11th hour

Chapter 49

I can give a speech when I have to, but I’d rather be on slops for a week than face the media in a formal setting. Fifty or sixty pairs of eyes focused on me as I took the microphone.

I said, “Good morning,” then got into it.

“Monday morning, two skulls were discovered at the back door of the main house in the Ellsworth compound. These skulls were unearthed by a person or persons unknown who dug them out of the back garden and may have gotten onto the property by breaking the lock on the front gate. Along with the two skulls were two index cards with the hand-printed numbers one hundred and four and six thirteen.”

Someone shouted, “That’s for the number of heads that were buried, right?”

“No,” I said. “We have no reason to believe that there are hundreds of heads. CSU has disinterred seven heads from the Ellsworth compound, all female, all unidentified, but we are working with forensics on attaching names to these victims and should have news later this week.”

“What about the identity of the Jane Doe whose picture ran in the Chronicle?”

“We’re withholding her name until we have a positive ID. We expect to have that information for you shortly.”

“What about Harry Chandler? Is he a suspect?”

“Mr. Chandler is cooperating fully with the police and he is not charged with any crimes.”

I felt like I was in a batting cage facing an automated pitching machine set on kill. Sweat beaded at my hairline. My voice caught in my throat as overlapping comments and questions came flying at me.

“But the heads were buried in Chandler’s backyard.”

“Where are the bodies?”

“Is it true that you have witnesses?”

“What happened to the bodies?”

“How were the victims killed?”

I avoided a few more inside fastballs, then Brady came to my rescue. He waved his hands and said, “Thank you, that’s all for today.”

I left the room through the back door. I went along the hallway, took the stairs down, then exited into the astonishingly beautiful rotunda.

I was glad to get into the sunshine, and the farther I got from room 200 the better. I was heading toward the garage when my phone buzzed. I looked to see — it was a text from Cindy.

You did good.

I smiled and put my phone back in my jacket pocket, then heard a man’s voice call my name.

Naturally, Jason Blayney had followed me. I should have made a bet, because I would have won money on it.

“No comment,” I said to Blayney. “I’m done commenting for the day.”

“Have lunch with me,” he said. “Please.”