The last thing she’d done before heading home had been to call BodyFit Athletic Club. She’d learned the club opened at five in the morning and closed at ten.
She shut off the water and stepped out of the shower. What a day it had been! An encounter with a man who made her turn to mush with only a glance, another woman killed by a madman, and the realization that her son was no longer an innocent babe. She hoped there were no more surprises in store before sundown.
She had just finished dressing and running a pick through her curls when she heard a knock at the door. Brandon knew not to answer the door when she was gone or otherwise indisposed unless he knew it was Ada or his grandparents, so she slipped her feet into sensible flats and hurried to the living room.
“Talk about timing,” she said. “That’s bound to be the pizza man.”
It was. For the next twenty minutes, she and Brandon gorged themselves on pizza and Pepsi and talked about the events of his day. They carefully avoided any mention of the events of hers.
CHAPTER 10
It was five till six when Jen arrived at the Municipal Building. It had been built four years before, and the police department was housed in the basement level. Lonnie said that the sight of a police officer, especially a uniformed one, was offensive to the average citizen, so the city had put them in the basement to get them out of sight. On her bad days, Jen tended to agree with him.
The department consisted of one hundred and two sworn officers, divided among the patrol officers, detectives, and supervisors. In addition, the department employed dispatchers, clerical personnel, and corrections officers who worked the city jail.
The detective section included juvenile and narcotics officers. Its twenty-eight men and four women, plus two clerical assistants, were housed in a large, brightly lit room off the main lobby. The room was quiet, most of the detectives having gone home at four. She stopped to say hello to Leslie Drake, who was still at her desk in the small office assigned to Juvenile.
“It sounds like things are getting hairy.” Leslie’s brown eyes were thoughtful. “Any ideas?”
“Next to none,” Jen admitted. “I suppose you’ve heard our killer might be the son of a man who committed serial murders across the country over fifteen years ago.”
“The whole department’s talking about it.” Leslie absentmindedly played with a strand of hair the color of an Irish Setter’s. “I wonder how long it will be before the media gets the word.”
“I’m sure they already have. Who knows? It might help if they print Kelty’s name and his father’s story. Sometimes these killers like publicity. Maybe it will prompt him to contact us or some lucky reporter.”
“It will also have the public on our backs wanting to know why we haven’t found him if we know who he is.”
“There is that.”
“If he wasn’t murdering women, I could almost feel sorry for the guy,” Leslie said. “Can you imagine what it must have been like having a serial killer for a father? Makes a girl glad she was born into a family that’s just got the normal screw-ups.”
She leaned back in her chair, her eyes twinkling.
“By the way, what’s this I hear about a certain FBI guy having the hots for you?”
Jen groaned. “You’ve been talking to Jamie.”
“And Lonnie.” Leslie laughed at Jen’s muttered curse. “From what they say, the man is smitten. And they say it looked to them like maybe you had a little touch of the bug yourself.”
“They’re liable to say just about anything. What bothers me is that they’ll say it to anybody who’ll listen.”
“Oh, I’m sure they haven’t talked to more than three or four people. Each.” Jen groaned again, and Leslie laughed. “And, of course, you can trust those three or four people to keep their mouths shut.”
“Right. Just like I can trust the sun to come up in the west tomorrow.” Jen shook her head. “I’ve got work to do. I can’t stand around gossiping all night.”
“By all means, go ahead.”
Jen saw with astonishment that Leslie was actually smirking.
“By the way, if you’re looking for your partner from the FBI, I just saw him go into the conference room.” She paused for a single beat, then added, “Nice butt.”
Jen burst out laughing in spite of herself. Waving a hand in disgust at Leslie, she headed toward the detectives’ conference room.
Lonnie, Al, and Don were at the table, reading reports. Will stood with Mike Hardesty at one end of the room. He had changed into slacks and a light sweater and was pouring a cup from the Mr. Coffee on the credenza. When he saw her, he smiled, the corners crinkling up in that maddening way of his that made her heart skip a beat.
Lonnie’s thinning gray hair was standing at angles on his head, evidence that he’d been running his fingers through it in frustration. He motioned for her to sit down.
“I’ve just been going over the Edwards file. Again. I don’t see anything I didn’t see before.”
“These are always the hardest murders to solve,” Hawkins said. “No motive that makes the slightest bit of sense to anybody but the killer.”
“And if we have the same luck we had last time,” Al added, “the fingerprints we found will belong there.”
“Well, we do have a few hairs and the black ribbon.” Jen tried to sound more positive than she felt. “Once we get a suspect, the hairs can be either matched up or not.”
“Sounds easy.” Lonnie snorted. “But first we’ve got to get a suspect.”
“We will. Eventually the guy’ll screw up, and we’ll
