“Lieutenant? I haven’t been able to get in my car yet. Did you talk to Hajek?”
“Yeah. Cop’s name is David Strang, out of Milwaukee. Look, Tom, things have gotten complicated, and I’m persona non grata with both the CPD and the Feds. Alex just sent me another picture. It’s Lance again, but this time the burns on his chest look like letters. Capital Z, small d. Mean anything to you?”
“Not a thing. You sure it’s a Z and not the number 2?”
“Could be a 2. Does 2d mean anything to you?”
“Two-dimensional, obviously, but I don’t see how that’s a clue. Alex did this as some kind of hint, right?”
“Probably.”
“I read her shrink report. She has a genius IQ.”
I sighed. Why did all the serial killers I chased have to be brilliant criminal masterminds? Where were all the psychos with average intelligence?
“I’m forwarding the photo and a text message to you. Pass it along. If the Milwaukee PD finds Lance, let us know. We’re going to keep searching until we hear news.”
Hopefully the news would be “he’s safe” instead of “he’s dead.”
“Happy hunting, Lieut.”
Mankowski hung up. I spent a few minutes fiddling with the cell phone, sending him the info.
“We’re also low on gas.”
I nodded, my mind attacking the Zd problem. What the hell was Alex trying to tell me? Zee dee. Two dee. Zee dee. Two dee…
“Wasn’t she one of the girls on The Facts of Life?” Phin said. “Tootie?”
“Did I say that out loud?”
“Six or ten times.”
I rubbed my eyes. “I’m pretty sure Alex isn’t pointing us to an old sitcom.”
“Apartment number?”
“Two dee. That works.”
“Something to do with the Marines? Squad 2d?”
“I’m drawing blanks.”
Alex’s phone rang. I steeled myself, answered.
“What do you want, Alex?”
“Not Alex. It’s Harry. I called on that phone because they’re tracing and tracking your other one. Stay off of it.”
Stupid. Now they knew Mankowski was helping me. How was I supposed to catch Alex when I was making rookie mistakes?
“Aren’t you in federal custody, McGlade?”
“Hell, no. I cut a deal.”
I didn’t like the sound of that. “What kind of deal?”
“Jesus, Jack. Don’t be so paranoid. I’m not going to betray my own flesh and blood.”
“It’s Phin?” I asked. “I thought you two were friends.”
“It’s not like he’s an innocent bystander, Jackie. He robbed a bank. You do the crime, you do the time. Point is, now I’ve got some breathing room, and I’ve been looking at that photo of Lance.”
“His name is David Strang.” I gave Harry the blow-by-blow.
“Good. Send me the new pic and text. And don’t bother with residential. He’s in a hotel or motel, maybe a bed and breakfast.”
“How do you know?”
“In the upper right-hand corner of the picture, on the nightstand, under the pigstick. Looks like the edge a red piece of paper. I enhanced the detail.”
“What is it?”
“It’s when I use a computer program to tighten the pixel pattern by adjusting contrast and color.”
He did that on purpose. I kept my voice even.
“What did the enhancement show you, McGlade?”
“It’s part of a Do Not Disturb sign. So she’s holding him in a room somewhere.”
“How many hotels in Milwaukee?”
“Lemme check.” I heard fingers on a keyboard. “According to the Yellow Pages, only about six hundred. But that might include some overlaps.”
“Search for Zd and 2d.”
“Searching. A million hits on Zd. Wine. Digital cameras. Nothing pops out. For 2d, got two hundred million hits. Looks like a lot of computer tech stuff. Lemme try to cross-ref with Lance’s name, motels, Milwaukee, and so on. Maybe a combination of terms will give us something. I’ll call you back.”
Harry hung up. My stomach rumbled, and I couldn’t remember the last time I’d eaten anything. That made me remember the steaks I owed Herb. While waiting for Harry I put in a call to 1-800-MEATS4U and their twenty-four-hour customer ser vice representative suggested the Meat Lover’s Package, which included assorted steaks, burgers, chicken filets, and a Turduckinlux. I opted for the BBQ flavor over the savory garlic and rosemary.
Phin pulled into an oasis, up to the station. He parked, switched off the truck, and unbuckled his belt. But rather than get out and pump gas he sat there, staring straight ahead, fingers drumming the steering wheel.
“Harry going to turn me in?”
I nodded. “I’m surprised. I thought you guys had that macho code of honor thing. Death before betrayal and all that.”
“McGlade doesn’t owe me anything.”
“So you would betray him too?”
“If I had to.”
“Would you betray me?”
Phin stared at me, his blue eyes hard.
“No.”
Which made me feel even worse about almost shooting him. He opened his mouth to say something more, probably to explain himself, and I didn’t want to hear it so I put my finger over his lips to silence him. His mouth parted slightly, my fingertip brushing against the top of his teeth, and I pulled away and got out of the car before I gave in to all the dirty things I was thinking.
“Fill it up, I’ll pay inside.”
I walked into the mini-mart, and was assaulted by the cloying smell of hot dogs cooked way too long. It made my stomach rumble again. I’m proud to say that I’d never indulged in gas station cuisine, but I was almost hungry enough to start.
First things first, though. There was something weighing on my mind more than food. Something that had been troubling me for hours.
I wandered the short aisles, found the one with birth control. The store had the average assortment of jellies, foams, and condoms. I found what I needed and took it to the counter, breaking down and also getting a bag of tortilla chips and a jar of salsa. I grabbed a twelve-pack of bottled water, a box of granola bars, and a handful of beef jerky as well.
“This and what ever is on pump five,” I told the attendant. He was young, scruffy, wearing a greasy baseball cap with an unnaturally curved rim that he must have spent some serious time shaping. He smirked at me when he saw my purchases, and then looked out the window at Phin and smirked again. I had an urge to slap him.
“Might want to check the expiration date,” he said. “Those things expire.”
He wasn’t referring to the chips. And embarrassing as it was, he had a point. I turned over the package, found the date on the side panel. Still good for another six months.
Phin was still pumping, so I asked Smirking Boy where the bathroom was, and took the box with me.
As expected, the bathroom looked like a swamp creature blew up in there while engaging in every possible bodily function. I triple-plied the toilet paper on the seat, dropped my sweatpants, and sat down, staring at the three letters on the box.
EPT.
Latham and I practiced safe sex. I was in my late forties, but still a fertile Myrtle, and we weren’t sure having a kid in college while we zeroed in on seventy was the way we wanted to spend our golden years.
But condoms were only 98 percent effective, and by my math, that meant condom use resulted in pregnancy one out of fifty times.
Latham and I had sex more than fifty times.
Still, it was virtually impossible. There hadn’t been any breaks. Hadn’t been any oops. My late period was the result of stress, not pregnancy.
It had to be.
I put a hand to my belly, overwhelmed by feelings. Fear, anxiety, depression, anger, worry, and something else. Something I wasn’t expecting.