By reason of insanity

32

The phone woke Catherine at 6:30 a.m. She was still on the couch, still dressed in her clothes from the evening before. She shook her head clear and tried to remember where she had left the phone. The insistent ringing drew her to the kitchen table.

"Good morning, Cat." It was Ed Shaftner. Editor Ed Shaftner.

She grunted. She meant to say, "Hi, Ed," but it came out sounding more like a groan.

"Were you sleeping?"

She double-checked the clock. "No, no, I'm awake."

"Good. Have you checked the papers yet?"

"No, Ed. Not yet." He could only be asking for one reason. Cat had been through this drill before-an early morning call. Another paper had scooped them.

" Richmond Times. Front page. The Avenger struck again and sent a note to the editor of the Richmond Times."

The statement hit Cat like a bolt of java, jolting her awake. The Avenger struck again? "What did he do? What's the note say?"

"You can read the whole thing online and give me a call back. We'll need something from your source. We can't let this story get away from us."

Cat was standing now, running her free hand through her hair, starting to pace. She felt like the whole world was off and running a race while she was mired at the starting line, tying her sneakers. Then another thought hit-what had she been doing last night?

"Was it last night, Ed? Did the Avenger strike last night?"

"No. A few nights ago. The Times just got the note yesterday and turned it over to police. They sat on the article until this morning."

A few nights ago. Cat thought about her nightmare a few nights ago, the way she woke up tired. She flashed to the nightmare and asked a question without thinking. "Did the victim die from a head wound?"

Ed paused, and Cat realized how random the question must have sounded. "They haven't recovered the body yet, Cat. Are you sure you're awake?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." A few minutes later, Cat was off the phone and on her computer, digesting every detail of the article. She called Jamarcus and left a message. Another hour passed before he returned the call.

He began by confirming the Times article. Paul Donaldson had disappeared. In a note to the Times, the Avenger claimed credit for Donaldson's apparent death and included a lock of Donaldson's hair. Before telling Cat anything else, Jamarcus extracted a promise of confidentiality and a promise not to run a story without independent verification. Then he dropped the bombshell: "We found a different hair fragment stuck to the seal of the envelope," Jamarcus said. "Donaldson's hair is blond. This piece of hair was dark."

Cat felt a rush of excitement-the killer's first mistake. She knew that the Avenger had been careful, using gloves, leaving no traces of DNA or fingerprints or footprints. But now, a single piece of hair.

"How long before the DNA comes back?" Cat asked.

"Forty-eight hours. We'll check it against our data bank. With any luck, we'll have something by Sunday."

Cat felt like she could take her first full breath in a week. She had never been so swallowed up by a story, had never felt her life being sucked into a nightmare like this as the story progressed. Now she could finally eliminate all shadows of doubt.

"We're trying to figure out how the Carvers play into all this," Jamarcus continued. "Paul Donaldson and Clarence Milburn both beat rape charges, but the Carvers didn't represent either one of them."

"Did the Carvers represent other rapists who beat the rap?"

"They're defense attorneys, Cat. That's what they do."

"Maybe this guy's going after rapists and their attorneys."

"That's our working theory," Jamarcus said, though he didn't sound convinced. "Or at least he's going after the innocent children of defense attorneys." He paused, apparently trying to decide whether he should open a fresh wound. "And our forensic psychiatrists are not at all sure that the Avenger is a man, Cat. The fact that the Avenger is targeting rapists might indicate a female."

The words triggered the usual reaction in Cat-churning stomach, tight chest, self-doubt-the symptoms of serious accusations against her. She remembered that Dr. Rebecca Ernst, the criminal profiler her own paper had featured in earlier articles, had come to the same conclusion about the Avenger's gender based on the methods used in the kidnappings. "What night was Donaldson killed?" Cat asked.

"His girlfriend says he didn't come home on Tuesday night." Jamarcus sounded like he was picking his words carefully. "Just to be sure, I would probably ask potential persons of interest about their alibis all the way through Wednesday."

His message wasn't lost on Cat. For the second time that morning, her mind raced back to Tuesday night. She had been home. By herself. Having nightmares. She distinctly remembered waking up Wednesday morning with the feeling that she needed to wash the blood from her hands and clothes.

Cat took a long breath, trying to calculate how much she could trust her source. In a few days, the police would have the results of the DNA test. Her name would be cleared. The only question was whether they would attach any credibility to her visions. If she wanted to help them later, she would have to establish the groundwork for reliability now.

"They haven't found the body yet-is that right?" Cat asked.

"Yes," said Jamarcus. "Why?"

"Will you do me a favor?" asked Cat. "If they find the body and Donaldson's death involves some kind of head wound, would you call me?"

"More visions?"

She trusted him. But not that much.

"Let's just call it a hunch," Cat said.

Two hours later, shortly after Cat arrived at her office, Jamarcus called back. This time he insisted on meeting in person. They agreed on the Aqua Bar inside the Crowne Plaza Hotel at Town Center in Virginia Beach. Cat nursed a sweet tea for ten minutes waiting for him.

When he came, he ordered a Coke. "Usual rules apply," he said cryptically.

"Right," said Cat.

"Which are?"

She sighed. "These comments are off-record and not for attribution. I'll take your name to the grave. I won't publish the facts unless you tell me I can or unless I get independent corroboration from another source."

"What about waterboarding? If they send you down to Guantanamo for waterboarding, will you tell them?"

Their little game with imagined tortures had become decidedly less fun since Cat had actually gone to jail protecting Jamarcus. "No exceptions," Cat said wearily. "Not even for waterboarding." She took a drink and gave him a look of impatience.

"Paul Donaldson's former attorney is missing," Jamarcus said. "The guy's wife was out of town last night, so the attorney wasn't missed until he didn't show at the office this morning. If it's related-and nobody's saying for sure whether it is or not yet-that would be two accused rapists and two defense attorneys." Jamarcus paused, allowing Cat to take it in. "The attorney's name is Rex Archibald."

"Whoa." Cat's mind started spinning as she tried to put the pieces together. "Archibald represented Donaldson. But the Carvers didn't represent Milburn."

"That's right," replied Jamarcus with a thin smile. "But I can guarantee you this: when the information about Rex Archibald goes public, the attorney who did represent Milburn will be sweating bullets."

"You almost sound happy about that," said Catherine.

"Oh yeah," said Jamarcus, trying to strike an appropriate tone of sadness in his voice. "I forgot. Defense lawyers are people too."

Early Friday afternoon, at the Neiman Marcus cafe, Quinn had a heart-to-heart talk with his sister. She looked exhausted, her dark eyes sunken and lifeless. She had been through so much already-abuse by a father and then a husband, a chaotic night of vengeance, separation from Sierra, a murder trial, and now a decision that no mother should be forced to make.

They talked for more than two hours. After Annie left, Quinn called Carla Duncan.

"She'll take the deal," Quinn said.

"You're doing the right thing," Carla replied. "I'll get back to you with some dates for a hearing."