'Yeah. Exactly. So what are you squinting at?'
'North Shore and Chicago cases.'
'Find any connections?'
Magozzi leaned back in his chair and rubbed at the knots in his neck, which made really creepy, crunchy noises when he pushed on them. 'Nothing ties these two together, for sure. None of the same players as far as law enforcement goes, and two totally different crimes – one pedophile and one gang banger. How about you?'
'I was looking at the Elmore Sweet transcripts, but I started to get nauseated, then I started to get pissed, so I thought I'd read something lighter for a break.'
'War and Peace?
'L.A. He was the guy who was driving after his fifth DUI revocation and killed that family on 35 W a few years back. Guess he decided to relocate.'
'Maybe he was getting threats from the vies' family.'
Gino shrugged. 'I'll look into it.'
'Any overlaps with Sweet and L.A.?'
'Not that I can see. At least not yet. I still have some more dead trees to get through before I can tell you for sure.'
Magozzi sighed and returned his attention to the file he was reading. 'I guess all we can do is make a list of our major players, and we'll compare notes once we get through all this paper.'
'Which is going to take forever. You know how many names I have swimming in my head right now? Perps, vics, next of kin, witnesses, family members, lawyers, cops… This is a nightmare.'
'Maybe we should get Smith on board. He's sharing with us; only seems polite to share with him. After all, these are his cases, too.'
Gino's mouth curled into a smile. 'I like your train of thought, Leo. Very devious, like something I'd think of. Give him a call.'
While Magozzi was trying to reach Smith, Detective Johnny McLaren ambled in and set a big box of donuts on Gino's desk. 'Here's your cliche of the day.'
Gino could literally feel his pupils dilate. 'Are you kidding me, Johnny? Are you angling for beatification, or what?'
'I won the donut raffle this week. Thought I'd share the wealth.'
'What donut raffle, and why the hell don't I know about it?'
'Because you never come to my poker games. The biggest loser of the week has to buy for the biggest winner.'
Gino reverently lifted the lid of the box and selected a glazed disk of heaven. 'You are my hero.'
McLaren eyed the stacks of paper on Gino's and Magozzi's desks. 'Jesus. That's a Muir's Forest worth of pulp – were there just fifty new homicides that I didn't hear about?'
'Just our one river bride, but it might be connected to a bunch of other ones all across the country.'
'No way.'
Yes, way. It could be huge. We're even working with the Feds and Monkeewrench on this.'
Johnny's red brows peaked into twin Vs. 'Sounds interesting. A hell of a lot more interesting than the Litde Mogadishu drive-by Tinker and I pulled yesterday. We solved that homicide in about one second.'
'Oh yeah?'
Yeah. The perp was a shit driver – couldn't shoot and steer at the same time, so he wrapped his car around a telephone pole. When the first responders yanked him out through the window, he was still holding the gun.'
'That's priceless.'
Magozzi finally hung up the phone, greeted Johnny, then turned to Gino. 'Smith's tied up and can't help us right now. They've got a hot lead on the Wisconsin guy.'
'Excellent.'
'Who's Smith? Who's the Wisconsin guy?' McLaren asked.
Gino gestured to the files on their desks. 'All part of this mess. You want in on it? We could use an extra pair of eyes big time.'
McLaren shrugged. 'Sure, why not? Our docket's clear right now. I'm officially on vacation anyhow, so maybe the Chief will throw me some overtime.'
Gino pulled a chair for McLaren, and he and Magozzi gave him a quick overview and two of the murder files.
Magozzi said, 'Right now we're just looking for a link between the victims.'
'Cool. Cop work. I can do that.'
Write down every name you see, and anything else you think might be interesting.'
An hour later Johnny finished with the first file and spent five minutes leaning back in his chair with his mouth open, trying to hit his eyes with eye drops.
Gino snatched one of his pages out of the saline shower. 'Jeez, McLaren, take the rainstorm to the can, will you?'
Johnny wiped at the water on his cheeks. 'I hate these damn things. Could somebody tell me why you can never get this crap in your eyes unless you're standing in front of a mirror? I know where my eyes are, and even if I didn't, I'm looking straight up at Mr. Nozzle and still can't hit the target.'
Magozzi reached for his phone when it rang. Your eyes were closed, McLaren.' 'No.'
'I was watching. It's a reflex. You see the drop coming down, you blink at the last second. Gino, take him to the can and staple his lids open.'
'No problem.'
'I heard that, Magozzi.' Grace's voice came over the phone, making him smile. 'And I like the new greeting. A lot more creative than saying 'Homicide, Detective Magozzi.' Whose lids are you stapling open?'
'McLaren's.'
'What if I'd been a customer?'
'I would have said you'd misdialed and gotten the mayor's office.' He heard a soft chuckle, which was really weird. 'Stop laughing, Grace. You're scaring me.'
'I'm happy. We got him, Magozzi. Clinton Huttinger, aka Teacher of the Year, aka attacker in both Medford, Oregon,
'That's great news, Grace. Really great. Any chance he's connected to any of the other murders?'
'None. The Medford cops checked on that, and he's got solid alibis in public places for every one of the others, including your bride. Sorry, Magozzi. But he knew the pre-post code, so his computer may tell us something. We'll let you know.'
'I need a date, Grace.'
Silence for a few seconds. 'Leave your cell on, Magozzi. It might be late, it might not be at all.'
Chapter Twenty-six
John Smith was at the window table in the Monkeewrench office, looking out through the leaves of a tall tree with a trunk as big around as his Great Aunt Harriet five years after she discovered fast food and Twinkies. He wondered how old the tree was. Decades, certainly; maybe centuries, or however long trees lived. Maybe this one had witnessed the migrations of the Ojibwa and the Sioux, the growing pains of a city that kept changing its identity, depending on which industry or immigrant population was dominant, or maybe Harley had planted it last year. John didn't know, and would never have wondered about such a thing three days ago. It disturbed him enormously that such questions were starting to occur to him, and he blamed Monkeewrench for putting him at a table where a tree constantly distracted him.
Why did he care how old it was? Such musings were the provenance of people who wore funny wide shoes and hung wooden beads around their necks. If you couldn't kill it or pick it and throw it in a stewpot for supper, nature's bounty had never held any interest for him. For the most part, it was messy, sometimes dangerous, and
