Anything you might be able to do at the field office here?"

She shrugged. "I know a couple people who went through the Academy with me."

At the very least she could find another agent to take her to the gym so she could work off her ugly mood, I started to say, but held my tongue.

"I don't want wine." She set the glass down on the bar.

"I think I'll just drink beer for a while."

"Why are you so angry?"

"I'm not angry." She got a Beck's Light out of the small refrigerator and popped off the cap.

"Do you want to sit down?"

"No," she said. "By the way, I've got the Book, so don't get alarmed when you don't find it in your briefcase."

"What do you mean, you have it?" I looked uneasily at her.

"I was reading it while you were out talking to Mrs. Eddings." She took a swallow of beer. "I thought it would be a good idea to go over it again in case there's something we didn't notice."

"I think you've looked at it quite enough," I flatly said.

"in fact, I think all of us have."

"There's a lot of Old Testament-type stuff in there. I mean, it's not like it's satanic, really."

I watched her in silence as I wondered what was really going on in that incredibly complicated brain.

"I actually find it rather interesting, and believe it has power only if you allow it to have power. I don't allow it, so it doesn't bother me," she was saying.

I set down my glass. "Well, something certainly is."

"Only thing bothering me is I'm stranded and tired. So guess I'll just go to bed," she said. "I hope you sleep well."

But I did not. Instead, I sat before the fire worrying about her, for I probably knew my niece better than anyone did.

Perhaps she and Janet had simply had a fight and repairs would be made in the morning, or maybe she really did have too much to do, and not being able to return to Charlottesville was more of a problem than I knew.

I turned the fire off and checked the burglar alarm one more time to make certain it was armed, then I walked back to my bedroom and shut the door. Still, I could not sleep, so I sat up in lamplight listening to the weather as I studied the journal that had been printed by Eddings' fax machine.

There were eighteen numbers dialed over the past two weeks, and all of them were curious and suggestive that he certainly had been home at least some of the time and doing something in his office.

What also struck me right away was that if he had worked at home, I would have expected numerous transmissions to the AP office downtown. But this was not the case. Since mid-December, he had faxed his office only twice, at least from the machine we had found at his house.

This was simple enough to determine because he had entered a speed dial label for the wire service's fax number, so "AP DESK" appeared in the journal's identification column, along with less obvious labels like -NVSE,"DRMS,"

"CPT" and "LM." Three of those numbers had Tidewater, Central and Northern Virginia area codes and exchanges, while the area code for DRMS was Memphis, Tennessee.

I tried to sleep but information drifted past my eyes and questions spoke because I could not shut them off. I wondered who Eddings had been contacting in these different places, or if it mattered. But what I could not get away from was where he had died. I could still see his body suspended in that murky river, tethered by a useless hose caught on a rusting screw. I could feel his stiffness as I held him in my arms and swam him up with me. I had known before I had ever reached the surface that he had been dead many hours.

At three A.M. I sat up in bed and stared at the darkness.

The house was quiet except for its usual shifting sounds, and I simply could not turn off my conscious mind. Reluctantly, I put my feet on the floor, my heart beating hard, as if it were startled that I should stir at such an hour. In my office I shut the door and wrote the following brief letter:

TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN:

I realize this is a fax number, otherwise I would call in person. I need to know your identification, if possible, as your number has shown up on the printout of a recently deceased individual's fax machine. Please contact me at your earliest convenience, If you need verification of the authenticity of this communication, contact Captain Pete Marino of the Richmond Police Department.

I gave telephone numbers and signed my title and my name, and I faxed the letter to every speed dial listing in Eddings' journal, except, of course, the Associated Press.

For a while I sat at my desk, staring rather glazed, as if my fax machine were going to solve this case immediately. But it remained silent as I read and waited. At the reasonable hour Of Six A.M., I called Marino.

"I take it there was no riot," I said after the phone banged and dropped and his voice mumbled over the line.

"Good, you're awake," I added.

"What time is it?" He sounded as if he were in a stupor.

"It's time for you to rise and shine."

"We locked up maybe five people. The rest got quiet after that and went back inside. What are you doing awake?"

"I'm always awake. And by the way, I could use a ride to work today and I need groceries."

"Well, put on some coffee," he said. "I guess I'm coming over."

Chapter 8

WHEN HE ARRIVED, LUCY WAS STILL IN BED AND I was making coffee. I let him in, dismayed again when I looked out at my street. Overnight, Richmond had turned to glass, and I had heard on the news that falling branches and trees had knocked down power lines in several sections of the city.

"Did you have any trouble?" I asked, shutting the front door.

"Depends on what kind you mean." Marino set down groceries, took off his coat and handed it to me.

"Driving."

"I got chains. But I was out till after midnight and I'm tired as hell."

"Come on. Let's get you some coffee."

"None of that unleaded shit."

"Guatemalan, and I promise it's leaded."

"Where's the kid?"

"Asleep."

"Yo. Must be nice." He yawned again.

I began making fresh fruit salad in my kitchen with its many windows. Through them the river was pewter and slow. Rocks were glazed, the woods a fantasy just beginning to sparkle in the wan morning light. Marino poured his own coffee, adding plenty of sugar and cream.

"You want some?" he asked.

"Black, please."

"I think by now you don't have to tell me."

"I never make assumptions," I said, getting plates out of a cabinet. "Especially about men, who seem to have a Mendelian trait which precludes them from remembering details important to women."

"Yeah, well, I could give you a list of things Doris never remembered, starting with using my tools and not putting them back," he said of his ex-wife.

I worked at the counter while he looked around as if he wanted to smoke. I wasn't going to let him.

"I guess Tony never fixed coffee for you," he said.

"Tony never did much of anything for me except try to get me pregnant."

"He didn't do a very good job unless you didn't want kids."

"Not with him I didn't."

"What about now?"

"I still don't want them with him. Here." I handed Marino a plate. "Let's sit."

"Wait a minute. This is it?"

"What else do you want?"

"Shit, Doc. This ain't food. And what the hell are these little green slices with black things."

"The kiwi fruit I told you to get. I'm sure you must have had it before," I patiently said. "I've got bagels in the freezer."

"Yeah, that'd be good. With cream cheese. You got any poppyseed?"

"if you have a drug test today you'll come up positive for morphine."

"And don't give me any of that nonfat stuff. It I s like eating paste." I