interrupted occasionally as we vented about the new terrorism warnings
that were issued every time the president's ratings were slipping. But
we said that all the time.
I don't know when I decided not to tell him about solid reliable Jan,
but I took the fact that I didn't want to as a bad sign, one he
apparently picked up on. Once Chris Matthews got through telling us
what he really thought, Chuck announced that it was time for him to
head home. I didn't try to stop him, and he kissed me on the top of my
head again when I walked him to the door.
thirteen.
Things started moving forward the next morning.
The media had gotten wind of the search in the Gorge and were clamoring
for more information. That meant I could probe O'Donnell for
information about the search without tipping him off that someone on
MCT was talking to Chuck about the investigation. I stuck my head into
his office door and asked him for an update.
'I'm beginning to think you suffer from selective deafness, Kincaid.
You .. . are .. . off.. . the .. . case!' O'Donnell pantomimed the
words with his hands to mimic sign language. I would definitely not be
inviting him to my next Charades party. He sucked.
I reminded him that I was still supposed to be coordinating
communications with Kendra and her mom. I had prepared a white lie:
Andrea Martin was clamoring for answers and he either had to fork over
some information or explain it all to her himself before Channel 2 did.
A pissed-off victim is every prosecutor's worst nightmare. A weepy
interview on the local news saying they've been left out of the loop
and victimized again by the system rings true to every viewer who's
ever been ignored by a bureaucrat.
As it turned out, I didn't need to resort to my bluff, because
O'Donnell actually caught himself being an asshole and apologized.
'Sorry, you're right. I snapped because this case is getting to me.
Have a seat,' he said, clearing some notebooks from a chair for me.
He picked up the phone, indicating with his thumb and forefinger that
it would be a short call. 'Hey, Carl. It's O'Donnell. Did you
double-check with all the crime labs yet?' He gave the frequent
'yeahs' and 'unh-huhs' that aren't very helpful when you're
eavesdropping on one side of a conversation. 'Well, we gave it a shot.
This guy's one lucky son of a bitch.'
'Bad news?' I asked as he hung up.
'Understatement of the century,' he said, rolling his eyes. 'C'mon, I
gotta go over all this stuff with Duncan. You might as well come.'
'I thought I was off the case,' I said, imitating his mock sign
language. He laughed, and I had to as well.
'Damn, you can be a pain in the ass. Just come on, OK?' he said,
walking out of his office. If O'Donnell kept this up, I might actually
start to like him.
Duncan was on the phone when we walked in. He gestured for us to have
a seat. I was doing a lot of this today.
O'Donnell leaned forward so the two of us could talk quietly while we
waited for Duncan to finish his call. 'None of this goes to Forbes,
right?'
The request was reasonable under the circumstances. I nodded.
'OK. We found four unsolved homicides through the Northwest Regional
Cold Case Database. One in Idaho, one in Montana, and two in
Washington. All of them women, all either prostitutes or promiscuous.
So far, the details match the Long Hauler letter to a T. We're dealing
with a grade-A psycho.'
'What kind of details, public information or concealed?' I asked. In
any murder investigation, law enforcement always held back certain
details. It kept the bad guy from knowing what investigators had, and
it could help down the road if a wanna-be confessor tried to jump into
the mix.
'Stuff no one else could know. Position of the bodies, personal items
that were taken, whether specific items of clothes were on or off. I
told you, the guy's for real.'
'Just on the four new cases? What about Zimmerman and Martin?' I
asked. It sounded funny to label Kendra by her last name, but
O'Donnell was sharing information. It was better not to remind him of
my personal attachment to the victim.
'Them too. On your case, he gave us the exact intersection they pulled
Martin from, everything they did to her, that they threw the purse in
the trash. The paper didn't have those details.'
'No, but it all came out in trial,' I said. I was playing it cool,
removing the lid from my latte and blowing in the cup, like we were
talking about running times or stock performances.
'Are you saying you saw a suspicious serial-killer type sitting in on
your trial?'
