Point Blank

pocket.
    Sherlock said, “Let’s head back outside. We need to get out of here to call for help.”
    Savich said, “Dix, did you say your uncle-in-law is the director of Stanislaus, Dr. Gordon Holcombe?”
    “Yes. If we can’t ID her real quick, he’ll be able to help us.”
    AT THREE O’CLOCK in the afternoon, the body of Erin Bushnell, age twenty-two, a very talented violinist from Sioux City, Iowa, was zipped into a body bag in the back of the Loudoun County medical examiner’s van and on its way to the morgue in the basement of the Loudoun County hospital. As they watched the white van make its way slowly through the now-slushy snow Dix said, “The ME, Burt Himple, he’s good, Savich. I think he had some training at Quantico. After meeting you and Sherlock, he
    ’ll be real careful not to screw up anything.”
    Savich looked after the van. “I gave him Dr. Conrad’s name and number at Quantico if he wants to talk anything over.”
    Dix said to Ruth, “I think you’re right. Erin Bushnell was probably lying dead in there when you first crawled into the chamber.” Dix paused, looked over at his deputy, Lee Hickey, who’d ticketed Erin Bushnell for speeding a couple of months ago and identified her immediately. “I asked her to go out with me but she told me she was seeing someone,” Lee had said and been violently ill. Savich said, “The murderer probably had just placed her there, posed her to suit some insane directive in his mind, and heard you come in, Ruth. It sounds to me like you were drugged somehow, or gassed—
    that he somehow rendered you helpless.”
    Chappy, who’d been sitting in the Range Rover, had come over to them when the forensic people had carried the body away in its zippered green bag. He stood watching the dozen or so people moving in and out of the cave entrance. “This has to be the strangest day of my life.”
    “It sure ranks up there, all right,” Dix agreed.
    “What I don’t understand is why Ruth is alive.”
    Savich said, “If Dix hadn’t found Ruth in his woods, we would have searched the cave until there wasn’t a bat left who hadn’t had his wings stretched and examined for clues. Maybe the killer didn’t want to leave her here, knew since she was an FBI agent, there’d be a huge manhunt, centering right here at Winkel’s Cave.”
    “Hello, people, it’s me, Ruth. I’m right here. I’m alive.”
    Dix said, “And all of us are real happy about that, Ruth.”
    “You’re going to go see that twerp-ass Twister now, aren’t you?” Chappy asked.
    “Yes. We also need to find out where she lived. Sorry, Chappy, but you can’t come with us. Hey, why don’t you go finalize a buyout of the Bank of America, okay?”
    Chappy shook his head. “I know Twister, Dix, know him down to the molecules that make that shifty little pissant tick. You can’t believe a word he says. I’ll be able to tell you if he’s trying to cover up, to protect that precious school of his. I knew every one of his tricks by the time he was ten.”
    “Chappy,” Dix said, “Why don’t you tell our FBI agents how you really feel about Uncle Gordon.”
    “He’s a sly, twisted little weasel.”
    Sherlock asked, “Why on earth would your brother hide anything, sir? We’re only seeing him first because he’s the big cheese at Stanislaus, nothing more, and he can direct us to her friends and teachers.
    ”
    Chappy opened his mouth, shut it, then gave a deep sigh. “I can’t acquire the Bank of America. I tried a couple of months ago, but they’ve got a stranglehold on all the stock options and the CEO is more shark than human—hey, that was a joke. Damn, what a day. All right, I’m going, but I want you to keep me in the loop on this. You promise, Dix?”
    Dix nodded. “I promise. Deputy Moran is going to drive you home. Ah, Chappy, don’t get on the phone to Uncle Gordon, all right?”
    THE CAMPUS OF Stanislaus School of Music was set some four miles east of Maestro, sprawled in its own private wilderness. Mountains formed a line to the north, with thick forests of oak, maple, and pine climbing their lower slopes. Closer in were low hills, little humps of land really, covered mostly with thick blackberry bushes that thinned toward the east into a wide, flat valley hidden under snow. In the late Monday afternoon light, the campus looked like a precious stone in a matching setting, its red brick buildings clustered around a large main quadrangle, surrounded by