhythm was like a great heartbeat and the rush of its waters was what the unborn hear—our last memory of peace.