True Evil

“I don’t intend to continue yesterday’s conversation.”

She looked incredulous. “Surely you must have some questions for me.”

Chris looked off into the trees, then turned and let some of his anger through his eyes. “Yes, I do. My first question is, did you personally see my wife go into this divorce lawyer’s office?”

Morse took a small step backward. “Not personally, no, but—”

“Who did?”

“Another agent.”

“How did he identify Thora?”

“He followed her down to her car, then took down her license plate.”

“Her license plate. No chance of a mistake? No chance he got one number wrong, and it could have been someone else?”

Morse shook her head. “He shot a picture of her.”

“Do you have that picture?”

“Not on me. But she was wearing a very distinctive outfit. A black silk dress with a white scarf and an Audrey Hepburn hat. Not many women can pull that kind of thing off anymore.”

Chris gritted his teeth. Thora had worn that same outfit to a party only a month ago. “Do you have any recordings of her conversation with the lawyer? Copies of any memos or files? Anything that proves what they talked about?”

Morse reluctantly shook her head.

“So you admit that it’s possible that they talked about wills and estates, or investments, or something else legitimate.”

Agent Morse looked down at her wet shoes. After a while, she looked back up and said, “It’s possible, yes.”

“But you don’t believe it.”

She bit her bottom lip but said nothing.

“Agent Morse, I happen to know from my wife’s recent behavior that what you suggested yesterday is impossible.”

The FBI agent looked intrigued, but instead of asking what he was talking about, she said, “It’s ten miles back to your truck. Why don’t we ride back together? I promise not to piss you off, if I can help it.”

Chris knew he could leave Morse behind in seconds. But for some reason—maybe just the manners he’d been raised with—he decided not to. He shrugged, climbed into his pedal clips, and started southward at an easy pace. Morse fell in beside him and immediately started talking.

“Have you called anybody about me?”

He decided to leave Darryl Foster out of the conversation. “I figured you’d already know the answer to that. Aren’t you tapping my phones?”

She ignored this. “I’m sure you have some questions for me, after all I said yesterday.”

Chris shook the rain out of his eyes. “I’ll admit I’ve done some thinking about what you told me, especially about the medical side.”

“Good. Go on.”

“I want to know more about these unexplained deaths, as you called them.”

“What do you want to know?”

“How the people died. Was it a stroke in every case?”

“No. Only my sister’s.”

“Really. What were the other causes of death?”

“Pulmonary embolism in one. Myocardial infarction in another.”

“What else?”

A hundred feet of road passed beneath them before Morse answered. “The rest were cancer.”

Chris looked sharply over at her, but Morse kept watching the road. “Cancer?”

She nodded over her handlebars, and water dripped off her nose. “Fatal malignancies.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“No.”

“You’re telling me this cluster of suspicious deaths that has you so worked up involves people who’ve died of cancer?”

“Yes.”

He thought about this for a while. “How many victims were there? Total?”

“Nine deaths tied to the divorce lawyer I told you about. Six cancers that I’ve traced so far.”

“Same kind of tumor in every person?”

“That depends on how picky you are. They were all blood cancers.”

“Call me picky. Blood cancer encompasses a whole constellation of diseases, Agent Morse. There are over thirty different types of non-Hodgkin’s lymphomas alone. At least a dozen different leukemias. Were all the deaths from one type of blood cancer, at least?”

“No. Three leukemias, two lymphomas, one multiple myeloma.”

Chris shook his head. “You’re out of your mind. You really believe someone is murdering people by giving them different kinds of cancer?”

Morse looked over at him, and her eyes were as grim as any he’d ever seen.

“I know it.”

“That’s impossible.”