“AND YOU DON’T WANT TOtell me what this is about before I call the feds?” Jim Emert sounded both intrigued and unhappy.
“Not really,” I said. “I’d rather tell you and Thornton at the same time.” Thornton—Special Agent Charles “Chip” Thornton—was assigned to the FBI’s Weapons of Mass Destruction Directorate. When Novak had been killed by a radiation source, the Bureau feared that it was the work of terrorists. Thornton had been sent down to Tennessee to head the investigation.
Emert sighed. “Dr. Bill Brockton, man of mystery. Hang on a second. I’m putting you on hold while I conference Thornton in. If I lose you, I’ll call you right back.” I heard a click, then silence. A minute passed, then a couple more. I’d just about decided I’d been disconnected when the phone clicked again.
“Doc, are you still there?”
“Yes, I’m here.”
“Special Agent Thornton?”
“Yeah, Chip here. Hello, Doc.”
“Hi, Chip. How’s life in our nation’s capital?”
“I miss Tennessee. I got spoiled down there.”
“You know where to find us.” I hesitated, unsure how to begin the discussion that I’d requested. “You guys still beating the bushes for Isabella?”
“We are. Nothing but leaves and branches so far, unfortunately. We’d thought she might turn up in Baton Rouge or Shreveport, since she grew up in Louisiana, but no trace of her there so far. Emert says they found a room in the Oak Ridge storm-sewer system where she holed up for at least a few days.”
“Incredible,” I said. “She must have stashed the food and stuff there before she killed Novak, in case she needed to lie low.” I was stalling, I realized. “Did Jim tell you there were bloody bandages in the trash they found in the room?”
“He did,” said Thornton. “He sent me an inventory of everything the forensic techs recovered from the scene.”
I couldn’t stall any longer. “Then you know she’s pregnant. Or probably is. Or was.”
“Yeah,” he said. “Puts an interesting twist on things, doesn’t it?”
The line went quiet. They were both waiting for me, the one who’d requested the conference call, to continue. “So,” I began, “about that interesting twist…” I foundered, but neither one seemed inclined to help me out. “I need to tell you guys that I slept with Isabella. I’m probably the one who got her pregnant.”
“Damn, Doc,” said Emert.
“Go on,” prompted Thornton.
“It was just once,” I said. “A couple of weeks before we found out she was the one who’d killed Novak. She’d helped me find the place where the soldier’s body was buried back in 1945. I…Iliked her. She came over to my house one night….”
“I know,” said Thornton.
“What?” said Emert.
“What?” I echoed. “You know? You knew? How?”
“We had you under surveillance,” he said.
“Youwhat ? Why the hell did you have me under surveillance?”
“Christ, Doc,” said Emert. “Could it be because you were having an affair with a deranged killer?”
“Good grief, don’t be stupid, Emert,” said Thornton cheerfully. “You think we knew she was a deranged killer but decided to let the Doc get a little nooky before we arrested her? You think Dr. Brockton was weeks ahead of the Bureau and Oak Ridge’s finest in solving the crime?”
“Okay,” said the detective testily, “so whydid you put him under surveillance?”
“Because we thought he might be at risk. Novak was dead from radiation exposure, Dr. Garcia was badly injured, and Dr. Brockton and his assistant were also exposed. Hell, Emert,you were exposed—we thoughtyou might be at risk, too.”
“So why didn’t you put me under surveillance?” badgered the detective.
“Maybe we did,” said Thornton.
“Shit,” said Emert again. “Can I just say for the record that I’m feeling totally out of the loop here, in every way possible?”
“Sure you can,” said Thornton, still cheerful. “Nothing personal, though. The Novak case was, and is, a very high-profile case. We put a lot of resources into it, especially early on, when we thought there might be a threat of terrorism with nuclear materials. There are all sorts of avenues we’ve pursued that we haven’t felt the need to disclose to local law enforcement.”
“Excuse me, guys,” I said. “Fascinating as I find this jurisdictional discussion, and loath as I am to return to my personal shame, I’m wondering if you need to ask me more questions. Chip, since you already knew that Isabella had spent the night at my house, had you already figured out what I was calling about today?”
“I had a pretty good idea,” he said. “Soon as I saw ‘home pregnancy test, positive,’ on the inventory of stuff from the sewer, the lightbulb went on.”