'Tell me about the second victim.'
I ran it down for him, and he asked questions when appropriate.
'The pressure is mounting,' he said when I finished. 'The police superintendent and the mayor's office want to turn the case over to the Feds.'
I made a face. 'We're not lacking for manpower or resources. The only thing we're lacking is leads, because this guy doesn't give us any to follow.'
'That's why I refused. But after the media kicks into gear today, it won't be long before my authority is usurped. If you want to keep this one, Jack, you'll have to dig up something more to go on.'
'We're doing a restruct of the second vic. Maybe we'll get an ID.'
'Hedge that bet.'
I knew what he meant. In 99.9 percent of murder cases, the killer knows the victim, and links can be found. But the Gingerbread Man could be picking up random women. If that were the case, even positive IDs might not help us catch him.
'Any idea what he meant in the note, about leaving you another hidden present?'
'No. Another victim, maybe? But he doesn't hide them, he likes to put them in public places. Maybe...'
I rolled it around in my noggin. I left you another present, but it's deeply hidden. He's implying that the present was there, with the body, hidden deep. Deep in the body?
'What if he hid something inside the bodies?'
'Wouldn't the autopsy have picked it up?'
'Maybe not something deeply hidden.'
Bains picked up the phone and got the assistant Medical Examiner, Phil Blasky. He asked him to recheck the first Jane Doe, looking for anything that might have been placed inside the body.
'He's on it.' Bains hung up and scratched his mustache. 'Special Agents Coursey and Dailey spoke with me yesterday.'
I waited.
'They told me they don't believe you're giving them your full cooperation.'
I chose my words carefully. 'The FBI would profile Hitler as Jewish.'
Bains smiled briefly, an unusual move for him.
'No one likes an asshole, Jack, until you have to move your bowels.'
'I'll do my best.'
'And the letters, I want them analyzed.'
'They're at the lab now.'
'I meant by a handwriting expert.'
'We're already sure that the letters match.'
'That's only part of it. The mayor's office is sending an expert to look over the letters to get a profile of our suspect.'
I made a face. 'Another profile? Are we going to consult a psychic next?'
'I'm sure you'll give him your full cooperation, Lieutenant.' Bains said it with the full weight of his authority. Then he dismissed me, and I stood up to leave.
'Jack?'
'Cap?'
'Watch out for the overtime too. You're no help to the case when you're too exhausted to see straight.'
I left, irritated. Being on the force for over twenty years, I'd had my share of big cases, and the corresponding media and political pressure. But being forced to work with the FBI, and now some snake oil handwriting expert, made my work all the more difficult.
'Look at it this way,' Benedict said when I filled him in. 'You get paid whether you catch the guy or not.'
'Your attitude leaves something to be desired, Detective.'
'It's just a job, Jack. Don't take it personally. It's what you do to make money, so you can live your life. I want to catch this guy as much as you do. You saw what he did to those women. Hell, look what he did to my mouth. But when I walk out that door, I leave work behind.'
'This particular work seems to be following me wherever I go.'
Herb frowned. 'Get some rest. Take a day off. Call up that dating service and find a nice guy and get laid. Do something, for God's sake, other than police work. Fifty years from now, when you're dead and buried, you want the epitaph on your tombstone to read 'She was a good cop'?'
I thought about it.
'Fine,' I decided. 'I'll take the afternoon off. Can you manage the store while I'm gone?'
'Consider it done.'
'I'll see you later.'
