“Great. When were you going to tell me about it? Were you going to let me find out from my cousin at the cop shop?”
“I’m telling you now.”
“Christ Almighty.” He got up off the couch and paced back and forth in front of the coffee table. “You’ve been physically assaulted twice in a forty-eight-hour period. Do you really think you should be going in to work Monday morning? You need some time off.”
“So I can sit at home and feel sorry for myself?” She picked up the whiskey bottle to pour a fourth shot, had second thoughts, and set it down. “If you’re worried that I’m going to get all wiggy and go postal at the office, think about it. Who am I going to shoot? Creed’s already dead.”
“Funny.” He stopped pacing and stood in front of her with his arms folded. “I want you to see a doctor first thing in the morning. Urgent care or the ER or whatever.”
“I’m fine.”
“You complained about a sore back.”
“I’m on the verge of something with these drownings,” she said. “I am not going to put the investigation on hold so I can put my feet up.”
He pushed the Jack Daniel’s bottle off to the side and sat down on the edge of her coffee table to face her. “I got an update from the ME today.”
“What did he say?” She pointed at him. “What about the lithium? Did he find lithium in Klein’s wineglass and in her system?”
“He did.”
“Crime scene crew. What about them?”
“Hairs and fibers from Klein’s and Hammond’s. It’ll take the usual eternity to do the DNA deal.”
“What color hair?”
“Blond.” Garcia’s eyes narrowed. “I didn’t even ask before. Is Matthew VonHader—”
“A towhead? You betcha. So is Luke VonHader.”
“Hmmm. With the prof, that makes three blonds.”
“What about prints?” she asked.
“They’re thinking the killer used gloves.”
“Evidence of sexual assault?”
Garcia shook his head.
“He used a condom, then. Or he drowned them, dried his hands off, and left to have sex elsewhere.” She chewed her bottom lip. “What is Minneapolis PD releasing to the media?”
“They’re going to issue a statement saying the tub deaths were homicides. Period. No mention of the river deaths and certainly no mention of Zoe Cameron. If reporters ask whether the tub deaths are related to each other …”
“They have already asked; they’re not that obtuse.”
“… Minneapolis is going to say that possibility is being investigated, which is the truth.”
“Have the cops or our folks mentioned Klein’s neighbor to the media yet? Has anyone hinted to the press that he gave us a description—albeit a crappy one—of Klein’s late-night date?”
“No. That’s still being held under wraps.”
“Let’s keep it that way.” She stood up, crossed the living room, and went over to the windows facing the riverfront. “I’ve got an idea.”
Garcia got up and joined her at the windows. “I’m not going to like this, am I?”
The sight of the Mississippi made her shudder. She buried her hands in the pockets of her robe, turned away from the water, and rested her back against the glass. “Ask them to hold off on releasing the description.”
“I might be able to get them to do that. It’s so general—big blond dude—it’s useless.”
“If word gets out that we have a witness who saw Klein with someone the night of her death, it could put one of our blonds on the move. If the newspapers and TV run a description of the suspected killer—even a vague one—it could really light a fire under someone to get out of town. I want people to think we’re all clueless. I want Wakefielder to think we’ve backed off.”
“Lots of these serial killers get angry if they don’t get some sort of ink. They live to string law enforcement along and read about it in the papers.”
“That’s not what this maniac is after. He’s not into it for the glory. It’s all about his sexual gratification.”
“I’ve seen some freaky stuff in all my years of law enforcement. Torture and sex. Cannibalism and sex. Satanic worship and sex. Rottweilers and sex.” He shook his head. “But this water and sex …”
“It’s not just water and sex. It’s about drowning and sex.” She felt her skin crawl under the terry cloth. Almost unconsciously, she pulled her robe tighter around her body. “Really, if you think about it, that old nautical tale about those sirens or whatever they were. They lured sailors to their deaths. Isn’t that about drowning and sex? This is the flip side of that.”
“A man luring women into the water.” Garcia turned and looked at the river through the tall windows. “I hate to ask.”
“Go ahead.”
“If Matt did it, do you think he bumped you into the river to get off on it?”
Her upper lip curled. “I wish you hadn’t asked, but I don’t think so.”
“Why not?”
“He didn’t stay around to watch. I think he knocked me in to get rid of me, or because he was furious with me. Both.”
His brow furrowed. “You really think he’s the one who knocked you in?”
“The more we talk about him, the more I want time to find out,” she said. “I haven’t ruled out the prof or the shrink as players in this. But I want to surprise little brother at his boat and check out his reaction. He may have tried to steer me away from Luke because I was getting too close to home.”
He walked into the middle of the living room and turned around. “The water thing. Besides the fact that he hangs out on the river, which is fascinating as hell in light of your theory, any other indications he’s got some kind of water fetish? Drowning fetish?”
She remembered the way Matthew had stood along the rails that night, staring out onto the water for a long time. It had seemed such an odd thing for a man out walking alone to do. Garcia would pencil in that observation under the “feelings” column, however, and summarily dismiss it. She left her resting spot against the windows and walked over to him. “Just get the cops to sit on that stuff about the witness and his description.”
“For how long?”
“Until I can pay a visit to my favorite drinking buddy. Ask him if he wants to go for a swim. Maybe he’ll make me breakfast on the river tomorrow.”
“Take your gun.”
“You think the Glock is okay after going into the river with me?”
“Hell, yes. I’ll put in for a new one if you want, but shit. People fire it under water, which is a real dumb-ass idea. I heard about this one dude who put his Glock in a bucket of Drano, just to see what would happen. It came out good as new. He ran a hundred rounds of ammo coated with Gorilla Glue and had no failures.”
“Give me a break. I read about that online.”
“You don’t believe it?”
“The part about the Drano maybe, but not the Gorilla Glue.” She lifted his wrist and checked his watch. “Time for you to go home, unless you plan on sleeping here.”
“Best offer I’ve had today,” he said.
Feeling her face heat up, she let go of his wrist. “I was joking.”
“Seriously, are you okay by yourself tonight? You’ve been through the wringer. I could—” His eyes fell on her sofa.
“Oh. Right. Great idea.” She took a step back from him. “I can’t imagine anything more distracting than having you right downstairs. I’d never get any sleep.”
His brows arched. “Distracting?”
“You probably snore. You look like the type that snores.”
He took a step toward her. “You’re right. I do snore.”
They stood inches apart, staring at each other for several seconds. Bernadette finally broke the silence. “Well …”
“Yeah.” He took his coat off the kitchen chair and put it on.
They walked to the door together. “Thanks for pulling my backside out of the hot coals. Again.”
“That’s what I’m here for.”
As soon as the door snapped shut behind him, she made a beeline for the whiskey bottle to pour one last shot before bed. For a lot of reasons, it was going to be a long and sleepless night.