The sun is firmly in the sky as I sit in my office to sort out what to do next. Three types of professionals arrived after my house blew up six weeks earlier: firefighters, police officers, and paramedics. Ray told me this. They didn't talk to Ray, who had dragged me out of sight into the woods, but I contacted them later once I had regained consciousness. I pleaded innocent to any knowledge of the explosion: its cause or the reason it was rigged. At that time they didn't tell me of any human remains found in the vicinity. That, of course, doesn't mean a body wasn't found. The police could have withheld that information from me. For all I know I am still under investigation for the explosion and whatever was discovered in the area.
I need a contact with the local police and I need it immediately. The paramedics and the hospital would have the remains of Yaksha, but if I do not go through the proper channels and authorities, they will show me nothing. With my extensive contacts and wealth, I can develop a contact, but it will take time. As I sit at my desk, thinking, a light on my phone begins to blink. It is an out-of-state call. I pick it up.
"Yes?" I say.
"Alisa?"
"Yes. Agent Joel Drake-how nice of you to call." I make a decision immediately, figuring it is a sign from Krishna that the FBI man has phoned at this precise instant. Of course, I do not believe in signs, I am just desperate. I add, "I've been meaning to call you. There are some things we should discuss that I failed to bring up last night."
He is interested. "Such as?"
"I have a lead on who is behind the murders."
He takes a moment. "Are you serious?"
"Yes. I have a very good lead."
"What is it?"
"I will only tell you in person. Fly into Portland this afternoon and I'll pick you up at the airport. I guarantee you'll be glad you came."
"I thought you said you wouldn't be leaving town for a few days?"
"I lied. Call the airlines. Book your flight."
He chuckles. "Hold on a second. I can't fly up to Oregon in the middle of an investigation. Tell me what you know and then we can talk."
"No," I say firmly. "You must come here."
"Why?"
"The murderer is from here."
"How do you know that?"
I pitch my voice in my most beguiling manner. "I know many things, Agent Drake. That one of the guys you found in the coliseum had a javelin through his chest, the other had his skull stabbed open, and every bone in the neck of the third was shattered. Don't ask me how I know these things and don't tell your FBI pals about me. Not if you want to solve this case and get all the credit. Think about it, Joel, you can be the big hero."
My knowledge stuns him. He considers. "You mis?understand me, Alisa. I don't need to be a hero. I just want to stop the killing."
He is being sincere. I like that.
"It will stop if you come here," I say softly.
He closes his eyes; I hear them close. My voice will not leave his mind. He wonders if I am some kind of witch. "Who are you?" he asks.
"It doesn't matter. I will hold while you book your flight. Take the earliest one."
"I will have to tell my partners where I'm going."
"No. Just the two of us are going to work on this. That's my condition."
He chuckles again, this time without mirth. "You're pretty gutsy for a young woman."
I think of the knife that stabbed me in the belly less than twelve hours ago. "I have strong guts," I agree.
Joel puts me on hold. A few minutes later he returns. His plane will land in three hours. I agree to meet him at the gate. After setting down the phone, I leave my office and crawl into bed beside Ray. He stirs and turns his back to me but doesn't wake. Portland is an hour and a half away. I have only ninety minutes to rest before I must take on the enemy.
Joel looks tired when I pick him up at the airport. I don't imagine he got much sleep the previous night He immediately starts with his questions, but I ask him to wait until we are in my car. Once inside I put on music, a tape of my playing the piano. We drive toward Mayfair. I am still thinking how I should approach this matter. Since we are dealing with evi?dence that points toward a mysterious agency, I am not worried about staying conservative.
"Who is the pianist?" he asks finally.
"Do you like it?"
"The music is haunting, and the pianist is wonder?ful."
An appropriate choice of words. "It's me."
"Are you serious?"
"You have asked me that twice today. I am always serious, Agent Drake."