“Over twenty-five,” John Jackman said.
“The question becomes, why be Patsy MacLaren at all, when you’re married to Stephen Willis? Why not marry Stephen Willis as yourself? Why the deception?”
“Maybe we’re talking about bigamy here. Maybe this lady was married to somebody else. Maybe she had a husband or a boyfriend who beat her up, and she was looking for a new identity and she got one. Just like that.”
“No,” Gregor Demarkian said.
John Jackman raised his eyebrows. Linda Melajian had come back to the table with a tray full of plates and cups and knives and forks and spoons and the full pot of coffee too. She set the crockery and stainless steel dinnerware out on the table, bustling a little too much around John Jackman as she did it.
“Gregor’s going to have one of his awful cholesterol specials,” Linda said to John. “Do you want something actually healthy? Fruit? Oat bran? I’ve got really wonderful whole wheat muffins.”
“Pancakes,” John Jackman said. “With butter and syrup and a side of breakfast sausage.”
“Try the hash browns,” Gregor said. “Linda’s mother makes wonderful hash browns.”
“Hash browns,” John Jackman said. “That sounds wonderful. Get me some of those.”
Linda Melajian poured them both cups of coffee and left, looking disgusted. John Jackman poured a stream of half-and-half into his and then doused it with sugar. This was one of the things he had in common with Bennis. Bennis liked a lot of sugar in her coffee too. It was really too bad that the two of them didn’t get along better than they did, Gregor thought. It was really too bad that circumstances so often intervened between people in real life.
Gregor cleared his throat. “So,” he said. “We’ve got work to do today. I want to go to the hospital.”
“I know you do. So do I. I go to the hospital every day.”
“I want to check a few more records.”
“Check away. My people are already ready to kill you over what we’ve checked so far, Gregor. I lost a secretary over one of those printouts. She was threatening to go to work for one of those companies that’s just had an oil spill.”
“These are simpler records,” Gregor promised. “You’ve got to remember: You don’t, at this point, have to prove that Patsy MacLaren murdered Stephen Willis. You already know that.”
“I know. If we couldn’t get that one through court, we’d be even more incompetent than the mystery books make us out to be.”
“What you don’t realize is, you don’t even have to prove who set those bombs. Although the bombs are an interesting point. They’re the key to this whole thing. Why bother with the bombs?”
“I don’t think I want to work through these puzzles anymore, Gregor. I just want to get on with it. Can you get on with it?”
“Sure. Make sure you’ve got a guard at Karla Parrish’s room at all times for the foreseeable future, all right?”
“She’s unconscious, Gregor.”
“She could wake up at any time. It might be a good idea if you got somebody in there who looks like a nurse but isn’t one. It might be a good idea if that person was on the job when we went in there this morning to visit. If you see what I mean.”
“You’re sure it’s necessary?”
“No,” Gregor said, “but I think it might be necessary. Although I have to admit it, I can’t see Patsy MacLaren blowing the hell out of a hospital room. That just doesn’t fit.”
“I don’t see why,” John Jackman said gloomily. “She’s blown the hell out of everything else.”
“Well,” Gregor told him, “there are limits. Just try to remember what it is we’re doing at the moment. We’re not trying to prove Patsy MacLaren guilty of murder. You can do that later. What we have to do right now is to prove that Patsy MacLaren exists. Period.”
“That she didn’t die in India,” John Jackman said wearily. “That they didn’t bury her in a Catholic cemetery in New Delhi. That not one but dozens of people are lying to us, from a congresswoman to the staff of the Indian hospital to the Catholic priest at the cemetery—”
“No, no,” Gregor said. “Relax, will you please? If we had to prove all that, we’d be doomed. Eat your breakfast and then come with me. I want to go out to Fox Run Hill for a moment. Can you arrange that with Dan Exter?”
“Sure.”
“Then I want to go into the hospital and see Karla Parrish. I want to talk to Evan Walsh. Then I want to go across town and talk to Julianne Corbett. Really. We’re going to have a very full day. Eat your breakfast.”