Page 114 of Sharp Force

“The lady who lives across the street said she recognized Zain Willard from the news,” Hank explains as he follows the HumelsineParkway, dense trees on either side. “And that he’d been spotted visiting Georgine Duvall’s house often.”

“For how long?” Benton asks.

“Years,” Hank says.

“When was the last time he was there?” I inquire.

“According to that same neighbor, early last month,” Hank replies. “She always knew when he was around because his car is really loud.”

As we near the York River, I’m moved by waves of déjà vu. I remember the fun Lucy and I had long ago when I’d bring her to this part of the world, teaching her the history of how America got started.

CHAPTER 36

Historic Yorktown is splendidly decorated, strands of LEDs spangling lampposts and trees. Men dressed as American Revolutionary soldiers march along Main Street, the stirring fife-and-drum music reverberating. Gift shops, art galleries and museums are crowded this sunny Christmas afternoon.

Leaving the commercial area, we reach battlefields from the war against the British. Wooden palings are weathered gray around vast expanses of brownish-green grass. A tall granite column rises above the tree line, commemorating Cornwallis’s surrender to George Washington and the Comte de Rochambeau in 1781.

When Lucy would visit during my Richmond years, we’d explore all sorts of places, each trip an education. She’d look up details in advance, and I’d quiz her in the car. If she got all the answers right, we’d stop for lunch at the restaurant of her choice. Naturally, she never missed a question, and we always ended up at Wendy’s.

Beyond woods is Georgine Duvall’s cloistered neighborhood on a sheer cliff overlooking the York River. Her old frame house is one-story and small, painted dark green with a slate roof.

“Anybody hungry?” Hank asks, pulling into the paved driveway.

“Yes,” we reply as he parks by the front porch.

He says there’s a Raising Cane’s fried chicken restaurant close by, and we give him our order. An elderly man steps out of the house on the left, shielding his eyes from the sun as it settles lower on the horizon. He stares long and hard at us before walking back inside, shutting the door.

It’s all over the news that Georgine was murdered by the Phantom Slasher. I can imagine the uneasiness of her neighbors.

“Are you coming in?” Benton asks Hank.

“No, sir,” he says. “I’ve been inside already, and it’s a shoebox. I don’t want to get in the way.”

“The place has been searched,” Benton assumes.

“We’re all squared away.”

“Do we need to suit up in PPE?” I ask.

“I don’t see any reason for that,” he tells us. “It’s obvious nobody’s been in here since she was last. And we’ve had the place under surveillance since we were notified about her murder.”

“What about while you were picking us up?” Benton asks. “Because we have to worry about other people who might be interested in her records.”

“See that car in the driveway across the street?” Hank points at a white Volvo sedan. “One of ours.”

The car is backed in, the engine off, and I can see the silhouette of someone in the driver’s seat. Benton and I open our doors, climbing out.

“Off to rustle up lunch.” Hank shifts the SUV out of park. “Call if you run into problems.”

He drives away as Benton unlocks the front door with the key Lucy gave him, and the air inside is chilly and stale. No doubt Georgine turned down the heat before leaving for Mercy Island.I turn on the overhead lights and open the draperies in the living area.

Ceilings are low, the paneling stained dark, everything I see tired and dreary except the view. I look out at trees leading to the sheer face of the cliff, and beyond the river as wide as a bay. Between two windows overlooking the water is an antique partner’s desk with a printer on it. The computer that went with it is gone, seized by the FBI.

I find the thermostat, turning up the temperature.

“We’re probably going to need to wear our coats until it warms up in here,” I tell Benton as the heat clunks on, dusty warm air blowing from vents.

It’s unspoken that we’re going to look around before anything else. We start with the kitchen, small with coppertone appliances that haven’t been updated in decades. There’s nothing inside the refrigerator except condiments, water and wine. Georgine must have cleared out everything perishable before leaving for Mercy Island.