in a frenzy. He lifted Gina up and turned toward the stairs. “I’ll go check on Tucker in a minute.” Just as his foot hit the first step, something sounded like a gunshot. Tucker stopped barking. Gina screamed and Martha put down the phone. Fred set Gina down and raced into his study, unlocked a desk drawer with one key, and removed another key. He used that key to unlock the gun cabinet, grabbed his rifle, and sprinted to the back door. “Martha—take Gina upstairs.” He flipped the switch for the backyard light, opened the sliding glass door, and stepped onto the back patio.
The German shepherd lay motionless in the grass, next to the swing set. Moving closer, Fred saw blood trailing from a gunshot wound just to the side of Tucker’s right eye. The dog was dead.
The rustle of footsteps echoed from the woods behind the house. Whoever had shot Tucker was headed toward the 805. Fred chased the sound, dodging trees as the killer moved faster. “Stop right now, you coward!” He tried to hurdle a fallen tree, but tripped and fell forward. The butt of his rifle drove into his chest, bruising a rib. Fred waited on the ground for some audibleclue to the killer’s whereabouts, but everything was silent. After a moment, he felt ridiculous, and then afraid. Maybe chasing an armed dog-killer through the dark wasn’t the best idea.
Fred rose to his feet, grabbing a tree for support. The snap of a branch in the distance caught his attention. A dark silhouette of a man turned toward Fred for just a moment and seemed to wave. It was a quick, halting gesture, and then the figure was gone.
Taking a step back toward the house, Fred realized that he had twisted his ankle in the fall. Limping back to the swing set, he headed for Tucker’s lifeless body. A white card was taped to the dog’s belly. He tore it away and held it up to the moonlight.
THIS IS MY THIRD CRIME.
MY NEXT WILL BE BIGGER.
A piece of gum was taped to the back. Fred put the card in his shirt pocket and turned toward the back patio. Martha stood at the door with her arms wrapped around their children. He fought back tears and walked over to comfort them.
God, he loved that dog.
CHAPTER 8
February 14—Quantico, Virginia
There was an American flag decal on the long neck of the Detecto 448, and the words “Made in” above it and “USA” below it. A black rod ran from the bottom of the neck to the top, and could extend further when required. Dr. Malloy had used it to measure her height at her last visit: five nine and a quarter. The weights at the top of the Detecto 448 slid across two weigh beams. The bottom beam was marked from zero to 350 in 50-pound increments, although additional notches carried the weight to 450, even though they were not marked. The top beam went pound by pound to 50. The base plate on the machine was solid black, and cold on Dagny’s bare feet. On the front of the scale, below the weigh beams, was the name DETECTO and the company’s logo—a red outline of a bird alighting on a thin branch. Dagny felt like that bird.
Malloy read the results. Dagny’s scale at home had registered an additional pound, but that was okay. She dressed in the examination room, then sent Mike a text: 116, it said. Nine more pounds to go.
In 1818, five-year-old Thomas Alexander Mellon emigrated with his family from Northern Ireland to Pennsylvania. Inspired to seek riches by
The Autobiography of Benjamin Franklin
, Thomas studied hard and became a lawyer, and then a judge. He saved his money, bought vast stretches of downtown Pittsburgh real estate, and opened T. Mellon and Sons Bank, where he placed a life-size statue of his hero, Ben Franklin, above the door.
In 1890, Thomas gave control of the bank to his son Andrew. Andrew transformed the bank into the Mellon National Bank, and as the family fortune swelled, he invested in other industries, too. Some of the investments became Gulf Oil, Alcoa, and Union Steel. Over time, Andrew Mellon served as
The German shepherd lay motionless in the grass, next to the swing set. Moving closer, Fred saw blood trailing from a gunshot wound just to the side of Tucker’s right eye. The dog was dead.
The rustle of footsteps echoed from the woods behind the house. Whoever had shot Tucker was headed toward the 805. Fred chased the sound, dodging trees as the killer moved faster. “Stop right now, you coward!” He tried to hurdle a fallen tree, but tripped and fell forward. The butt of his rifle drove into his chest, bruising a rib. Fred waited on the ground for some audibleclue to the killer’s whereabouts, but everything was silent. After a moment, he felt ridiculous, and then afraid. Maybe chasing an armed dog-killer through the dark wasn’t the best idea.
Fred rose to his feet, grabbing a tree for support. The snap of a branch in the distance caught his attention. A dark silhouette of a man turned toward Fred for just a moment and seemed to wave. It was a quick, halting gesture, and then the figure was gone.
Taking a step back toward the house, Fred realized that he had twisted his ankle in the fall. Limping back to the swing set, he headed for Tucker’s lifeless body. A white card was taped to the dog’s belly. He tore it away and held it up to the moonlight.
THIS IS MY THIRD CRIME.
MY NEXT WILL BE BIGGER.
A piece of gum was taped to the back. Fred put the card in his shirt pocket and turned toward the back patio. Martha stood at the door with her arms wrapped around their children. He fought back tears and walked over to comfort them.
God, he loved that dog.
CHAPTER 8
February 14—Quantico, Virginia
There was an American flag decal on the long neck of the Detecto 448, and the words “Made in” above it and “USA” below it. A black rod ran from the bottom of the neck to the top, and could extend further when required. Dr. Malloy had used it to measure her height at her last visit: five nine and a quarter. The weights at the top of the Detecto 448 slid across two weigh beams. The bottom beam was marked from zero to 350 in 50-pound increments, although additional notches carried the weight to 450, even though they were not marked. The top beam went pound by pound to 50. The base plate on the machine was solid black, and cold on Dagny’s bare feet. On the front of the scale, below the weigh beams, was the name DETECTO and the company’s logo—a red outline of a bird alighting on a thin branch. Dagny felt like that bird.
Malloy read the results. Dagny’s scale at home had registered an additional pound, but that was okay. She dressed in the examination room, then sent Mike a text: 116, it said. Nine more pounds to go.
In 1818, five-year-old Thomas Alexander Mellon emigrated with his family from Northern Ireland to Pennsylvania. Inspired to seek riches by
The Autobiography of Benjamin Franklin
, Thomas studied hard and became a lawyer, and then a judge. He saved his money, bought vast stretches of downtown Pittsburgh real estate, and opened T. Mellon and Sons Bank, where he placed a life-size statue of his hero, Ben Franklin, above the door.
In 1890, Thomas gave control of the bank to his son Andrew. Andrew transformed the bank into the Mellon National Bank, and as the family fortune swelled, he invested in other industries, too. Some of the investments became Gulf Oil, Alcoa, and Union Steel. Over time, Andrew Mellon served as
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