Jen told them about the list she and Will had compiled.
“I think we should talk to the officers who were working last night—Sergeant Veasey’s platoon. Maybe one of them saw something that didn’t seem too important at the time but might mean something in retrospect.”
They agreed it was worth a try, and Lonnie called the communications desk. A few minutes later, she heard the dispatcher on the public address system notifying everyone from the midnight relief crew to report to the detective section.
While they waited, Jen called Georgia Pence in Personnel and jotted down Cochran’s social security number and birth date as Georgia read them off. Georgia told her she’d text Cochran’s photo as soon as they got off the phone, but it might take a few hours to get one of Adams from a source she had at the county.
Jen made a note to herself to ask Pat O’Neill to take a picture of Holiday without him knowing it. She also asked one of the cadets to run Adams and Holiday through the Bureau of Motor Vehicles to get their social security numbers and birth date. Once the FBI had the numbers and photos, they could begin their search.
Vic Hensley was the first patrolman to respond to the page. Jen noticed his eyes were red, and his breath smelled of beer and breath mints. Apparently the platoon had been having “choir practice” when they’d heard the news. Guess no one’s ever told him onions do a better job of masking booze breath than mints, she thought, remembering her own days as a rookie riding with an officer—now retired—who had a drinking problem. His onion breath had been tough to take for eight hours, but at least he always insisted she do the driving.
It was a little before two when they finished talking to the officers and confirmed that none knew anything that might help. Jeff Holloway was the only one who wasn’t in the building. He hadn’t worked the night before as scheduled but had taken a personal day off. It was unlikely he’d know anything that might help them.
Lonnie glanced at his watch and looked at Al. “I guess we should get going.”
Al nodded, but he didn’t look happy.
“Get going where?” Jen said.
“The autopsy,” Lonnie said.
Jen’s stomach threatened to rise into her throat, and she took a deep breath to steady herself.
“I’ll go with you.”
“What for?” Lonnie spoke gruffly, trying to hide the emotion he was feeling. “You know Follett doesn’t like a crowd around his table when he’s working.”
On impulse Jen threw her arms around him and hugged him tightly.
“Thank you,” she whispered. She smiled at Al through a haze of tears. “You, too, partner.”
“Now, stop that.” Lonnie pried her arms loose and turned away but not before she saw the moisture glistening in his eyes. “You’ll get my shirt wet with all that blubbering.”
“Aye, aye, sir.” Jen mock-saluted and tried to laugh.
“Take her home, Anderson,” Lonnie ordered.
“Not yet,” Jen said. “First, I’d like to talk to our mailman from last night.”
CHAPTER 34
At the post office, a clerk informed them that Holiday was out on his route and wouldn’t be in for another half hour or so.
“Could you tell us where he’s working?” Jen said. “Maybe we could catch up with him.”
“Let’s see.” The clerk thought. “He’s probably over on Lancaster by now or maybe Ohio Avenue.” He pulled out a map with routes marked in red and pointed. “Here’s the area that he works. He’s bound to be somewhere in there, but my guess is around Lancaster.”
Jen looked at the map and then at Will. Not being familiar with the city, he didn’t pick up on the significance of the route. In the car, she turned to him.
“Holiday’s route doesn’t cover the area where Vicki Kaufmann lived,” she said, “but he was the one who reported the murder.”
“Probably filling in for someone who was off that day.” Will started the car. “They must work all the routes at one time or another.”
“You don’t know the area, Will. His route doesn’t cover Vicki’s house, but it does cover Carla Edwards’s duplex.”
Will paused, his hand on the gearshift.
“Well, well, well, the coincidences are mounting up, aren’t they? Mr. Holiday seems to be as common to the victims as BodyFit and The Factory.”
They found Carter Holiday on Lancaster just turning onto Ohio. They waited while he parked his mail truck at the curb and then parked behind him. Jen called to him just as he was starting toward the nearest house.
“Mr. Holiday. Could we have a moment of your time, please?”
He turned and came toward her, smiling.
“Detective Dillon. What a surprise.” He turned to Will. “I’m sorry, but I’ve forgotten your name. FBI, though, right?”
“Right. Will Anderson.” Will extended his hand, and the two men shook.
“We’re sorry to bother you while you’re working,” Jen said, “but we’d like to ask you some questions about last night.”
“Sure. Though I talked to one of your people earlier today and told him everything I know.”
“If you don’t mind, we’d like to come at last night from a slightly different angle.”
“I’m not sure I follow you.”
“I’m not sure I do either, but bear with me, please. I promise it won’t take long.”
“Okay.” Holiday shrugged and waited.
“First, may I ask how you came to be at that particular intersection at that particular time last night?”
“Sure. I was on my way home. I’d been out for a few drinks. I wasn’t drunk—I don’t drive when I’ve had too much.”
“Where had you been?”
“I spent an hour or so at The Palomino, and then I stopped at The Factory.”
“You were at The Factory?” Jen knew she had failed to hide her surprise.
“Yes, for an hour or so. There was quite a crowd that night, and the noise finally got to me. I left there and was heading home when the accident happened.”
“Were you with anyone at either place?” Will said.
“No,
