What about the numbers themselves, as a function?Zoe had noticed right away that they added up to a sum of twenty-three. Couldthat mean something? It was probably nothing at all.
Mind you, it was worth noting that thiswas a case where the number twenty-three was relevant, just in case that didturn out to have some kind of bearing elsewhere.
“Zoe.”
Zoe looked up to see Shelley,breathless, appearing in the doorway. She had expected to be told it was timeto head out to the motel to get some sleep, but that wasn’t the impressionShelley was giving. No, she looked alarmed, her eyes wider than normal and herbreathing fast.
“What is it?”
“There’s been another murder. A womanwith her throat cut. Not burned—the killer was interrupted. We have a witness.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Zoe hugged her arms against her chest,warding off the chill of the nighttime air through her thin suit. Californiawas normally mild and balmy at this time of year, the early spring, but tonightthere was something of a breeze. Maybe it was the thought that there would havebeen a fire here, if it wasn’t for the chance interruption of their witness.
“That is him?” Zoe asked, nodding in thedirection of a young African-American male sitting on the edge of an ambulancewith a foil blanket around him.
“I believe so,” Shelley confirmed. “Doyou want me to talk to him while you check the body?”
Zoe hesitated. It would be the betteroption. The easier one. After all, that was what they were each best at.
But, and maybe it was just Dr. Monk’svoice in the back of her head telling her to try more in social situations, Zoefelt like she should at least try.
“I will observe you,” she said, becausethat was a good first step, even if she still knew that Shelley was the bestchoice to talk to, well, anyone. There was always a chance she would learnsomething, a new technique that she could use herself. “I would like to hearwhat he said firsthand.”
Shelley nodded easily and led the way. Aparamedic was leaning on the ambulance gate, talking to the man in a low voice,but she respectfully moved away when she saw the two badges that Shelley and Zoeflashed as they approached.
“You’re the coworker who found Miss Karling?”Shelley asked. Zoe remembered the details from the brief report they’d had overthe radio as they drove: Naomi Karling, a twenty-three-year-old college studentwho worked downtown in a store, had been found with her throat cut not longafter being dropped home by a coworker. This coworker, to be precise. Nate King.
“Yeah,” he said, looking up at her with aweary and open face. All of the lines of it were drooping, like he had beenthrough something so bad he couldn’t even hold an expression. Zoe guessed thatwas probably exactly the truth. He wasn’t a man, really, now that she looked athim: a boy, nineteen at the most, still gangly and growing accustomed to hissix foot three of limbs that stuck out at angles from the blanket over hisshoulders. Even his neck seemed long, his head bobbing unsteadily like a toy, aclose-cropped covering of tight black curls only enhancing the impression.
“Can you tell us everything?” Shelleyasked. She moved to sit down beside him, getting on his level. “Starting fromwhen you left the store tonight.”
“I already told the cops,” Nate said, hiseyes wandering with a certain disassociation over the uniformed officers aroundthe house, each of them painted with flashes of red and blue light in thedarkness.
“We aren’t the cops, Mr. King,” Shelleysaid. “We’re the FBI. I’m Special Agent Shelley Rose, and this is my partner,Special Agent Zoe Prime. We just need to hear it from you so we can get ourinvestigation started and catch whoever did this.”
“It was a man,” Nate said, his attentionsnapping back to Shelley like a whip. “I saw him.”
“We’ll get there, Mr. King. Please, juststart from the beginning, if you would.”
“I told Naomi I’d give her a ride in mycar,” Nate said, his head bobbing once in the direction of a small, batteredvehicle sitting alongside the ambulance. An old rustbucket. Something a studentcould afford to buy secondhand on meager wages from a part-time job at a localneighborhood store.
“How did she normally get home?” Shelleyasked.
Zoe fished her notebook out of herpocket so she could make notes while Shelley talked. The first thing she wrotewas meet witness at their level, followed on the next line by sympathetichead tilt of ten degrees.
“She walked.” Nate sniffed, his eyeswandering across the sidewalk, remembering. “I thought it wasn’t safe in thisarea, this time of night. She said she did it every night and it was fine, butit’s cold tonight too, so I insisted.”
“Did you notice anything unusual whileyou were locking up the store?”
“No. Same as normal.”
“And what about during the day? Anycustomers that caught your attention in any particular way?”
Nate shook his head slowly, three times.“I don’t remember anything.”
“All right. Go on. What about when yougot here?”
“I just dropped Naomi off right here,where my car is now. I got out and walked her to the door. I was gonna ask her…”Nate trailed off, his eyes unfocused as he stared at the front of the house,now a hive of activity as forensics professionals buzzed in and out.
“Were you going to ask her out on adate?” Shelley prompted gently, her voice low and soft.
“Yeah.” Nate swallowed, dropping hiseyes again. “She was really… just really cool, you know?”
“All right.” The way Shelley said it wasreassuring, like she understood everything Nate was going through. How did shedo that? If it had been Zoe, she would have sounded like she was heartless. “Doyou remember seeing anything out of place at that time?”
“Not at all. I just said bye at the doorand got back in my car and drove off. Naomi closed the door behind her. I thinkI heard her lock it, even.”
Shelley nodded. “So, you initially leftthe scene?”
“Then I came back,” he said. “I lookeddown at the seat when I was at the lights and I saw Naomi’s keys.
