quickly, hands in his pockets, head down, looking as if he has a destination.
On Jack's street he spots the team; they're parked almost a block away, and the windows are tinted to prevent looking in. But their cover is blown. Because it's cold, they have the heat on, and the engine is running. Charles sees the exhaust from a hundred yards away, and turns in his tracks and heads back the way he came.
If Jack's tail is still there, then Jack is still there. So the easiest way to follow Jack is to follow her tail.
They'll be looking for someone stalking Jack.
But they won't be looking for someone stalking them.
The Gingerbread Man gets back into his plumbing truck and finds a parking space a block away from the surveillance team.
Then he turns off the engine, shoves his hands in his pockets, and waits.
Chapter 29
AS USUAL, HERB BEAT ME TO work.
'I didn't know you owned a pair of jeans,' he said.
'I'm undercover.'
'I don't think they make Bon Jour anymore.'
'Are you saying I'm out of style?'
'Is that an Izod shirt? I haven't seen one in fifteen years.'
Like Herb could talk. The tie he wore today had a pineapple hand-painted on it.
'You're fired,' I told him.
Herb ignored me, turning his attention to a box of grocery Danish. The phone rang.
'Daniels.'
'My office. Benedict too.'
Bains hung up. His small talk needed work.
'We are to proceed directly to the office of our captain,' I informed Benedict.
He nodded, stuffing the rest of the breakfast roll into his mouth, basset hound jowls inflating like balloons. Canine to chipmunk in 2.2 seconds.
We walked down the hall, Herb madly chewing and me trying to keep pace, having judiciously left my cane in my office. No point in looking frail before the almighty Captain Bains. Herb did a big cartoon swallow and we went in.
Bains took off his reading glasses and nodded at us.
'Early this morning our man left a package for the Chicago Tribune. It contained some body parts, in a plastic bag, that have since been confirmed as Theresa Metcalf's. There was also a letter.'
Bains glanced at the paper on the table, encased in a big plastic bag. Herb picked it up and we read.
Chicago,
This is the Gingerbread Man. The lies must stop. My plan was to leave this city after the fourth, but now I may stay to take revenge for the things said about me. I let that Judas live, and she betrayed me. Now you will all pay the price.
Let me make it clear. I am no joke. I will kill your daughters, Chicago. Your sisters shall suffer. I will continue to kill until I am shown respect.
Fire Daniels. Let the truth come out.
'Has this been run yet?' I asked.
'It will be, afternoon edition. We were able to hold it back until we confirmed the parts belonged to the second girl.'
'Did we get anything?' Benedict asked.
'No prints. He left it in a bathroom at a coffee shop. A team is still taking the place apart, dusting for prints, talking to customers and staff. It was a busy place, even that early in the morning. No one remembers anything. We have a tape of the phone call to the Trib; they automatically record their tip line. Voice print is being done, but it won't help unless we catch him.'
'Why weren't we called last night?'
I realized, as it came out of my mouth, that I already knew the answer.
'The mayor has given jurisdiction on this case over to the Feds. Officially, you are on a leave of absence pending charges of official misconduct. The paper will run a statement from the police superintendent alongside the letter.'
'That's bullshit, Captain!' Herb had a mad-on, venting for both of us. 'The Feebies couldn't catch a cold in a snowstorm.'
'Jack is officially on a leave of absence. You, Herb, will still keep our end of things up around here. And whatever Jack decides to do, on her own time as a private citizen, is her business.'
I smiled. I never liked the spotlight much anyway.
'Now bring me up to speed,' Bains said.
