“I took it a while ago,” Scott said. “I think it captures the lieutenant’s professionalism while also showing a softer side. She was breaking the news to the victim’s mother here. If you look closely, at her left eye, you can see the underlying sadness, even though the face is all business.”
Phin leaned in closer.
“Yeah. I see it. You see the sadness there, Jack?”
“The notes,” I repeated.
Hajek pressed some keys, opened a word processing program. I wondered how many other candid shots of me were on the computer, and whether I should be flattered or paranoid.
“I’m searching for Lance. And here we are.”
We all read the sentence. In some notes taken by Alex’s court-appointed psychiatrist, she’d mentioned a relationship with a man while still in the marines and stationed at Ft. Geiger. But Lance wasn’t his name. His name was David Strang, and he was a lance corporal.
“Can you find out anything about him?” I asked.
“I’m crawling the search engines now. Okay, here’s a newspaper article. He’s a cop in Milwaukee. Bomb Squad. No picture, but let me look for images.”
Hajek found Strang’s police ID photo. He was late thirties, mustached. I held up the picture on the cell phone and we compared the two.
“Same ears,” Hajek said. “It’s him.”
We could be in Milwaukee in about ninety minutes. That left about four hours to find Detective David Lance Strang before the shotgun shell in the pigstick blew his head off.
“Thanks, Scott.” I tugged Phin’s arm. “We have to go.”
“Wait!” Scott said, so loud I stopped in my tracks. “I, uh, maybe I should have a few strands of your hair too, Lieutenant. So they believe the story.”
“You’re not touching my hair, Officer Hajek.”
Phin nudged me again. “Other ways to leave some DNA evidence, Jack. Give the little guy a break.” He puckered his lips and made a kissing sound.
I sighed, then plucked out a few strands of my hair, offering them to Hajek. His eyes lit up like he’d just been handed the Holy Grail.
Phin led us out of the apartment. I could have told Hajek to contact the Milwaukee PD, but I knew he was on the phone before the door even closed.
“I think he likes you, Jack.”
I followed Phin into the stairwell. “Do you know the quickest route to Milwaukee?”
“Did you know he was pining for you like that?”
“He’s not pining.”
“He looks at you every time he turns his computer on. That’s either pining or stalking.”
“He admires the job I do.”
“He admires more than that. I think you came close to giving him a heart attack when you gave him some of your hair. I bet he’s building a shrine to it right now.”
We exited at the lobby, and I nodded at the doorman who’d let us in.
“So far, Alex isn’t lying to us. She was telling the truth about being in Milwaukee, and the cop’s name isn’t Lance, but I bet the nickname has stuck with him.”
We hit the sidewalk. The rain had started up again, even colder than before.
“You’re shivering. Anything I can do to warm you up?”
I frowned at him.
“Phin, you and me, it’s not going to happen. I almost shot you on the bus.”
“But you didn’t.”
“It doesn’t matter. There are some trust issues here. I’m flattered you’re interested, but I’m a mess right now. Christ, I just buried my fiancé. My career is probably over. And we’re chasing a psychopath who is sending me pictures of people she’s going to kill. This isn’t a good time to start a relationship.”
My opinion apparently didn’t matter much to Phin, because he tugged me close, his arms snaking around my waist and holding me so tight I could feel his heartbeat, and kissed me. For a few seconds everything wrong with the world vanished, and we existed only to feed our senses. The cold rain on my cheeks, Phin’s warm tongue on my lips, his strong hands pressing into the small of my back, the sounds of our breathing lost in a thunderclap overhead, the taste of the cinnamon gum he’d been chewing, the ache in my jaw from when I hit the bus and a much different kind of ache building up between my legs.
“We’ll take I- 94,” he said, breaking the kiss.
I was a little weak in the knees, and a little out of breath, and I hated him for that but didn’t trust myself to say so. Like everything else that happened that day I’d have to file it away and figure it out later, when I had time.
I followed Phin to his Ford Bronco, climbed into the passenger seat, and didn’t look at him until we reached the expressway.
CHAPTER 24
“GOOD CALL ON THE FISH, CYNTHIA. The prime rib was too well done for my taste. Sure you don’t want any?”
Cynthia shakes her head, the napkin flapping in her mouth like a flag.
According to her driver’s license, her full name is Cynthia Paulino, and she lives in Illinois. After the movie-a cute romantic comedy with Matthew McConaughey-Alex searched the room while asking Cynthia questions about her life. She didn’t remove the gag, so the questions were all yes or no. But Alex was still able to determine that Cynthia was single, had a boyfriend who didn’t want to commit, worked for a company that sold polymers-which are plastics-and was in town to run a trade show booth. The booth gig was boring, and resulted in very few sales, but Cyn liked it because it got her out of the office and the company picked up expenses.
Alex shared as well, talking about what she had done to Lance, what her big plan was, and how she might be obsessing a tad about Jack Daniels.
“She killed the man I loved, I killed the man she loved, so we should be even. But I still can’t stop thinking about her, Cyn. Maybe part of the problem is that I like her. I mean, her sense of morality is really, really infantile. But she’s a good dresser, good with a gun, good with her fists. Kind of like an older sister. You know, before she figured out I was a serial killer, we got along pretty good. Do you have any enemies, Cyn?”
Cyn nods.
“Someone at work?”
Another nod.
“If you want to talk about it, I’ll take your gag out. But a warning first: If you start begging for your life, or try to scream for help, I’ll cut you from your crotch to your breastbone. Got it?”
Cyn bobs her head up and down, then spits out the napkin.
“Can I have some water?” she asks, voice horse.
“No. I like your voice that way. Kind of sexy. Now tell me about this enemy.”
“Her…her name is Gina. Works in Accounting. Has been a real bitch ever since I started there.”
Alex flips onto her stomach, gathering a pillow under her to keep her head propped up.
“What did she do to you?”
“Little things at first. Like asking me really rudely if this is my natural hair color. I mean, of course it isn’t. But she waits until there are people around to try to get a laugh.”
Alex nods. “I hate her already. What else?”
Cyn’s lower lip quivers, but she manages to work through it. “Every time I do one of these trade shows, she acts like a Nazi with the expense account. I mean, if I skip lunch and get a bigger dinner to compensate, she won’t allow it.”
“I bet she’s tough with booze too.”
“No liquor at all, even if I’m taking customers out. They want me to get sales, but they don’t want me to buy a round of beers first? That’s stupid.”
Alex agrees. “Bitch. What else?”
“I can’t be sure, but I think she started a rumor…a rumor…”
Alex reaches out, wipes a tear off Cyn’s face. “Don’t cry. It’s okay. Everywhere I go, people talk about me in whispers. Right in front of me, like I’m blind and deaf as well as scarred. Words can hurt, Cyn. Sometimes they can hurt worse than anything.”