Page 48 of Sharp Force

“What’s happened?” I retrieve my notebook and pen from the bedside drawer.

“The Phantom Slasher just struck again exactly like you were afraid would happen,” he replies. “I almost can’t believe it.”

“Please don’t tell me Dana Diletti…” I start to say.

“Here we were worrying about her all night, but that’s not whohe went after. It makes me wonder if siccing the fake ghost on her was to send us down the wrong rabbit hole,” Marino says. “We’re so busy thinking she’s the next to get whacked and meanwhile the Slasher has his sights set elsewhere.”

I jot down the date, December 25. Christmas. Benton plumps pillows behind him, sitting up, listening as he unlocks his phone.

“Two victims here in Alexandria,” Marino goes on. “The female, a psychiatrist, is dead in bed. The male victim still alive, Zain Willard, twenty-three years old, a grad student at William & Mary. He’s an intern at the White House based on the ID badge and other personal effects I found at the scene.”

“Willard? As in Senator Calvin Willard who’s running for president?” I ask while Benton scrolls through communications on his phone’s secure messaging app.

“I’m told that’s his uncle, explaining Zain Willard’s cushy gig in the West Wing and why the feds are rolling in. We can expect a shit show. It’s not a good time to be headed out on vacation,” Marino advises as if I’m a slacker.

“What about the female victim?” I turn the page in my notebook. “Do we have a name?”

“Georgine Duvall,” he replies, a chill of disbelief touching me. “The house where it happened belongs to her.”

“I may know who that is.” I look at Benton. “If it’s the same Georgine Duvall, we were acquainted back in Lucy’s UVA days.”

More than acquainted, it drums in my mind. I knew the psychiatrist well.

“Born in Charlottesville, D.O.B. August one, nineteen-sixty-five,” Marino recites. “Her husband, Liam Duvall, died eight years ago, according to what I found on the internet without asking Janet since she’s on my shit list at the moment.”

“It’s the same person based on information I’m getting as we’re talking,” Benton confirms.

“How awful.” I’m stunned. “What makes you so sure it’s the same killer? Let’s start with that.”

“The M.O. included the ghost levitating through the fog, and I saw it for myself this time.” Marino’s voice sounds excited. “Got to admit it’s enough to give you a heart attack.”

“Saw it where?” Benton frowns.

“I was out riding with Fruge,” Marino says. “It’s a long story, but put it this way. After I got home last night, Dorothy was in a bad enough snit that she told me to take a hike. So I did and thought I may as well make myself useful.”

He explains that Blaise Fruge is working through the night, and Marino decided to ride along. She picked him up at his house, and they weren’t far from Mercy Island when the call came in at 3:45 a.m.

“As we rolled up on the scene, Fruge and me saw the fake ghost,” he’s saying. “It crossed the street right in front of us.”

“Are you at the scene now?” I ask him. “It sounds like you’re outdoors near an airport?”

“That’s because I’m about a mile downriver from Washington National, standing in a gazebo on Mercy Island freezing my ass off. It’s stopped sleeting and raining at least. But the fog’s so bad I can’t see across the river.”

“Mercy Island? Oh, God. Of all places,” I reply with growing dismay.

I think about the skeletal remains Cate Kingston showed me as I was leaving the office yesterday.

“Georgine Duvall is on the hospital staff and owns one of the ritzy residences on the grounds,” Marino is saying. “As usual theSlasher knocked out the Wi-Fi, and I had to walk around in the freezing rain until I could find a cell signal.”

“Meanwhile who’s guarding the scene?” I’m writing down the details.

“I’ve got Fruge posted at the front door. She’s keeping everybody out,” Marino says. “Trust me, nobody’s getting anywhere near the body until you say. Or Doc Schlaefer does. Depending on what you decide. I realize you’re not supposed to be working right now.”

“Have you notified him?” I’m sure I know the answer.

“I didn’t wake him up yet, wanted to talk to you once I had an idea what we’re dealing with. If it was me, I wouldn’t want anyone else handling this.”

Marino hopes and expects that I’ll respond to the scene myself instead of the deputy chief covering for me while I’m on vacation. Benton is busy texting, and I can tell he’s been notified about the same case as I would expect.