doctor signed off on it. And that would have meant records, Cinelli. Why aren’t there records?”
Pippa shrugged. “Maybe when they realized he was dead, they decided not to bother, took his body elsewhere.”
“Maybe, but I’m hearing a drum banging, Cinelli. What if Major Trumbo didn’t die of a heart attack? Remember, both Mrs. Filly and Mrs. Trumbo said he was nasty, maybe an abuser.”
Pippa straightened in her chair. “So you’re saying Mrs. Trumbo helped him to the hereafter? We’re talking murder then, Wilde. And Marsia Gay was there to see it.”
56
ST. LUMIS
WEDNESDAY NIGHT
At ten o’clock, Pippa and Wilde huddled close in the alley across the street from Major Trumbo’s B&B. Pippa whispered, “I’ve been texting with Dillon. He says Warden Putney at the D.C. Jail has refused Marsia any visitors or outgoing mail. Of course, he can’t prevent her from speaking to her lawyer, but the guards are keeping a close watch now. So far no attempt to pass a communication. I doubt the lawyer’s the conduit; he’d be putting his license and his own freedom at risk.”
Wilde said, “Then she had to be using another prisoner, which could come back to bite her.”
“Dillon also says Veronica Lake is still alive, but there’s not much hope she’ll make it. Veronica is the only direct witness against Marsia Gay, and if she dies, they might have to cut Marsia loose, or fail to convict her. That would be a nightmare for Dillon, after Sherlock and Sean nearly died in the fire. So we have to nail this down, Wilde. We have to.”
“Did Savich run the thumbprint we collected at the abandoned grocery store?”
“Yes, he did, but the thumbprint isn’t in the database. However, that won’t keep us from matching it to Ronald Pomfrey, if it’s his. But we have to find him first. Since a couple of agents at the Baltimore Field Office said he hasn’t shown up at his apartment, and he was here on Saturday, according to Davie, Savich agrees our staking out Mrs. Trumbo is our best shot at getting our hands on him.”
Wilde stretched. “Either he’ll come tonight or she’ll go to him, wherever he is. And that, Cinelli, is why we’re out here in the cold. And if I’m wrong, we’ll be back here tomorrow night.”
Pippa leaned closer. “Trouble is, if neither mother nor son moves tonight, we’ll freeze to death. My feet are cold and I’m even wearing those hiking socks you lent me. My toes aren’t toasty at all, so I guess you cheaped out, Wilde.”
“Hey, watch your language. Those socks are Walmart’s best.”
The minutes ticked by slow as syrup in the snow.
Wilde said matter-of-factly, “My gut says he’s staying here. He knows St. Lumis. Even with you here, he’s safe enough since you didn’t see him clearly when he attacked you, even if he happened to bump into you, you wouldn’t recognize him. He doesn’t know we suspect him of anything yet.
“And remember, Marsia Gay has been contacting him. Look, Pippa, even if he doesn’t come tonight, he will come eventually. He and his mother have to meet, talk over how to deal with what’s happening, how to deal with Marsia.”
They saw a figure wrapped up in a dark full-length winter coat and high boots, a watch cap pulled down tight to cover most of his face. He looked furtively around the B&B and walked in through the kitchen door.
Pippa whispered, “Hello, Ronald.”
They walked quietly across the deserted street, eased up to the kitchen window, and watched Mrs. Trumbo hand him a cup of coffee. Ronald Pomfrey had pulled off his watch cap, and he looked like his photos, but there was something different. He looked exhausted and scared. He sat hunched over, cradling the coffee in his hands, and sipped.
“We need to get closer. Maybe we can hear what they’re saying.” They eased in as close as they could get and heard Ronald speaking. “It’s him, Wilde,” she whispered against his ear, “I recognize his voice.”
They pressed closer, heard Ronald Pomfrey say, “I got another text from her today, Mom. She’s more pissed than ever. She’s losing it.”
Mrs. Trumbo’s hand tightened on her son’s shoulder. “What does the evil witch want you to do now?”
Ronald raised exhausted eyes to her face, gave an ugly laugh. “What does it matter, Mom? I’m screwed, no way around it. And whether Marsia throws us under the bus or not, when they find out what I’ve done, it will be all over. I’m only sorry I’ve