Together, they looked up and down the main street. Winslow was small, a dot on a map, High Milsom Street and three or four streets of set-back middle-class homes, most of the yards a lush Irish green from all the rain. It was hot, the humidity a killer, like a heavy wet cloud sitting on their heads.
They walked into a long, narrow room, cold as a refrigerator, and shuddered with pleasure. An older man in a dark green uniform looked up from his desk behind a high counter directly opposite the front door. “Can I help you? Oh, you must be the FBI agents Chief Pearly called. I’m senior deputy Hubie Pearly, the chief’s cousin. One of my boys, Dom, works here, too. He’s smart. He’ll move right up, and I reckon someday we’ll have another Chief Pearly. Right this way, Agents. The current Chief Pearly’s in the back with our young victim. Poor kid, on top of everything else, she’s got crappy parents. That sounds harsh, I know, but it is what it is.”
They followed Hubie Pearly past four empty desks, a unisex bathroom, a water cooler, and a small kitchen to a glass-walled office. Inside they saw a portly man in a brown uniform sitting opposite a young woman whose pretty face was leached of color, her eyes red from crying. She was wearing what was probably the chief’s leather jacket over a top and shorts, flip-flops on her narrow feet, her toenails painted a bright orange. The chief was holding her hands, speaking low to her.
Hubie tapped on the window and opened the door. “Anson, the FBI agents are here. Fancy that, one of them’s a girl.” Hubie stopped cold, looked back at Sherlock, and stared. “Oh geez, sorry, ma’am—Agent—I shouldn’t have said that.”
“Probably not,” Savich said. “My wife, actually. Chief Pearly?” He identified himself and Sherlock, handed the chief their creds. Chief Pearly studied them. To their surprise, he handed their creds to Hubie, who studied them a full thirty seconds before he handed them back to Savich. “Yep, now I remember—your name, Sherlock. Imagine, here you are, in the flesh. You sure are pretty to be so tough. You’re famous among law enforcement around here, you know.”
No, Sherlock didn’t now, but she nodded.
“Well now, ’scuse me. I’ll leave you to it, Anson.” And Hubie was out the door.
Anson Pearly slowly rose to his feet, assessing them with clear, intelligent gray eyes. “Forgive my cousin, he sometimes runs off the rails a bit.” They all shook hands. He turned. “This is Ms. Cindy Wilcox. She might not be the heroine of JFK, but she is the heroine of Winslow today, saved herself from that maniac who blew up the cathedral in Falls Church. When she described the man who attacked her, told me he called himself Victor, I remembered the BOLOs, showed her his picture. She said it was definitely Victor Nesser, knew it even if he was wearing a disguise.”
Sherlock looked at the teenager huddled in a chair, her blond hair tangled around a pretty face. She was staring at them. “Ms. Wilcox?”
Cindy stared up at Sherlock. “Yes, I’m Cindy.”
Sherlock gave her a big smile and patted her arm. “You must be very resourceful and smart to escape Victor Nesser. I agree with the chief, you’re a hero.” Sherlock drew her up out of the chair and hugged her. “You’re alive, and I’ve got to say that makes me very happy. I know you’re still shaky with the shock of what you went through. Victor Nesser is a very scary man, but you survived, Cindy. You beat him. You’re here and you’re safe and you can talk to us. Can you tell us about him, tell us what happened?”
Cindy shuddered and hung on to Sherlock. “My mom and dad were here. She yelled at me, said it was my fault for inviting a stranger to my apartment. We argued, and they stalked out. My older brother, Hank, he’s an army sergeant in Afghanistan. I know he would have come and hugged me like you’re doing. Even if he’d agreed with my folks, he would have stayed with me.” She hugged Sherlock tighter and started crying. She wheezed out, “It was my fault, really. I did flirt with him. He—Victor—was nice and polite, and I thought maybe he’d give me some of that huge bankroll he had. But then the second he got to my apartment, he turned into a monster.” Cindy put her face against Sherlock’s hair, tightened her arms around her, and wouldn’t let go.
Sherlock rocked her, whispered against her tangled hair. “You’re all right, Cindy. You survived and learned not to trust someone you don’t know well.” She eased her back to look at her face. “No matter what anyone says, you saved yourself from a very bad man. You did it, no one else. Now it’s time for you to get ahold of yourself and tell us exactly what happened so we can catch him, make sure he never tries this again.”
A lone tear streaked down Cindy’s pale cheek. Slowly, she nodded. “Yes, yes, I can do that.”
Sherlock said, “You said the photo the chief showed you was Victor, but he looked different. How?”
“His hair was dark brown, on the long side, and he had glasses, with black frames that made him look smart, you know? And he had this pathetic beard. He was so nice to me, so cute—he left a hundred-dollar bill, and his dinner was only twenty dollars. I saw him pull it out of a big rubber-banded roll of hundred-dollar bills. But it wasn’t all about the money—well, some of it wasn’t. I liked him, I really did. He was sweet and very respectful. And then he changed, so fast. He wanted to kill me.”
53
* * *
“I’m going to record this, Cindy, is that all right?”
Cindy had already described everything to Chief Pearly, answered his questions over and over. Now she realized why Chief Pearly had made her repeat things. He’d done it on purpose, to help her remember all the details. She could tell it all easily now, in logical order, thanks to him. She described how Victor had followed her to her apartment in a mud-brown Chrysler, described exactly where she’d been standing in her apartment when he’d come at her.
Sherlock said, “That first time you kicked him, you said you meant to kick him in the crotch, but you got him in the belly. He screamed at you that you’d kicked his staples?”
“Yes. But what staples? Had he just had surgery? He didn’t act like he’d been in pain at all, not until I kicked him. He bowed in on himself, and I could tell I’d really hurt him. He screamed at me, but it was strange. His voice was high-pitched, and he sounded crazy mad.”
Sherlock felt the saliva dry in her mouth. She looked over at Dillon. He didn’t look surprised.
Chief Pearly said, “Cindy, are you sure you heard him say ‘staples’?”
Cindy nodded. “We talked about this, Chief. It had to be surgical staples. I mean, what other kind could there be? Then he came at me again, and again, and I finally managed to kick him in the crotch. That sent him to his knees, howling. I ran to the front door, but it was really humid and the door stuck. He was screaming at me in that mad, crazy voice again. I looked back, saw he had a gun. I knew I couldn’t get the gun away from him.” Her voice hitched. “I kept pulling on the door, and it opened just as he fired. I swear I felt the heat of the bullet as it went past my head, and see? On my neck? The Band-Aid? When the bullet slammed into the door, splinters came flying out. I ran and ran all the way to Chief Pearly’s house on Gleason Road. He went back to my apartment, but Victor was gone.”
Chief Pearly said, “Cindy, you said he was driving a mud-brown Chrysler.”
She nodded. “Like I told you, Chief, it didn’t occur to me to look at the license plate number. I’m sorry.”
“Yes, but you remember the plate was white, which means the car’s registered in Virginia. Agent Savich, you said you think it could be headed to Fort Pessel, Virginia?” Chief Pearly pinned Savich with a look. “How do you know he’s headed to Fort Pessel?”