“So, let’s get right to it. Face shape?” he asked Vickie.
She began to describe the waitress who had used the name Audrey Benson. She was in the middle of doing so, remembering details—such as the little freckle on the young woman’s upper lip—when Roxanne Greeley suddenly came to the waiting room.
She paused dramatically at the doorway, looking in.
Then she saw Vickie.
“Vickie! Oh, thank God, you’re all right!”
She ran in and hugged Vickie. Then she looked at Griffin, shook her head and hugged Vickie again. “Thank God! Thank God! I can’t believe you were in danger again. Of course, I mean, I suppose it’s your doing. Kind of like Oscar Wilde, you know. ‘To lose one parent may be regarded as misfortune...to lose both seems like carelessness.’ Oh, wait, I’m sorry, your parents are just fine. And I’m hoping they stay alive and healthy and all. I mean...you! Throwing yourself into danger all the time. Maybe you shouldn’t, maybe you’re inviting these things...wow. Sorry. I’ll stop. I’m just glad you’re okay. Oh, and oh!”
Roxanne finally noticed the police officer who had risen behind Griffin.
“It’s okay, Roxanne,” Vickie told her.
“Seriously, it’s good to worry about friends,” Jim Tracy said, offering Roxanne a hand.
“I’m glad you’re here. Officer Tracy is doing a sketch of the waitress we had at the coffee shop the other night,” Vickie said.
“Oh. Nice. Good,” Roxanne said. Then she looked at Vickie again. “Why?”
“She’s disappeared, too. And she was using a fake name.”
“Oh...okay.”
Jim Tracy showed her the sketch he’d begun.
“You’re very good,” Roxanne told him. “Don’t you think that her face was a little thinner?” she asked Vickie.
“Yeah, maybe,” Vickie agreed.
“Take a chair, please,” Griffin said. Vickie glanced at him with a quick smile. He quickly rearranged chairs so that Vickie was on one side of the artist, Roxanne on the other. He stood a distance off, quietly waiting.
“Now you tell me what you remember, what you think might have been a bit different,” Officer Tracy said.
“Just the bit thinner,” Roxanne said. “Maybe her bangs were thicker... The rest...may I?” Roxanne asked. “Vickie does have a great eye. But I’m an artist. I’m actually making a living with my watercolors and oil paintings,” she added.
“That’s great!” Officer Tracy said. He flipped pages and offered Roxanne a clean sheet.
Roxanne began to sketch. In a minute, they could clearly see the face of the woman who had disappeared.
“That’s her,” Vickie murmured.
“Great image,” Officer Tracy said.
“But your sketch is just as true to her,” Roxanne said. “It’s just easier because I really saw her.”
“I’ll take these back to the precinct, scan them and do some mash-ups and we’ll have a pretty perfect image,” Officer Tracy assured them. “By tomorrow morning, we’ll have the lady in the bed upstairs on the news, and this disappearing, SSN-stealing waitress out there, as well.”
He stood. “I’m done here. If you need anything or if you think of anything else, please call.”
“Thank you,” Griffin said, shaking Tracy’s hand. Roxanne and Vickie thanked him, as well. As he left the waiting room, Griffin said, “I’m just going to check on our young woman in ICU. Then we’ll call it quits for the night.”
“We’re just going to...leave?” Vickie asked.
“She’s in a coma. Nothing much we can do unless she awakens,” Griffin said. “Don’t worry, between all the agencies, we’ll have someone watching her around the clock.”
“Around the clock. They watched Alex around the clock. And then they didn’t. And now he’s gone,” she said.
Griffin hesitated, glancing at Roxanne. He moved closer to Vickie and said softly, “Don’t go thinking that was Alex’s blood you were wearing. You dreamed about a woman with her throat slit on an inverted cross—not a man. Not Alex.”
“Let’s get you guys home right away. I’ll be back.”
Griffin left. Roxanne glared at Vickie. “You should be really glad your folks are in England, being spared the worry! This has been all over the television. Reporters and cameras get places so fast!”
“But they couldn’t have gotten today on camera!”
“Not the first part. They got you—covered in what looked like blood—being led to an ambulance. I guess one of the EMTs or cops did some talking. The reporter said that you were covered in red stuff, but he said that witnesses reported that it wasn’t your blood, and they also knew that the girl had taken some kind of a capsule or pill that you and Agent Devin Lyle had gotten from her. Naturally, they’re referring back to your involvement in the Undertaker case. At least there’s been no mention of Alex’s name so far,” Roxanne told her.
“Great, just great,” Vickie said.
“What was it that she threw on you? Was it actually blood? It was? Oh, God. You don’t think—”
“Griffin keeps assuring me that it isn’t Alex’s blood,” Vickie said quickly. “He’s convinced that they want Alex for his mind, want him to help them find something that has been lost for decades, or something like that.”
“So where are they keeping him? And where are these people coming from? That guy who killed himself because Griffin caught him attacking a woman—and now this girl! Taking a pill because she was caught throwing blood on you. Where did all the blood come from? Vickie, I’m just worried!”
“Don’t be, please. I’ve got Griffin—”
“Thank God for that!”
“And he has close coworkers here and we’re working with Detective Barnes and his department. It’s all good.”
Roxanne smiled. “I guess you were actually kicking ass today!”
Vickie winced. The girl swallowing a pill didn’t seem much like kicking ass.
“She tripped over a tombstone.”
“Because you were moving like greased lightning!” Griffin reappeared at the door.
“Come on, we’ll see you home,” he said, beckoning to Roxanne.
“To my door, and then you two go away. Shoo. Keep your deadly shenanigans away from me!” Roxanne said. “Sorry, kidding. No, I’m not. I’m scared again, Vickie.”
“Don’t be scared. Just be careful. Be extra careful. You know the ropes now, right? Well-lit places with lots of people, no super-late-night excursions,” Vickie began.
“No candy from strangers. Yeah, I know the drill. I’ll be cautious,” Roxanne said. “And I’ll keep in touch. Hey, have your talked to your mom? If she and your dad get wind of the stuff happening here with you involved, you’re in for it,” she warned.
“I’ll write them an email tonight,” Vickie promised.
“Let’s get going,” Griffin said.
The three of them left the hospital.
*
Griffin thought that he tended to be aware of the world around him—it was part and parcel of his training. Tonight, it seemed ever more important.
He understood why David Barnes had wanted to believe that it was all over. There was no way for an average citizen to prepare for a spontaneous attack when just walking down the street. And it was impossible to ask the population of Boston to just hole up in a house or apartment and never go out.
Constant fear was debilitating. It wore on the mind and the nerves and therefore, eventually, the whole of the body. Random attacks set the entire city on edge.
But now Barnes knew. Now they all knew, for a fact, that it wasn’t over. And it was all connected. Alex had been attacked first, then others. Alex had disappeared. This girl had called Vickie by name, and most importantly, she’d attempted suicide in the same manner as the young man the other night.
They reached Roxanne’s place, and Griffin warned Vickie to keep the car doors locked as he walked Roxanne up to her apartment, even though Vickie was in his sight line at all times. She smiled at his overprotectiveness.
With Roxanne safely in, he returned to the car and pulled out onto the road, heading the short distance from Roxanne’s to Vickie’s.
Vickie was thoughtful as they drove. “She was a redhead.”
“Yes, definitely, a redhead. Why?”
“No reason, I guess. I just...”