Kennedy whistled. "That'll cost you a fortune," she said.
Frank just shrugged.
"What'll you do if they match?"
"I'm thinking about that."
Frank brought her car alongside Kennedy's and cut the engine. She turned toward her and said, "Hey, I owe you. Big time. I couldn't have done all this without you."
"Yeah, you could've," Kennedy disparaged, "it'd just taken longer."
"No. You were great, sport. Thanks."
Kennedy waved a hand and opened her door. As she was getting out Frank said, "Be careful driving home, okay?"
"Yes, mother."
"And you'll be careful in the water?"
"No, I'm gonna be a reckless idiot so I can wind up back in the hospital again. You gotta learn to relax, Lieutenant."
Kennedy hopped out, then turned and stuck her head back in. "Will you call me?"
Even as she nodded yes, Frank doubted that she would.
He'd seen her at the park a few times. Always alone, never with anyone else. She looked ragged. Maybe she was a stoner, or a runaway. She was a little older than he liked but she was small, and that was important. And she seemed scared. He liked that too.
He watched her. She always had a Walkman and sang quietly to herself, moving her shoulders slightly to the beat. Sometimes she poked furtively through the garbage cans when she thought no one was watching. But he was watching. He liked that she was here a lot. It was reassuring that there was someone he could have. At first he wasn't interested in her, but the more he saw her, the more he thought she'd do just fine. She'd probably be real quiet, not a screamer. He hated it when they screamed. He didn't want to hear them. The idiots didn't realize it only made him angrier, made him want to hit them harder.
And now he figured out she was homeless. She had on the same clothes and was probably in the park because she didn't have anywhere else to go. That her disappearance would go unnoticed added to her attraction. He was smart. He had taken a lot of precautions to not get caught. He didn't think the police were on to him, but he had to pace himself. Sometimes, like with that black girl, he'd acted impulsively. He had to guard against that. Had to take his time, play his plays the way he'd called them, not let the defense rush him.
But he was getting antsy.
31
Monday morning Frank was back in the office at 5:00 a.m. A while later she greeted her squad with a grunt and re-quest for updates. Leaning a squeaky chair back as far as it would go, she crossed her natty crimson ankles on the corner of Johnnie's desk. Her socks matched the red turtleneck under her jacket, a small concession to the building Christmas spirit. Nookey had put up a little tree with blinking lights, and Noah had cutouts from the kids pasted all over. Everyone was flecked with their shedding glitter.
Bobby had a tricky suspect in a botched robbery that ended up a double homicide. Frank wanted to ride with him but had to get her sample out to Claremont. Kennedy was right—the cost out of her own pocket would be considerable, but Frank wasn't concerned about that. Single, with no dependents or major expenditures except a locked-in mortgage and tailored suits, Frank could afford to splurge. In addition, a private lab would give her a definitive completion time. Plus privacy. She didn't want her involvement in this case getting leaked.
As it turned out, Frank was swamped and didn't get out of the office until after three. She fought through traffic and delivered her fibers to the lab ten minutes before they closed. Next she headed to the bakery and talked to the plant foreman, who supplied her with Clancey's records and supervisor's name. There were no surprises in Delamore's thin personnel file. He'd started in 1991 as a packer on the swing shift. He'd settled into the night shift in '93 and been promoted to forklift operator two years later. His time cards indicated he worked punctually Wednesday though Sunday, 9:30 p.m. to 6:00 a.m. , with a half hour lunch at 1:30. Despite being a seemingly decent employee, Delamore was only making three dollars more than when he started.
Frank wanted to talk to his supervisor but was told he wouldn't be in until later. The foreman had grudgingly given her his address. She was going to try catching him at home. Meanwhile, she was hungry and only about twenty minutes from the Alibi. When she walked in, Johnnie was cheering on the Panthers and close to sloppy drunk. She clapped him on the back and ordered coffee.
"Who's winning?"
"Hey, le Freek!" Johnnie roared, a little too boisterously. "Carolina's kicking Dallas' ass."
Being a Giants fan, Frank found that good news. Mel shoved a nasty cup of coffee at her. She took it to a small table, relieved that Johnnie didn't follow. She watched Kerry Collins throw an incomplete pass, then saw Nancy approach.
"Hey, hon. You must be on call tonight."
Frank nodded and asked how she was doing.
"Alright. Shitty tips, though. And if your buddy grabs my ass one more time I swear I'm gonna break a glass over his head."
"He'd probably like that."
Nancy shook her head disgustedly. "Probably. Have you had dinner yet?"
"Nope. How about a cheeseburger?"
"Rare, no onions, Swiss cheese."
"That's my girl," Frank tiredly encouraged.
"That'll be the day," Nancy smirked. "I'll probably be in Depends before it happens."
Nancy's parting shot made Frank grin. Glancing back over her shoulder, Nancy savored the rare sight. Frank followed the easy sway of her ass across the room, grateful for the diversion from the long day.
Two hours later she was standing in Ruben Benjharad's apartment. She hadn't woken the supervisor, but he still wasn't happy to see her. Frank was used to it; no one was ever glad to see a homicide cop.
Benhjharad had only supervised Clancey for nine months. His employee seemed pretty dependable. If he clearly explained to Clancey what he wanted, it got done. He described Clancey as competent, but never taking the initiative to do anything outside his immediate instruction. Frank asked if he talked to Clancey about things other than work, and Benjharad frowned, scratching his chest. He couldn't think of anything, nor did he think Clancey talked with the other employees, preferring to take his lunch break alone in his car. The supervisor didn't offer anything new, but he at least supported Frank's profile. She thanked Benjharad and reminded him that their conversation was confidential.
At home, finally, she went over the day's notes. They told her nothing new but did nothing to unlodge the certitude in her gut that Clancey was the one. With a pleasure bordering on desire, she pictured Clancey.
You woke up a while ago, all sleepy-eyed and tousle-haired in your bed that smells like old skin and sweat and cum. I bet you slept through the alarm until Mom pounded on the door, ragging your ass like she does. I'll bet you didn't want to wake up, did you? Bet your dreams are better than mine. But you get up anyway. Have to. Mom won't let you be late. What next? Shower?
Frank remembered the damp pile of towels in the bathroom.
Probably. Because Mom's trained you to. You don't really care. Comb your hair for the same reason. Do you look in the mirror? Probably not. Put on whatever clean clothes your mom's washed. Go downstairs. She said she always has a meal ready for you. You'll eat with her but you won't talk much.
There'd been a TV on a plastic cart that faced a small table in the kitchen. Frank bet they watched it during meals.
It's just a matter of time, now, buddy. I am so close to you. I want you. And I'll get you.
Frank felt warm thinking of him, and she marveled that it had been a long time since she'd wanted anything as much as Delamore.
Thursday night, long after the rest of the homicide room was deserted, Kennedy found Frank still bent over her desk.