A Maidens Grave

intruder coming through her window. She blinked away the sleep and gasped.
    Potter held up his hands to her, as if surrendering, an expression of horror on his own face at the thought of how he must have frightened her. Still, he was more perplexed than anything else: Why on earth, he wondered, would she be wearing stereo headphones?
     
    Melanie Charrol opened the door and motioned her visitors inside.
    The first thing that Arthur Potter saw was a large watercolor of a violin, surrounded by surreal quarter- and half-notes in rainbow colors.
    “Sorry about the window,” he said slowly. “You can deduct it from your taxes.”
    She smiled.
    “Evening, ma’am,” Charlie Budd said. And Potter introduced her to Tobe Geller and Henry LeBow. She looked out the door at the car parked two doors down, the two people standing behind a hedge, looking at the house.
    He saw her face. He said to her, “They’re ours.”
    Melanie frowned. He explained, “Two troopers. I sent them here earlier tonight to keep an eye on you.”
    She shook her head, asking, Why?
    Potter hesitated. “Let’s go inside.”
    With flashing lights, a Hebron PD squad car pulled up. Angeline Scapello, looking exhausted though no longersoot-smudged, climbed out and hurried up the stairs. She nodded to everyone, and like her fellow threat management team members she wasn’t smiling.
    Melanie’s house had a homey air about it. Thick drapes. In the air, incense. Spicy. Old prints, many of them of classical composers, hung on the walls, which were covered with striped paper, forest green and gold. The largest print was of Beethoven. The room was full of antique tables, beautiful Art Nouveau vases. He thought with some embarrassment of his own Georgetown apartment, a shabby place. He’d stopped decorating it thirteen years ago.
    Melanie was wearing blue jeans, a black cashmere sweater. Her hair was no longer in the awkward braid but hung loose. The bruises and cuts on her face and hands were quite prominent, as were the chestnut Betadine stains. Potter turned to her, tried to think of words that required exaggerated lip movements. “Lou Handy’s escaped.”
    She didn’t understand at first. When he repeated it her eyes went wide with horror. She started to sign then stopped in frustration and grabbed the stack of paper.
    LeBow touched her arm. “Can you type?” He mimicked keyboarding.
    She nodded. He opened his two computers, booted them into word-processing programs, hooked up a serial port cable, and set the units side by side. He sat at one, Melanie at the other.
    Where did he go? she typed.
    We don’t know, that’s why we came to see you.
    Melanie nodded slowly. Did he kill anyone escaping? She could touch-type and she kept her eyes on Potter as she asked this.
    He nodded. Wilcox—the one you called Stoat—was killed. Troopers too.
    Again she nodded, frowning, thinking over the implications of this.
    Potter typed, I have to ask you to do something you’re not going to want to do.
    She looked at his message, wrote: I’ve already been through the worst. Her hands danced over the keys invisibly, not a single mistake.
    God compensates.
    I want you to go back to the slaughterhouse. In your mind.
    Her fingers hovered over the keyboard. She wrote nothing but merely nodded.
    We don’t understand certain things about the barricade. If you can help us to I think we can figure out where. he’s gone.
    “Henry,” Potter called, rising and pacing. LeBow and Tobe caught each other’s eyes. “Call up his profile and the chronology. What do we know about him?”
    LeBow began to read but Potter said, “No, let’s just speculate.”
    “He’s a clever boy,” Budd offered. “He comes across like a hick but he’s got some smarts.”
    Potter added, He plays the dummy but that’s largely an act, I think.
    Melanie typed, Amoral.
    Yes.
    Dangerous, Budd offered.
    Let’s go beyond that.
    He’s evil, she wrote. Evil personified.
    But what kind of evil?
    Silence for a moment. Angie typed, Cold death.
    Potter nodded and spoke aloud, “Right. Lou Handy’s cold evil. Not passionate evil. Let’s keep that in mind.”
    Angie continued, Not a sadist. Then he’d be passionate. He feels nothing for the pain he causes. If he needs pain or death to get his way, he’ll cause pain or death. Like blinding the hostages—simply another tool for him.
    Potter leaned forward and typed, So, he’s calculating.
    “And?” Budd prompted.
    Potter shook his head.