Grace shook her head and kept heading toward home.
While Grace put the Range Rover in the garage, Magozzi went out to where the squad was just pulling up to the curb. When the uniform rolled down the window, he recognized Andy Garfield, one of the older patrols who had the savvy to go inside, but absolutely no interest in leaving the streets.
‘She was doing eighty-three in a fifty-five, Magozzi. How fast do you think she goes when she doesn’t have a cop in the right seat?’
‘God knows. How the hell are you, Garfield?’
‘Better.’
‘I heard Sheila came out all right.’
‘Yeah. We were scared shitless for a week, but it was just a cyst.’
‘Gino told me. We raised a glass.’ He glanced over his shoulder when he heard Grace’s boots on the front walk. ‘I’m going to be inside for a while. Heads up out here, okay?’
‘You got it.’
Up at the door Grace was just inserting her key card when Magozzi came up behind her. ‘Garfield’s on you tonight. He’s a good man.’
‘Is that supposed to make me feel better?’
‘I don’t know. It makes me feel better.’
When she cracked the fortress door a wire-haired mutt was right there, doing a little tap dance, his tongue lolling. His doggy expression shifted comically from great joy to utter shock when he realized Grace wasn’t alone, but surprisingly, he didn’t run away. He merely kept a wary eye on Magozzi, who was careful to keep his movements slow and predictable.
‘So this is the dog that’s afraid of strangers? He doesn’t seem too afraid now.’
Grace bent over and ruffled his fur. ‘Hey, Charlie.’ She looked back at Magozzi. ‘I guess he remembers you. Or at least the smell of you. Probably figures if you were invited back, you’re pretty harmless. Of course, he doesn’t realize that you weren’t invited either time. That might change his mind.’
‘What happened to his tail?’
‘I don’t know. He was a stray.’
Magozzi knelt down and extended his hand slowly. ‘Hey, Charlie. It’s okay.’
Charlie scrutinized the offered hand from a distance, then stretched his nose forward tentatively. The stub of his tail wiggled back and forth a couple times.
‘He’s wagging his stump at me.’
Grace rolled her eyes. ‘You sound excited.’
‘My standards have dropped a lot in the past week.’
Grace hung her duster in a closet, looked at Magozzi for a moment, then finally held out a hand for his coat. He stared at her hand for a moment, confused by the unexpected gesture of civility, then scrambled out of his topcoat in record time. ‘You’re amazingly hospitable when you’re tired.’
She just sighed, hung up his coat, and then headed down the hallway toward the kitchen. Charlie scampered behind her, and Magozzi followed, with considerably more dignity, he thought.
‘Sit down if you want,’ Grace said.
Magozzi pulled up a chair at the kitchen table, then watched, absolutely amazed, as Charlie climbed up into the chair opposite him and sat there like a person.
Grace chose to remain standing, leaning against the counter instead of sitting. Magozzi decided she was big on taking the high ground, moral and otherwise.
‘Okay, Magozzi. I’m looking you in the eye. Talk.’
He took a deep breath and let it out slowly and climbed out all the way to the edge of that shaky old limb. ‘Let me rattle off some names and you tell me if they mean anything to you.’
‘Oh boy. Word association.’
‘Does the name Calumet mean anything to you?’
‘Baking powder,’ she said without batting an eye. ‘Did I pass?’
‘No, you failed. How about Kleinfeldt?’
‘Nothing. So what’s Calumet?’
‘A small town in Wisconsin.’
‘Wisconsin is a state, isn’t it?’
Magozzi smiled. ‘You’re actually funny. Does anyone else know that?’
‘Just you.’
‘How about Brian Bradford?’
She didn’t hesitate. ‘Nope.’
‘You sure?’
Grace studied him for a minute. ‘That’s the big one, isn’t it?’
Magozzi nodded.
‘I’ve never known a Brian Bradford. I’ve never known a Bradford, for that matter.’
‘No chance that one of your friends might have gone by that name back in Atlanta?’
She pulled out a chair, sat down, and looked him straight in the eye. ‘No. No chance at all. And you’re going to have to take my word for that, Magozzi.’
Magozzi let out a long, weary breath. He hadn’t realized how much hope he’d pinned on MacBride knowing the name until just now, when the hope had suddenly disappeared.
‘This Brian Bradford – is he the killer?’ Grace asked quietly.
‘We think so. He grew up at Saint Peter’s . . .’
Grace’s eyes widened at that.
‘ . . . and we think he might have been at the university in Atlanta the same time you were.’
‘Jesus.’ She closed her eyes and her hand moved reflexively toward her holster, then dropped back to her lap. ‘It’s the same killer.’
‘More and more, it’s starting to look that way. We’re working some things, trying to confirm his presence in Atlanta. Saint Peter’s got a transcript request from the university; we’ve got people down there checking admissions.’
The sound of chimes from another room was gentle, musical, but Grace jumped in her seat and caught her breath.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘e-mail,’ she whispered, staring past him down the hall.
‘From him?’
‘I don’t know.’ She sounded small, helpless.
‘Check it out while I’m here.’
She looked at him with the expression of someone about to go to the gallows, then led him down the hall into the tiny office and settled in the chair. He watched over her shoulder while she clicked on the monitor and pulled up her mailbox screen. There was one e-mail, with the same memo line as before: ‘From the Killer.’
She looked over her shoulder at him. ‘I hate this, Magozzi.’
She took a deep breath and clicked the ‘read’ button. There were no red pixels this time, no modified opening screen, just a simple text message:
I’m disappointed in you, Grace. You can’t even play your own game. And to think I’m right in your backyard.
Magozzi had his gun drawn and was out the back door before Grace had even finished reading the message.
The backyard was empty. Grace had flipped on a bank of floods by the time he’d made it down the three steps onto the grass, but all he saw was a single tree, a couple of chairs, and a solid wood fence attached to the house, too high for easy scaling. He called dispatch on his cell, got patched through to Garfield, and rattled off instructions while he checked the fence inch by inch, looking for scrapes on the wood, footprints, anything.
When he came back into the house he found Grace sitting stiffly in a recliner in the living room, Charlie in her lap, her Sig in her right hand, finger on the trigger, ready. Magozzi thought it was the saddest thing he had ever seen.
