“In that case,” Lou said, “before we settle in for a quintuple feature or whatever it turns out to be, maybe they have a vending machine here with some Raisinets.”

Chapter 46

CHAPTER 46

Liberty cannot exist without sacrifice, nor can sacrifice exist without suffering. Blood may be shed, but should the suffering of the part in the end save the whole, it is a pain we are obligated to endure.

—LANCASTER R. HILL, A Secret Worth Keeping, SAWYER RIVER BOOKS, 1939, P. 199

Tim Vaill’s exhaustion was a concern.

Med school and a grueling residency had trained Lou for endurance studying and long shifts, so it wasn’t surprising that he felt solid after five straight hours of reviewing the evidence from the Information Data Warehouse, and then plunging back into the Burke video.

Lou had supposed that Vaill, who was about his age, was put together similarly, having survived the punishing tests of Quantico and hours spent cooped up inside various vans conducting surveillance. But at the moment that seemed not to be the case.

Lou eyed the scar arcing along Vaill’s right temple, speculating on how much the injury and subsequent surgery might have affected his stamina. This was the second time in the past hour the agent had drifted off in his chair during a playback. Lou would have let him rest, except this time he had begun to snore, making it hard to study the nuances in Burke’s speech, even though Lou had already committed every word and vocal inflection to memory.

Making matters even more difficult, the air conditioner was on high, even though the room at the Great Southern Inn and Suites still felt humid and stuffy. For a time, Lou busied himself folding empty Domino’s pizza boxes and forcing them, the Diet Coke cans he flattened, and the wrappers of each item in the motel vending machines into the wastebasket. Finally, after some stretching and a hundred double-crunch sit-ups, Lou tapped Vaill on the shoulder. The agent came awake with a start.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” he said, pawing at his eyes. “What’d I miss?”

Lou appraised him thoughtfully.

“Only our one hundredth viewing of Alexander Burke. You want to take a real break? A lie-down nap?”

Vaill again massaged his eyes and then wet his lips with his tongue. He still looked glazed, so Lou passed him a half-empty can of warm Diet Coke, which Vaill drained in one gulp.

“No,” he said emphatically. “I want to keep watching.”

It was intense work, but Lou believed they were making some progress, even though a Eureka! moment continued to elude them. Having focused on everything Burke was saying—every word, every nuanced change in his vocal inflection—Lou had compiled a complete transcript of the killer’s impassioned speech for Lola, and was now dissecting it for hidden clues—a message within the message.