Show of Evil

'We don't have a description of the perp, we don't have a description of the vehicle, we don't have shit. And whoever done this job's been on the run for eighteen to twenty goddamn hours.' He stopped at the three men, looked down at the floor with disgust. 'Hell, the son of a bitch could be halfway to New York by now.' Jensen said, 'We're talking to everybody in town and in the area. We're checking all pass-through vehicles between seven and ten P.M. We're checking filling stations up and down 44. Looking for anybody suspicious.'

'Christ, that's half the world. We'll be getting calls for the next year with that description.'

'Maybe the ME'll come up with something,' said Nicholson. 'Blood, fibres, DNA sample, something.'

'Yeah, sure. And Little Bo Beep'll give us all a blow job if we're good boys. What we got is nothing We don't know what or who the hell we're looking for or where he or she is going. Christ, the killer could be standing out there in the rain, looking across the ribbons, we wouldn't have a clue.'

Then he looked at Flaherty and shrugged.

'Got any ideas, Dermott?'

Flaherty gave him a lazy smile. 'I convict 'em, Captain, I'm not much at catching 'em.'

'Well, sorry I disturbed you boys. Go back to whatever you were doin'.' Gilanti moved away, then looked back at Flaherty. 'You know anything, any fuckin' thing at all that'll help us, Dermott, I'll name my next kid after you, even if it's a girl.'

'Thanks for your assistance, Captain.'

'Yeah, sure,' Gilanti said, and went out into the rain.

'What was in the box Lincoln delivered?' Flaherty asked Jensen.

'That's the sickest thing of all,' said Jensen. 'Just this, wrapped in a lot of tissue paper.'

Flaherty looked at the object and a sudden chill rippled up his backbone.

Chief Hiram Young was just sitting down to his evening meal when the phone rang. 'Damn,' he grumbled under his breath as he snatched up the phone. 'Abe Green's dog's probably raising cain in somebody's yard. Hello!

'Chief Hiram Young?'

'Yes, sir,' Young answered sternly.

'Sir, my name's Dermott Flaherty. I'm an assistant DA up in Chicago.'

'I've already talked to your people. How many times I have to tell you—'

'Excuse me, sir. I just have one question.'

'I'm just settin' down't' dinner.'

'This will only take a minute. Was anything taken from the Balfour home when Linda Balfour was murdered?'

'I already told you people, robbery was not the motive.'

'I'm not talking about robbery, Chief. I'm talking about some little insignificant thing. Nothing that would be important to anyone else.'

There was a long pause. Young cradled the phone between his shoulder and jaw as he spread jam on a hot biscuit.

'Really wasn't anything,' Young said.

'What was it?'

 'A stuffed fish.'

'You mean, like a fish mounted on the wall?'

 'No, a little stuffed dolphin. It had ST SIMONS ISLAND, GA. printed on the side. George bought it for Linda when they were on their honeymoon.'

'Where was it? What I mean is, was it in the room where she was murdered?'

'Yes. On the mantelpiece.'

'Same room as the murder?'

'That's what I just said.'

'Thank you, sir. I appreciate your help. Goodbye.'

Young slammed down the phone.

'Something wrong, honey?' his wife asked.

'Just some big-shot DA up in Chicago tryin' to mess in our business,' he said, and returned to his dinner.

'Abel? I'm at