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Rune Alignment

Chapter 20.

Bobby's mind raced as he held her. Seeing the design on her back explained some of what he could make out from the messages. He had a million questions for Gleason. What did Clive use to burn the marks into her skin? How long ago had it happened? Had she gotten medical treatment? She must have, the burns were wide and appeared deep. Had the physicians contacted the authorities? She said she had lived with this guy for years, why didn't she leave him sooner? She stirred.

"You're hungry. Let's eat," she said as she uncurled herself from him and reached for her undershirt. Bobby watched as she let the crocheted throw fall, pulled the thin cotton knit over her head, and stretched it over her breasts. Her nakedness did not arouse him. He was almost numb with concern. She stood and tucked the bottom edge into her slacks and reached for the shirt he held. He stood and dressed her like a child. They held each other, and then silently moved to the kitchen.

He finished making the salad while she found the butter and two bottles of dressing in the fridge. She took out a beer and the bottle of Silver Birch. "Do you have a bottle opener and cork screw?" He opened a drawer and handed her the tool. "Do you want a glass for your beer?" He shook his head no. "Do you have a wine glass?" He stepped to a cupboard, took a glass, and gave it to her. He was being awfully quiet. She opened his beer, noticed that her hands were shaking, set it at his place and began to open the wine bottle. She fumbled trying to set the screw, tried again, it slid across the top of the cork, her hands shook, she kept trying, "I . . . can't . . . get this to. . ."

Bobby turned with the salad bowl, put it on the table and took the opener and bottle from her. He set them aside and took the back of her neck in his left hand, pulled her to him and kissed her hard on the mouth, his tongue seeking hers. His right hand stroked her face, neck and throat. He felt her relax and move against him. The kiss broke and he whispered deeply, his lips on her neck, just below her ear, "I am good. I swear I will never ever hurt you. I want to take care of you, protect you. Trust me. Please, trust me."

She pulled away just a bit, took his head in her hands and searched his eyes. "I want to. I want to." She kissed him lightly, ran her thumbs over his cheekbones, smiled and they stepped apart.

Eames was excited about her date. Sledge was a nice guy, a little boorish at times, but only with Bobby. She couldn't understand why they hated each other so much. She figured Bobby just thought Edward was a jerk, which he was a lot of the time. But there had to be more, Edward's juvenile humor should garner little more than distain. Bobby really could not stand the guy. I wonder what happened between them.

She smiled as she thought of tonight. Sledge said he would pick her up at eight. She glanced at the clock on her dash, four thirty. She had plenty of time. What to wear? He said some place nice. A dress, she couldn't remember the last time she wore a dress, especially to work. She had that nice beige dress from Ellen's wedding. Yes, that fit nicely, was cut just right, not too revealing, but low enough for interest's sake. She would even take a bath instead of a shower. She smiled at her tingle.

He slammed down the phone and nearly screamed out loud in frustration. Goddamn her all to hell! He was reluctant to leave a message on her home phone. Every time he dialed her number, he heard that new click right before the message to leave a message. He didn't want to give the coppers any more information or ammunition than they already had.

Where is she? That prick cop has taken her away. He has tried to turn her against me. He will try to woo her with fun times, warm sex; but it won't work. No, Gleason will be thinking of me while she pretends to come under him. She will be thinking of me; and what I do to her. She misses me; I am sure.

It will be dark in a few hours. Then I can search for her in my car. Maybe I'll try a stakeout like the copper. Watch for her, watch for them. They won't see me. I'll be safely hiding in my car. I can do anything in the dark in my car.

The digital counter in the audio lab recorded another hit on Wintermantle's home phone. The machine noted the phone number and time of every call into her home phone. So far, seventeen calls from six different phones calls had been made over the last four hours.

"You're not eating," Bobby said to her. He had watched her take a bite of tomato and a tiny bite of cheese. Her piece of bread sat untouched. Nonetheless, she poured to fill her half-full second glass of wine.

"I'm eating," she answered and took another drink. Her hands had finally stopped shaking.

"You don't like the salad, the dressing? Want me to make up some vinaigrette?"

"No. This is fine. What is this anyway?" she asked holding up the bottle of dressing to read the label. "Ah, it's good." She took another bite of tomato to please him. And then another big sip of wine to please herself.

"You like that wine, huh?" He'd noticed she was nearly finished with her second glass – and a half.

"Oh, yes," another big sip. "It reminds me of a good, good time, a long, long time ago in a place far, far away. Do you want to try some? Here." She drained the glass, took the bottle, and began to fill it a third time. He stopped her hand holding the bottle and took it from her with his other hand. She looked at him with surprise, "What?"

"That's a lot of wine with no food. Eat something before you have more to drink." He set the bottle on the counter behind him. He reached for her piece of bread and spread butter on it. "Here, eat this."

Gleason took a big sigh and knew she should listen to him. She knew she was on the edge of getting sloshed, she felt so light behind her eyes, always a bad – or good – sign. She didn't want to waste that great wine getting drunk. Silver Birch is a wine to savor. She took the bread from his hand and took a bite. It was good. He cut another piece of cheese and she took that as well.

Jerry and Martin finished the voiceprints. Essentially each one was like another. Series of tall and short colored spikes traced along strips of paper. Martin clipped them together and catalogued them in the evidence file. He analyzed the prints on the screen for what they said about the caller. Jerry walked over.

"Ha, look at these," Martin pointed to several points on the screen, "this guy has an accent. Look at the distance."

Jerry leaned in close to see clearly, "I wonder if Goren knows that. Can you tell what kind of accent?"

Martin looked at this friend, "I'm a technician and this is a machine, together we're not God. Give me a break."

"Jeeze, ok. What else can you tell?"

"Well, not only is this guy wiping down his club, he's pissed off, too."

"How can you tell? Show me."

"See, here, where this spike and this one, all of these, go from purple at the bottom then change to increasingly lighter shades of red as they rise? Red, my friend, is the color of anger. His voice tightens and rises as he lives the fury."

"But, how can you tell it's fury causing the rising and tightening? What if his own 'handiwork' makes his voice go like that?" Jerry asked.

Martin looked at his friend and shook his head, "Jerry, when you polish the banister, do you make those kinds of sounds?"