Fair Warning (Jack McEvoy #3)(74)

“Alone?”

“Yes, alone. The agents on this won’t get around to it until tomorrow. Too much else going on.”

I remembered my early research on atlanto-occipital dislocation. It wasn’t always fatal.

“Where?” I asked. “I’m going to meet you.”

“I don’t know if that’s best, Jack,” Rachel said. “I’m going as an investigator. She might not want to talk to a reporter—if she can talk at all.”

“I don’t care. You can do the interview but I want to be there. Where are you going?”

There was a pause and I felt that everything about the fragile relationship I had with her was on the line.

“Altadena Rehab,” Rachel finally said. “Google the address. Her name is Gwyneth Rice. She’s only twenty-nine.”

“I’m on my way,” I said. “Wait for me.”

I disconnected and went back to Emily’s pod to inform her that there were more victims and that I was going to see one who was still alive. I told her about the FBI’s plan to float a deal: information on other victims in exchange for delaying publication.

“What do you think?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” I said. “We have till tomorrow to think about it. Why don’t you talk to Myron about that while I try to get this interview?”

“Sounds good.”

“By the way. They have a composite drawing of the Shrike.”

“Is that part of the deal?”

“We’ll make it part of it.”

I left the office then, grabbing my keys off my desk and hurrying out.





35

Rachel was waiting for me in the lobby of Altadena Rehab. She was all business. No hug, no hello, just “It took you long enough.”

She turned and headed toward a set of elevators and I had to catch up.

“Her father agreed to meet me,” she said after we entered an elevator and she hit the 3 button. “He’s with her now. Brace yourself.”

“For what?” I asked.

“This is not going to be a good scene. Happened four months ago and the victim—Gwyneth—is not doing well physically or mentally. She’s on a ventilator.”

“Okay.”

“And let me handle the introductions. They don’t know about you yet. Don’t be obvious.”

“About what?”

“That you’re there for a story. Maybe it would be better if I took notes.”

“I could just record it.”

“There is nothing to record. She can’t speak.”

I nodded. The elevator moved slowly. There were only four levels.

“I’m here for more than the story,” I said to set the record straight.

“Really?” Rachel said. “When we talked earlier today it felt like that’s all you cared about.”

The elevator door opened and she exited before I could defend myself on that.

We walked down a hallway and Rachel gently knocked on the door to room 309. We waited and a man opened the door and emerged into the hallway. He looked to be about sixty years old with a worn expression on his face. He pulled the door closed behind him.

“Mr. Rice?” Rachel asked.

“Yes, that’s me,” he said. “You’re Rachel?”

“Yes, we spoke on the phone. Thank you for allowing me to visit. As I said, I am FBI retired but still—”

“You look too young to be retired.”

“Well, I still keep my hand in and work with the bureau on occasion. Like with this case. And I wanted to introduce you to Jack McEvoy. He works for FairWarning and is the journalist who first connected all the cases and brought the investigation to the bureau.”

I put my hand out and Mr. Rice and I shook.

“Good to meet you, Jack,” Rice said. “I wish somebody like you was there four months ago and could have warned Gwynnie about this guy. Anyway, come on in. I told her she was having company and finally something is being done. I have to warn you, this is going to go slow. She has a screen and something called a mouth-stick stylus that allows her to communicate.”

“No problem,” I said.

“It’s kind of amazing,” Rice said. “It turns her teeth and the roof of her mouth into a keyboard. And each day she gets more proficient at it. Anyway, she does get tired and she’ll shut down at some point. But let’s see what we can get.”

“Thank you,” Rachel said.

“One more thing,” Rice said. “This kid has been through hell and back. This is not going to be easy. I told her she didn’t have to do it but she wants to. She wants to get this evil man and she’s hoping you can do it. But at the same time she’s fragile. Go easy is what I’m saying, okay?”

“We understand,” Rachel said.

“Of course,” I added.

With that, Rice opened the door and went back inside the room. I looked at Rachel and nodded her in first as we followed.

The room was dimly lit by a soft spotlight over a hospital bed with railings. Gwyneth Rice was raised at a 45-degree angle on the bed and flanked by equipment and tubes that monitored her, breathed for her, fed her, and took her bodily wastes away. Her head was held steady by a framework that looked like scaffolding and appeared to be screwed into her skull in at least two points. Altogether it was a horrible tableau and my first instinct was to look away, but I knew that she might register my reflex for what it was and refuse the interview before it started. So I looked at her straight on and smiled and nodded as I entered the room.