Page 46 of A Deeper Darkness
Sam nodded. “Sure. My Latin wasn’t ever as good as Donovan’s, but I can give it a whirl.”
She stood, and Susan noticed again how thin she was. She thought back over the day and realized that she hadn’t had anything to eat. How easy it was to forget. She had no appetite. She’d gotten the girls fed and off to their respective schools, meaning to stop somewhere and grab a coffee and Danish, and had completely spaced it. All she’d had today was coffee, and for an afternoon treat, quite a bit of scotch.
She was going to have to make a better effort to take care of herself. If not for her own sake, then for the girls.
“Do you mind driving?” Susan asked. “Just in case. The last thing I need is to get pulled over.”
“Of course. Just let me grab my coat.”
Georgetown
Dr. Samantha Owens
Sam was glad Susan finally seemed to be accepting her. They needed to work together to figure out what Donovan was involved with that might have killed him. Sam wanted to get into his office, into his things, but hadn’t known how to approach Susan about it.
Susan drove a Volvo station wagon, the backseat filled with toys and dolls and books. Sam glanced once, then forced her eyes away. Forced away the nasty thought that followed—this could have been my car—and tried her best to refocus. They got settled in the seats. Sam checked the mirrors, then asked, “What’s the best way to get there?”
“I normally go GW Parkway, but we’re going to hit traffic this time of night, so let’s go Canal. We’re on Spring Hill Road, so you can get to it from Chain Bridge or Georgetown Pike. Your choice.”
“That’s a pretty part of town.”
“Perfect for raising a family.” Sam didn’t miss the bitterness in Susan’s tone. They really were castaways, the two of them. Sam started the car and navigated through the streets of Georgetown to Key Bridge, turning right and following the Potomac River out of town.
Her cell phone rang a few minutes into the drive. She didn’t recognize the number, but it had a 202 area code, so it was either Fletcher or Nocek. She apologized to Susan and answered it.
“Dr. Owens? Sam? This is Amado Nocek. I have received the results from the lab about the chemical makeup of the granulomas found in the lungs of both Edward Donovan and Harold Croswell.”
“Oh, wonderful. What did you find?”
“The irritant is indeed sand, but it is not from the Arabian Peninsula. It is indigenous to western Maryland. Specifically, to the Savage River. I cannot pinpoint it better than that, unfortunately.”
“The Savage River. Isn’t there a state park up there?”
“Yes, there is. It is a beautiful area, if you like to go camping or fishing. Or hunting.”
The word hung in the air, pregnant with meaning. What was cold-blooded murder, if not the culmination of a hunt?
“What did Detective Fletcher say about the results?”
Nocek gave a warm laugh. “I will call him right away.”
“You told me first?”
“Yes. You seem to have the victims’ best interests at heart. Not that the detective does not, as well—it just seemed you have a deeper connection to this story.”
“You’re a very astute man, Amado. I owe you dinner. Maybe not this trip, but sometime soon.”
“I would enjoy that very much. When do you return to Nashville?”
When, indeed? She’d gotten drawn into this case, into their lives, so seamlessly that she’d nearly forgotten she needed to go home tonight. “I’m not sure,” she answered. “I was supposed to fly back this evening, but I think I’ll be missing the flight.”
“Understandable. It is difficult to leave loose threads unraveled. Let me know if I can assist you any further. It has been my great pleasure to work with you. Perhaps one day you will desire to work with us again, under better circumstances.”
“Perhaps I will. Thank you, Amado. For everything.”
She hung up and realized Susan was staring at her.
“The sand we found in Eddie’s lungs was from western Maryland, not Afghanistan. The same for Hal Croswell. Do you have any connections to that area? Know anyone who lives there?”
