Hodges does, but lets Pete say it.
“Brooks got it in his head that he was some avenger of justice called Z-Boy. He came here, he killed Mrs. Babineau when she opened the door, then killed the doc himself when Babineau got in his Beemer and tried to flee. Brooks then drove to the hospital and fed Hartsfield a bunch of pills from the Babineaus’ private stash. I don’t doubt that part, because they had a fucking pharmacy in their medicine cabinet. And sure, he could have gotten up to the Brain Injury Clinic without any problem, he’s got an ID card, and he’s been a hospital fixture for the last six or seven years, but why? And what did he do with Babineau’s body? Because it’s not here.”
“Good question.”
Pete plunges on. “They’ll say Brooks loaded it into his own car and ditched it somewhere, probably in a ravine or a culvert, and probably when he was coming back from feeding Hartsfield those pills, but why do that when he left the woman’s body lying right there in the hall? And why come back here in the first place?”
“They’ll say—”
“Yeah, that he’s crazy! Sure they will! Perfect answer for anything that doesn’t make sense! And if Ellerton and Stover come up at all—which they probably won’t—they’ll say he killed them, too!”
If they do, Hodges thinks, Nancy Alderson will backstop the story, at least to a degree. Because it was undoubtedly Library Al that she saw watching the house on Hilltop Court.
“They’ll hang Brooks out to dry, wade through the press coverage, and call it good. But there’s more to it, Kerm. Got to be. If you know anything, if you’ve got even a single thread to pull, pull it. Promise me you will.”
I have more than one, Hodges thinks, but Babineau’s the key, and Babineau has disappeared.
“How much blood was in the car, Pete?”
“Not a lot, but forensics has already confirmed it’s Babineau’s type. That’s not conclusive, but . . . shit. I gotta go. Izzy and one of the SKID guys just came out the back door. They’re looking for me.”
“All right.”
“Call me. And if you need anything I can access, let me know.”
“I will.”
Hodges ends the call and looks up, wanting to fill Holly in, but Holly is no longer beside him.
“Bill.” Her voice is low. “Come in here.”
Puzzled, he walks to the door of his office, where he stops dead. Jerome is behind the desk, sitting in Hodges’s swivel chair. His long legs are splayed out and he’s looking at Dinah Scott’s Zappit. His eyes are wide open but empty. His mouth hangs ajar. There are fine drops of spittle on his lower lip. A tune is tinkling from the gadget’s tiny speaker, but not the same tune as last night—Hodges is sure of it.
“Jerome?” He takes a step forward, but before he can take another, Holly grabs him by the belt. Her grip is surprisingly strong.
“No,” she says in the same low voice. “You shouldn’t startle him. Not when he’s like that.”
“What, then?”
“I had a year of hypnotherapy when I was in my thirties. I was having problems with . . . well, never mind what I was having problems with. Let me try.”
“Are you sure?”
She looks at him, her face now pale, her eyes fearful. “No, but we can’t leave him like that. Not after what happened to Barbara.”
The Zappit in Jerome’s limp hands gives off a bright blue flash. Jerome doesn’t react, doesn’t blink, only continues staring at the screen while the music tinkles.
Holly takes a step forward, then another. “Jerome?”
No answer.
“Jerome, can you hear me?”
“Yes,” Jerome says, not looking up from the screen.
“Jerome, where are you?”
And Jerome says, “At my funeral. Everyone is there. It’s beautiful.”
17