'If you only knew,' he said, and plowed his fingers through his hair. 'I had you call me every night from Boston because I was afraid you'd get yourself into trouble.'
'I'm a trained FBI agent. What trouble? Even if I couldn't get to my gun, I sure know how to fall.'
He grinned down at her, raised his hand, then lowered it. 'Okay, here's what's going to happen. You know more about this guy than any other living person. Would you say that's accurate?'
'Yes.' Her heart began to beat in a slow cadence. 'I guess you know I printed out all the police and autopsy reports from the seven murders in San Francisco?'
He nodded, looking toward an old woman who was pulling a grocery cart loaded with bags filled with old clothes, cardboard, empty cola bottles. 'It's Old Sal. I'll introduce you, then we need to get back.'
Old Sal just looked her over with very worldly, bloodshot eyes. She could have been any age from fifty to ninety.
'Get your check, Sal?'
'Yeah, Dillon, I got it. You feed my little birdies?'
'No, Sherlock here wanted to, but I wouldn't let her.'
The old eyes turned to her. 'You Sherlock?'
'Yes, ma'am. Nice to meet you.'
'You be good to my boy here, you get me, young lady?'
'I'm not a young lady, ma'am, I'm an FBI agent.'
Savich laughed. 'She's right, Sal. I rather think I'll be the one taking care of her.'
'You get your problems solved, dear, then you can play with my boy here. He's a good lad.'
'I will, ma'am.'
'I don't like this ma'am stuff.'
'It's okay, Sal. She calls me sir, right to my face, as if I were her father or something even worse.'
'How old are you, Sherlock?'
'I'm twenty-seven.'
'That's a good age. Dillon is thirty-four. Just turned thirty-four three and a half weeks ago. We had a little party for him here. Me and my birdies. Is Sherlock your first or last name?'
'It's my last name, Sal. My first name's Lacey.'
'Huh. I like Sherlock better. It gives you distinction.'
'I agree.'
'You need anything, Sal?'
'No, Dillon. I just want to sit in this lovely sun, rest my bones, and feed my birdies. I got them a pound of unsalted peanuts. I don't want to harden their little arteries.'
Lacey was still smiling when they went back into the Hoover Building.
She wasn't smiling ten minutes later.
11
SO HE'S GOING TO TAKE you to Boston. How'd you manage that, Sherlock?'
Hannah Paisley was leaning over her, her voice low and furious in her ear.
'You shouldn't be going. You're new, you don't know anything. You don't deserve to go. It's because you're sleeping with him, isn't it?'
Lacey slowly turned in her chair, looking up. 'No, Hannah. Stop this. This is all business, nothing else. Why don't you believe me?''
'You're lying, damn you. I've seen women look at him. They all want him.'
'Ollie told me that Savich doesn't believe in becoming involved with anyone in his unit. That includes all of us, Hannah. If you want him, then I suggest you transfer out. Listen, I just want to catch this monster in Boston. Actually I did lie. I do want Savich's brain and his expertise. Does that count? Is that brain lust?'
Finally Hannah had left.
Now Lacey leaned her head back against her new sofa and grabbed one of the fat pillows to hug. She closed her eyes and thought of the woman who had just about everything and wanted more. She was sorry if Hannah loved Savich, but there was nothing either of them could do about it. Hannah had to get a grip. Lacey was the last woman on earth who was a threat to her. No matter now. She wouldn't worry about it anymore. It was Savich's problem. She leaned over and stared at the phone. She picked up the receiver, stared at it some more, then took a deep breath. She dialed the number very slowly.
It rang once, twice, then 'Hello, Judge Sherlock here.'
'Hello, Dad.'
'Lacey?'
'Yes, Dad.'
'This is a surprise. You usually only write. Is something wrong?'
'No. I just didn't have time to write. How are you? How is Mom?'
'Your mother is the same as ever, as am I. So Douglas tells me you're in this special unit in the FBI and then I read about you and this genius guy catching that murderer in Chicago. You happy now?'
She ignored the sarcasm in his voice, but it was difficult. She'd always hated that awful cutting tone of his that used to annihilate her when she was growing up. In letters, she usually missed it, which was one reason why she only wrote him letters. But there was no time for a letter now. 'Dad, he's struck again.'
'What? Who's struck whom?'
'The monster who murdered Belinda. He's struck again in Boston. He killed a woman exactly the same way he killed the seven women in San Francisco. It's been exactly seven years since he stopped. It's a cycle. He's on a seven-year cycle.'
There was no sound, no breathing, nothing.
'Dad? He's begun again. Didn't you understand me?'
'Yes, Lacey, I understand you.'
'I'm going to Boston tomorrow morning with my boss, Dillon Savich, who's the chief of the Criminal Apprehension Unit. I'm going to catch this monster, Dad. Finally, I'm going to get him.'
She was breathing hard. There was nothing but silence on the other end of the line. She drew a deep breath. She had to calm down. She didn't want to sound like some sort of obsessed nut.
But she was. That monster had taken everything from her and left her with a fear she'd managed to control, but it was there still, deep inside of her. No, it wasn't just for her. She just wanted to get this scum off the streets. She wanted to shoot him herself.
'Lacey? What do you mean, you're going to catch him? You're not involved. Leave it to the professionals.'
'That's what I am, Dad.'
'No,' he said, angry now. 'No, you're not. You're a scared little girl. I think you should come home now. Listen to me. Your sister's been dead seven years. Seven years, Lacey. Douglas told me what you were doing, but I didn't want to believe it. We all know you've given up the last seven years of your life. It's way beyond time to let go of it. Forget it. Come home. I'll take care of you. You can play the piano again. You enjoyed that, and it sure as hell won't get you killed. I won't say a word about law school. Come home.'
Forget it? Forget what that butcher had done to Belinda, to her? She drew a deep breath. 'How is Mom?'
'What? Oh, your mother. She had a quiet day. Her nurse, Miss Heinz, told me at dinner that she ate well and she watched television, The Price Is Right, I believe it was, with seeming understanding.'
'I'm not like my mother.'
'No, certainly you're not. But this has got to stop, Lacey.'
'Why?'
'Let the police catch that madman.'
'I am the police. The highest police in the land.'
He was silent for a very long time, then he said quietly, 'Your mother began this way.'
'I must be going, Dad. I had hoped you'd be pleased that I have a shot at catching this monster.'
Her father said nothing at all.
To her shock, a soft whispery voice came on the line. 'Is that you, Lacey?'
