'The food here is wretched. It tastes like they steam everything.'
He held no resentment toward me at all, only expressing some joking disappointment that our third date couldn't possibly be as exciting as the first two were.
Great guy. I was going to enjoy getting to know him.
The second call was a reporter from Time magazine, who wanted to know if I wouldn't mind talking to him about Harry.
The last was from my worried mother, who hadn't heard from me in over twenty minutes and wondered if I was still doing okay. I called her back.
'I'm fine, Mom. Are you happy to be back home?'
'Yes, thank goodness it's over. I'm so sore, I can barely move.'
A tinge of panic. 'Is your hip getting worse? You told me --'
'My hip is fine, Jacqueline. I'm not nursing-home material yet. I'm sore because of that rascal Mr. Griffin. He's like the Energizer Bunny. He keeps going and going -- I swear, I didn't sleep for three days.'
Perhaps I was a bit hasty in worrying that Mom couldn't take care of herself.
After the call, I made myself a sandwich and sat down in my rocking chair with a recent Ed McBain paperback.
The next thing I knew, without any effort whatsoever on my part, I was asleep.
Chapter 46
I WOKE UP THE NEXT MORNING, refreshed, invigorated, and feeling good enough to exercise.
I took it easy, favoring my bad leg, but still managed to make it through my morning routine. I had to skip sit- ups because of the huge bruise on my stomach, the ugly aftermath of getting shot. But I did a few extra push-ups to compensate.
The snow from the night before didn't stick, so unearthing my car wasn't necessary. However, it took eight tries before the engine finally caught, and I stalled twice driving to the station.
I didn't let it hurt my good mood.
When I arrived, I found out Benedict was at the morgue with the relatives of JoAnn Fourthy, the first victim. She'd been identified through The Max Trainter Show, and her parents had been located in New Jersey. The Gingerbread Man case was officially closed.
Now I had to take on the backlog I had accumulated. A knifing. A hit-and-run. A gang murder. A fatal shooting at a high school.
A Violent Crimes lieutenant's job was never done.
An undetermined time later, my concentration was broken when two men stepped into my office. Without knocking. It was Special Agents Dailey and Coursey, complete with matching suits, haircuts, and demeanors. I wondered if they called each other every morning to decide on what to wear that day.
'We never got to congratulate you on catching the unsub, Lieutenant,' Dailey said.
Or maybe it was Coursey.
The other one added, 'I know we didn't always see eye to eye on things, but we're glad everything worked out for the best.'
Standard FBI procedure. Don't burn your bridges.
'Was Kork listed in your computer under known poisoners?'
They looked at each other, and then back at me.
'He was on a suspect list for the candy tamperings in Michigan, but Vicky didn't have him in her database. We did a follow-up with the investigating officers of that case and read through their reports. Kork was brought in for questioning and released on two different occasions, but there was never sufficient evidence for an arrest.'
'I see.' I tried to look appropriately smug. 'And how did things go with the horse?'
One of them cleared his throat. The other looked at an imaginary spot on his sleeve.
'Profiling isn't a hard science, Lieutenant. Sometimes we're a little off-center.'
'Ah.'
'So -- have you had a chance to look at the Hansen case yet?'
'Pardon me?'
'The high school shooting? It's almost identical to a similar homicide in Plainfield, Wisconsin, last year.'
'And?' I feared where this was headed.
'And your captain wanted us to work together on it. A state line has been crossed.'
Oh, no. 'Look, guys...'
They headed for the door.
'We'll be by at two o'clock to discuss the case further. We need to have Vicky help us with a suspect profile before we can proceed.'
And then they were gone.
