Fear itself

Skairdykat
1

The media was already gathering outside Conroy Circle, which was, as the name suggests, a cul-de-sac. Sawhorses blocked the entrance; Linda flashed her shield, and the D.C. cops manning the barricades let her through.

I think we can probably rule out a false alarm, Linda told herself wryly, as the Geo rolled past the media circus to join the cop circus. Patrol cars, unmarked Bu-cars, ambulances, Hostage Rescue Team in full ninja gear straggling out of number seventeen, Evidence Response Team straggling in, paramedics stowing away their gurneys, coroner’s men unfolding theirs, D.C. cops standing around everywhere. Linda parked behind an Animal Control van. As she reached for her cane, an agent wearing a blue windbreaker with the letters FBI in yellow across the back approached her.

“You Abruzzi?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’m Joe Buchanan. Thanks for coming down.” He opened the door for Linda, helped her out of the car. “We figured since you were familiar with the house, you might be able to spot if anything was missing, anything out of place. You up for a walk-through?”

“Yes, sir,” said Linda, surprised at how readily she was able to don a brisk professional demeanor. Maybe feeling numb inside somehow made it easier. If so, she was all for numb. “What have we got?”

Or perhaps she was more transparent than she’d hoped-Buchanan put his hand on her shoulder. “I understand these people were friends of yours?”

Linda nodded warily.

“It’s not pretty in there.”

“Then let’s get it over with,” said Linda. Too late to turn squeamish now. She’d played with their lives and was responsible for their deaths-the least she could do was look at their corpses. She felt as if she owed them that much, somehow.

The walk-through, though it was Linda’s first “wet” crime scene (not unusual for an FBI agent-the Bureau was rarely the initial responder or lead agency on a fresh homicide), wasn’t so bad initially. Not downstairs, anyway, which was both surprising, because they were just removing the blanket covering the body on the couch as she limped into the living room, and predictable, because it was probably the shock of seeing Jim’s savagely mutilated corpse that caused Linda’s mind to protectively dissociate, to pull back in order to distance itself from the carnage.

Linda’s detachment was tested in a different way when she glanced into the guest bedroom. Nothing gruesome about it-the shocking part was that it looked pretty much the way it had the night she’d moved out. That’s what got to her: for a second, she saw her own corpse lying on that bed, the bed she’d slept in for three weeks, the bed she’d have been sleeping in last night if not for sheer undeserved luck.

She shook it off, followed Buchanan up the stairs and into the Gees’ bedroom, feeling as if she were seeing and hearing everything from inside a deep-sea-diver’s helmet. There were blood spatters on one of the bed pillows; black hair littered the floor around the vanity. Linda turned to Buchanan, asked the question with her eyes.

“She’s in the bathroom,” he replied. “In the tub.”

“Yes, he likes to bathe them,” said Linda.

Gloria was not alone.

“I think I found the envenoming point,” said Reilly, the forensic technician kneeling beside the tub, when Buchanan and Linda appeared in the doorway. With gloved fingers he tilted Gloria’s shorn head up and to the side to show them a small, ragged-edged hole in her neck.

“Not how I pictured a snakebite,” said Buchanan, peering over his shoulder.

“Coral snakes have short mouths and stubby fangs-they have to chew their way in.”

“How about the facial lacerations?”

“Razor-probably some kind of box cutter or utility knife, with the blade extended a few millimeters.”

Coral snakes…chew their way…razor blade. Think about something else. “Why are her eyes drooping like that?” asked Linda.

“That’s one of the symptoms of a neurotoxin, which would fit with the coral ID. Corals are Elapidae-neurotoxic venom, borderline lethal.” Then, to Buchanan: “Did they find it yet?”

“No, they’re sending for a dog.” He turned to Linda, still in the doorway. “First man up the stairs saw this skinny striped snake coming out of the bedroom. Red, black, and yellow. They think either it got into the walls, or else it’s up in the attic.”

“I’m rooting for the attic,” Linda said weakly.

“Don’t worry,” said Reilly. “Like I said, coral venom is only borderline lethal, plus there’s often a delayed reaction, plus Animal Control’s supposed to be on their way over with the specific antivenin.”

“When did you become such an expert on venomous snakes, Reilly?” Buchanan asked him.

“Since Herro got the printout from Poison Control about fifteen minutes ago.” Reilly nodded toward the fax stuffed into his kit. “You think there’s a chance in hell I’d be up here otherwise?”

“Could I see that?” Linda asked.

“Here you go.”

…reaction to envenomatim may be delayed from four to twelve hours…. Clinical manifestations…bilateral ptosis, diplopia, anisocoria, myalgia, dyspnea, respiratory paralysis. Death from acute respiratory failure.

Linda handed the sheet back to Reilly. “Translation?” Still all business.

“Ptosis-that’s the drooping eyelids. Diplopia is double vision, anisocoria is the different sized pupils, myalgia is muscle pain, dyspnea is air hunger. Respiratory paralysis is actually paralysis of the diaphragm. Basically, she suffocated to death. He must have held it right up to her jugular, see…?”Again he tilted Gloria’s head up.

“Don’t do that,” snapped Linda, who was still about a million miles away emotionally, but approaching earth at light speed.

“What’s your problem? I guarantee you she doesn’t care.”

“She was my college roommate,” Linda said softly, as Buchanan put his arm around her shoulder again and steered her back into the bedroom.

“I feel like I’m missing something here, Abruzzi. What’s the connection with Childs-what was he doing here?”

By now, Linda should have been ready for the question. She’d had plenty of time to prepare her answer on the ride down: Gloria was afraid of snakes. I was researching the case; I told her about phobia.com. She must have gone on-line. Childs got her address somehow.

Yeah, that’d work, she’d told herself, that’d play. But that was before she’d seen Jim’s mangled, eyeless corpse in those ridiculous red bikini briefs; seen Gloria exposed, naked and vulnerable for once. Roomed with her for two years, never once saw her naked or vulnerable.

Suddenly Linda felt immensely tired. “It’s a long story,” she told Buchanan. “Is there someplace I can sit down?”