Ashes to Ashes

consequences to anyone else.

“No comment,” he barked, and pushed his way past the last of them.

He negotiated the clutter of boxes and file cabinets into homicide, hanging a right at Lieutenant Fowler's makeshift office. Toni Urskine's voice raked over his nerve endings like a serrated knife on raw meat.

“. . . And you can rest assured every station, every paper, every reporter who will listen to me, will hear about it! This is an absolute outrage! We have been victimized by these crimes. We have lost friends. We have suffered. And this is how we're treated by the Minneapolis Police Department after we've bent over backward to cooperate!”

Kovac ducked through the door into the offices. Yurek jumped up from his desk, telephone receiver stuck to the side of his face, and made wild eye contact with Kovac, holding up a hand to keep him in the general vicinity. Kovac held up for five seconds, motor running, the excitement he had brought with him into the building like currents of energy humming through his arms, his legs, his veins and arteries. He bounced up and down on the balls of his feet like a boy who had to pee.

“I've got places to go and people to rake over the coals, Charm.”

Yurek nodded and said into the phone, “I'm sorry, ma'am. I have to go now. I have an emergency situation here. I'm sorry. Yes, someone will get back to you. I'm sorry, ma'am.”

He came around his desk, shaking his head. “These people are driving me batshit. There's a woman insisting her neighbor is the Cremator, and not only has he brutally murdered four women, she thinks he killed and ate her dog.”

“I got time for this shit like I got time for root canal,” Kovac snapped. “Is Quinn here?”

“He just got back. He's watching Urskine's interview,” Yurek said, falling in step beside Kovac, heading for the interview rooms. “I just got a call from upstairs—”

“And the woman with the dead poodle is the mayor? That's how frigging weird this case is.”

“No, before the dog lady. You're wanted in the mayor's office. They tried to get you on your cell phone.”

“Dead battery. And you didn't see me. The battle-ax can wait. I've got a big damn fish to fry. I've got Jonah's goddamn whale.”

Worry creased Yurek's perfect brow. “What do you mean, ‘big fish'? Where've you been?”

Kovac didn't answer, his mind already on the confrontation ahead. Quinn stood near the one-way glass, looking dead on his feet as he stared through to the next room, where Gregg Urskine sat across the table from Elwood.

“We paid cash. I couldn't find the receipt,” Urskine said, exasperated, fighting to keep that pleasant yuppie smile hanging on his face. “Do you keep all your receipts, Sergeant? Could you find a receipt for something you did months ago?”

“Yes, I could. I keep a simple but efficient home filing system,” Elwood said conversationally. “You never know when you might need a record of something. For tax purposes, for an alibi—”

“I don't need an alibi.”

“I know someone who does,” Kovac said, snagging Quinn's attention. “You want to take another ride?”

“What's up?”

“I just talked to Mrs. Donald Thorton, Peter Bondurant's ex-partner. You want to know how the emotionally unstable Sophie Bondurant got custody of Jillian in the divorce? You'll love this,” he promised sarcastically.

“I'm almost afraid to ask.”

“She threatened to expose him to the court and to the media. For molesting Jillian.”

29

CHAPTER

“OH, GOD,” YUREK groaned with dread.

Kovac wheeled on him. “What now? You want me to pretend I don't know Bondurant was molesting his daughter?”

“Allegedly molesting—”

“You think I don't know I've just stepped in it up to my ass?”

“I think you'd better hear what the mayor wants.”

“I could give a rat's—”

“She wants you in her office to give Mr. Bondurant a personal briefing on the status of the case. They're up there waiting for you now.”

The room fell silent for a heartbeat, then Elwood's calm voice came over the speaker again from the interview room next door. “Have you ever paid for sex, Mr. Urskine?”

“No!”

“No offense intended. It's just that working around all those women who've sold their bodies professionally might give rise to a certain curiosity. So to speak.”

Urskine shoved his chair back from the table. “That's it. I'm leaving. If you want to speak to me again, you can do it through my attorney.”

“All right,” Kovac said to Quinn, nerves and anticipation knotting in his stomach. “Let's go give the mayor and Mr. Bondurant the big update. I'll fill you in on the way.”

“I'M SURE YOU can understand Peter's need for closure in this matter,” Edwyn Noble said to Chief Greer. “Do we have any kind of time frame as to when the body may be released?”

“Not specifically.” Greer stood near the head of the mayor's conference table, feet slightly spread, hands clasped before him, like a soldier at ease, or a bouncer with an attitude. “I have a call in to Sergeant Kovac. I understand he's waiting to hear from the FBI lab on some tests. Possibly after those are completed, which could be any day —”

“I want to bury my daughter, Chief Greer.” Bondurant's voice was tight. He didn't look at the chief, but seemed to be staring into a dimension only he could see. He had ignored the offer of a seat, and moved restlessly around the conference room. “The thought of her body sitting in some refrigerated locker like so much meat . . . I want her back.”

“Peter darling, we understand,” Grace Noble said. “We feel your pain. And I can assure you, the task force is doing everything possible to solve this—”

“Really? Your lead detective has spent more time harassing me than he's spent pursuing any suspects.”

“Sergeant Kovac can be a bit gruff,” Greer said. “But his record in homicide speaks for itself.”

“At the risk of sounding glib, Chief Greer,” Edwyn Noble said, “Sergeant Kovac's record notwithstanding, what has he done for us lately? We have another victim. The killer seems to be thumbing his nose, not only at the task force, but at the city. Does Sergeant Kovac even have a viable suspect at this point?”

“Lieutenant Fowler tells me someone was questioned earlier today.”

“Who? A legitimate suspect?”

Greer frowned. “I'm not at liberty—”

“She was my daughter!” Peter shouted, the rage in his voice reverberating off the walls. He turned away from the stares of the others and put his hands over his face.

The mayor pressed a hand to her ample bosom, as if the sight was causing her chest pains.

“If someone has been brought in,” Noble said, the voice of reason, “then it will be only a matter of hours before the press reveals that information. That isn't a comment on the security of your force, per se, Chief. It's simply impossible to eliminate all leaks in a case of this magnitude.”

Greer looked from Bondurant's lawyer to Bondurant's lawyer's wife—his boss. Unhappy and unable to see any escape routes, he sighed heavily. “The caretaker from Ms. Bondurant's town house complex.”

The intercom buzzed, and Grace Noble answered it from the phone on the side table. “Mayor Noble, Sergeant Kovac and Special Agent Quinn are here to see you.”

“Send them in, Cynthia.”

Kovac was through the door almost before the mayor finished her sentence, his eyes finding Peter Bondurant like a pair of heat-seeking missiles. Bondurant looked thinner than he had the day before, his color worse. He met