Page 110 of Sharp Force

“And Zain’s feelings about Georgine?” Benton asks. “I canunderstand there being resentment. Sometimes when we’re dependent on someone, we can feel controlled and angry.”

“Don’t try your bullshit investigative tactics on me,” the senator warns him. “All you people want is to catch and convict someone. What could be better than to take down Calvin Willard’s nephew? That’s the truth of the matter, isn’t it? Don’t make this political.”

“We aren’t,” Benton says. “And you shouldn’t either.”

“Do you think I don’t know that Bose Flagler’s already got his eye on the prize?”

“I don’t know about that,” Benton replies. “Has he contacted you?”

“The asshole wouldn’t dare,” Calvin says as if he hates the commonwealth’s attorney. “But I have my sources. I’m aware of what’s rattling around in his scheming head. He knows I should be the next president, and he’d like nothing better than to derail me. And in case you’ve not figured it out yet, you two had better be careful what side you’re on.”

“We don’t have a side,” Benton tells him.

“Everybody has a side. They just don’t admit it. And I’ll give you a helpful tip.” His expression turns ugly. “In fact, never mind. You’ve already gotten my helpful tip. Be careful who you decide to mess with.”

He returns to his nephew’s room, closing the door. As Benton and I leave the ward, we don’t say a word to each other. I look for Reba O’Leary to tell her goodbye and good luck. But there’s no sign of her. A few minutes later, I push the elevator button, the door creeping open.

“I think we might know who put Trad Whalen up to planting that device on our car,” I say to Benton as we board, nobody around.

“Without being direct, the senator made sure we got the messagethat if something happens to his beloved nephew?” Benton replies. “And most of all if anyone interferes with the senator’s political future? The price will be a very high one.”

“Such as someone hacking into our car and causing us to crash. Would Zain’s psychological problems fit with him killing his psychiatrist? Would it fit with him being the Phantom Slasher?” I ask point-blank.

“Depending on how much resentment he has, and how powerless he feels,” Benton says. “The Slasher’s crimes may be lust murders, but most of all they’re about power and rage.”

“I would think having an overbearing omnipotent uncle and a babysitting neurotic psychiatrist would be enough to make anyone feel powerless. If not homicidal,” I reply.

I can’t stop thinking about Lucy’s first year at UVA when she sometimes spent the night at Georgine’s house.

“Thank God Lucy stopped seeing her,” I say to Benton. “Thank God she never moved into the Duvalls’ house.”

“Lucy wouldn’t,” Benton says as the elevator stops on the first floor. “But her boundaries were violated all the same.”

We’re quiet as we weave through patients, and visitors with flowers and balloons, and hospital staff. Benton’s face is unreadable as we hurry through the hospital lobby and out the front door while he looks at his phone. The sun is warm, the air fresh and cool as we reach the visitors’ parking lot.

“Are you convinced he’s not the killer?” I ask now that it’s safe to talk.

“I’m not convinced of anything. His pathological relationship with Georgine certainly primes him for feeling controlled by her. He’s bound to have a lot of rage. He might have secretly hated her,” Benton explains, and I think of my niece again.

While she was Georgine’s patient at UVA, Lucy was angry most of the time, usually taking it out on me. I didn’t understand why, and maybe now I do.

“No matter what, Zain is going to be pursued as if he’s the killer.” Benton has his keyless fob out, our SUV in the next row of cars. “He’ll be dragged through the media, and already is.”

“And that’s damaging to Calvin Willard’s bid for president.” I state the obvious.

“It’s already happening, and of course he knows it. That’s one of the reasons he was such an asshole. He’s freaking out.” Benton unlocks our car doors. “Some Democrats are suggesting that he may not be the best one for the nomination. More of them would feel the same way had they heard the way he talked to us.”

“Sounds like the rats are already jumping ship.” I climb into the passenger’s seat.

Benton opens the console, taking a moment to scan with the spectrum analyzer, the noise floor bristling this close to a hospital. But nothing is detected that might make him think our SUV has been tampered with again.

CHAPTER 35

As we drive to Dulles International Airport, Benton is checking his mirrors. I can tell by the hard look on his face that he’s alerted on something.

“What is it?” I ask.

“The state police. Three cars behind us,” he says, and I turn around.