‘Nope. As far as my ex was concerned, I couldn’t compete with the live ones.’
She reached over to stroke Charlie’s neck. ‘I talked to the others this morning, told them what happened last night.’
Magozzi winced, and she caught it.
‘Relax, Magozzi. I didn’t ask them about Brian Bradford, mostly because if I didn’t know him, they wouldn’t either. Anyway, they’re afraid for me. They want us all to disappear again.’
‘Is that what you want?’
She thought about it for a while, then made a broad gesture that took in the fence, the security, ten years of fearful vigilance Magozzi couldn’t even imagine. ‘I want all this to be over. I want it to end.’
They both jumped when his cell phone burped in his pocket.
He stood up and flipped it open. ‘Magozzi.’
‘Good morning, Detective.’
Magozzi took a beat, confused. Only cops called his cell, and he couldn’t remember any of them ever saying ‘good morning.’
‘This is Lieutenant Parker, Atlanta Police Department.’ The drawl came through on ‘lieutenant,’ which explained everything.
‘Yeah, Lieutenant. You find anything for us?’
‘Nothing that’s going to make your day, I’m afraid. According to Mrs Francher – she’s the admissions director, and she’s been working with me on this all night – a Brian Bradford was admitted to the university, but she can’t find any record that he ever actually registered.’
‘Oh.’ Magozzi packed a lot of disappointment into that single syllable. ‘Well, thanks for –’
‘Whoa. Slow down a minute, Detective. It seems this was a little peculiar. When an admitted student doesn’t register, that leaves the school with an empty slot they fill up with someone else. Otherwise you’ve got a bed going to waste in the freshman dorms, an empty chair in the classrooms . . .’
‘Okay. Right.’
‘But that didn’t happen in this case.’
Magozzi frowned. ‘I don’t get it.’
‘Neither did Mrs Francher. So she checked the numbers – freshman admissions against freshman registrations – and they matched. Right on the money.’
Magozzi closed his eyes and focused, waiting for his brain to kick in. Get rid of the woman, the dog, the morning coffee, the fleeting illusion of normalcy; go back to the cop. ‘So he was there. Just not as Brian Bradford.’
Lieutenant Parker said, ‘That’s what we were thinking. Apparently if he changed his name legally between admission and registration, the name Brian Bradford would never show up in the school records, but the numbers would still match.’
‘He’d have to prove it, though, right? Show the documents before you’d let him register? Otherwise Joe Blow off the street could just come in and use Brian Bradford’s transcript and SAT scores . . .’
‘True enough. But that doesn’t mean the documents were legitimate, and Mrs Francher isn’t a hundred percent sure the university was double-checking such things back then. I checked the state records for you, just in case. No Brian Bradford ever applied for a name change in Georgia.’
‘Okay, okay, wait a minute . . .’ Magozzi frowned, thinking hard, then his brow cleared. ‘So what that leaves us is a name on that list of registered students that doesn’t belong. One name that isn’t on the admissions list. That’s our guy.’
Lieutenant Parker sighed through the phone. ‘And that’s a problem. The freshman class that year was over five thousand, and nothing was computerized. What we’re looking at is hard copies. Two lists, five thousand-plus names each, and they aren’t even alphabetized. The names were entered when the clerks got around to it. The lists are going to have to be checked against each other by hand, name by name. Even after you eliminate the names that are obviously female . . .’
‘Can’t do that. It could be either.’
There was a short silence. ‘You know, Detective, sometimes I just can’t understand why people think southerners are so eccentric. Hell, we’re down here pulling alligators off golf courses while you boys up north get all the really interesting cases.’
Magozzi smiled. ‘He was born in Atlanta, if that makes you feel any better.’
‘Well, it does. The South’s reputation is intact. Are you going to call me when this is all over, Detective, give me the whole story so I have something to talk about on the eighteenth green?’
‘I’ll give you my word on that, if you fax me those lists this morning.’
‘There might be some privacy issues. I’ll have to check with legal.’
Magozzi took a breath, tried to keep his voice steady. ‘He’s killed six people in under a week, Lieutenant.’
A soft whistle came over the wire. ‘I’ll light some fires, Detective. Give me your fax number.’
Magozzi gave him the number, then flipped the phone closed and looked over at Grace. She was sitting very still, watching him.
‘That’s why the name didn’t ring a bell,’ she said softly. ‘He could have been anybody.’
Magozzi looked down into his mug, sadly empty now.
‘Those lists from the university – we could probably help you with those. We’ve got some comparative analysis software . . .’
He was shaking his head, but he met her eyes. ‘I’ve got to go. I don’t want you to be alone today.’
‘We’ll be at the loft. All of us.’
‘Okay.’ He turned and started to leave, then turned and looked back at her. ‘Thanks for the extra blanket.’
She almost smiled, then tipped her head a little sideways, like a child assessing an adult, and for the life of him, he couldn’t read her eyes. ‘Did you ever think it was me, Magozzi?’
‘Not for one second.’
40
Gloria looked Magozzi up and down when he got into the office. He rubbed his cheek and heard the rasp of twenty-four-hour whiskers.
‘This is my macho look.’
‘Hmph. You sleep in those clothes, Leo?’
‘As a matter of fact I did.’
‘Some macho. First sleepover with a woman since your divorce and you kept your clothes on.’
Magozzi looked at her, exasperated. ‘Is there anything about my life you don’t know?’
‘Yes. I don’t know why you had your first sleepover with a woman since your divorce and kept your clothes on.’
‘It was not a sleepover. It was surveillance, protection, interrogation . . . Oh, the hell with it. Where’d you put Kingsford County?’
‘They’re in the task force room with Gino, who, I might add, managed to shower, shave, change clothes, and still get here before you did. You’ve got funny curly hairs on your jacket.’
Magozzi peered down and brushed off his lapels. ‘She has a dog.’
‘Looks like you had more luck with the dog than the woman.’
‘Very funny. Listen, no one uses the fax today, okay? And I mean no one. I’m looking for a big one from Atlanta, and I don’t want them getting a busy signal when they try to start sending.’
‘How big?’
‘I don’t know. Big. Find me when it starts to come through.’ Magozzi left the Homicide office and took the stairs up to the task force room.
He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the glass top of the door, thought he looked like a mobster, then shifted his focus into the room. Gino, Sheriff Halloran, and his deputy were all standing in front of the big board that held photos of the victims and crime scenes. They had their hands in their pockets and their expressions were
