Stride knew there was no point in reminding the chief that he had been the one to ask Stride to lead the case personally. It was all political and bureaucratic calculation with K-2. The city wanted this to go away-fast. "The perps are cooperating," Stride said. "There's nothing big here that needs me."
"And we both know that we're already outside the zone on this one. Odds are it's not going to clear. I'm going to have to pull you and Maggie. Give the lead to Guppo. He can take this going forward. If we find something, you're back in."
"That'll just give more ammo to Bird," Stride protested. "It's too soon. Give us a few more weeks. We don't want to look like we're walking away from the investigation."
"You think I like this?" Kinnick asked. He scratched his forehead and patted down the gray hair that stretched across his skull from one big ear to the other. "Stoner's a friend of mine. But you're not making any headway."
"I need another three weeks. You said yourself, the mayor's hot on this one. If we don't have anything by then, I agree, it's a cold case. Guppo can take the lead. He's already got Kerry."
Kinnick shook his head and frowned. He sighed as if he were making an enormous concession. "Two weeks. And if we get anything else in here, I pull you early. Got it?"
Stride nodded. "I appreciate that. Thank you, sir."
The chief pushed himself out of the chair and wandered back to the elevator without saying anything more. The doors opened immediately and swallowed him up. The machinery hummed as it returned to the fourth floor.
Stride took a deep breath. He knew how it worked. K-2 hadn't come down here to pull him off the case. It was too soon for that. But he wanted Stride to know that the clock was ticking.
"What should I do?" Maggie asked. She stared down at three cards, adding up to twelve. The dealer's up card was a six.
Stride propped his cigarette in an ashtray, where its smoke curled up and merged into the gray cloud hovering over the blackjack tables. The haze clung to the low ceiling. When he inhaled, he tasted stale smoke. His eyes burned, partly from the unventilated air and partly because it was now after midnight, more than eighteen hours after his day began. He had stayed at city hall until Maggie called and threatened to haul him out by force.
"Stand," Stride said.
"But I'm only at twelve. I think I should take a card."
Stride shook his head. "Odds are the dealer's got a ten. He'll have to draw at sixteen, and he's likely to bust. Stand."
"Hit me," Maggie said. The dealer slapped a king of hearts on the table. "Shit."
Stride waved a hand over his cards, which showed fourteen. The dealer flipped his hole card, which was a jack, then dealt another card to his hand. It was a ten.
"Asshole," Maggie said.
Stride laughed as the dealer added two more chips to his stack.
The tiny casino reeked of sweat, collecting on the skin of a hundred people crammed into its claustrophobic quarters. Most were dressed in flannel for the winter night but sweltering in the heat generated by bodies and machines. It was close and loud. The slots pinged with electronic noises and the clatter of coins plinking into the trays. The room burbled with conversation and the occasional scream as a jackpot hit.
They had been playing for almost an hour, and he was up forty dollars. Maggie was down twenty. He took two chips and slid them into the betting area.
"You're winning," Maggie said. "Why not let it ride? If you bet more, you'll win more. You always bet two dollars every single time, even when you're on a streak." Maggie made a face, then clucked like a chicken. She took ten chips and dropped them on the table in front of her. "No guts, Stride."
"Big talk from a gal who's losing her shirt."
"Don't tempt me," she said, winking.
All day long they had reinterviewed people who knew Rachel. The late-night jaunt to the casino was a way to forget the case that had obsessed them for three weeks. But they couldn't escape. Bird Finch's interview showed up on the television suspended over the bar. They didn't need to hear the sound. It was bad enough to read Bird's angry body language.
"Maybe Bird is right," Maggie grudgingly acknowledged. "Maybe we have a serial."
Stride glanced at Maggie out of the corner of his eye. Then he shook his head, not convinced. "The two just don't feel the same."
"Don't they? Or do you not want them to be the same? We've got two teenage girls who lived within a couple miles of each other, both disappearing without a trace."
"The method doesn't feel right," Stride said. "We both agree that Kerry was either a stranger perv or a hit-and-run, right?"
Maggie nodded. "Except I don't really buy the hit-and-run. They just run, they don't hide the body. I think someone grabbed her."
"Fair enough. That's what I think, too. But can you imagine the same guy stalking the inner streets of Duluth, where he can be seen from dozens of houses? It just doesn't feel right. A stranger's going to look for opportunities, a girl alone in the middle of nowhere. He's not going to drive up and down residential streets. The risk is too great."
The blackjack dealer, who sported long black hair and a wimpy mustache, assessed them nervously. He caught Stride's eye, then pasted a sober expression on his face and kept dealing cards.
"So it's just coincidence?" Maggie asked.
Stride shrugged. "We're not a small town anymore. Shit like this happens. My bet is that whoever stalked Kerry isn't still in the state. And Rachel-the more I see of this case, the more I feel like the answer's at home."
"Emily and Graeme both passed the polygraphs," Maggie reminded him. "And the background checks came up clean."
"I don't care," Stride said. "There's something in that triangle that smells like trouble. You've got Emily and Rachel at each other's throats and Graeme walking into the middle of it. I want to know why-and what happened."
"We could get some heat about this," Maggie said. "If we push the family too hard without any evidence, what's K-2 going to say?"
"K-2 wants answers. Let's talk to the minister again. Dayton Tenby. Someone had to know what was going on inside that house."
"Okay. That's fair." Maggie pumped her hand as she landed another blackjack. She took a careful sip from her drink, avoiding the pineapple slice and frowning as the umbrella kept bumping her face.
"Hello, Detective."
Stride didn't know where the voice came from. It was suspended somewhere in the noise of the casino, yet close by, like a faint strain of music. He wheeled around to look behind him.
A woman stood there smiling at him. She wore a thigh-length black leather coat with a belt tied at the waist. Her blonde hair was wind-tossed. Her cheeks were flushed.
"It's Andrea," she said. "Remember me? From the school?"
"Sure," he said awkwardly, coming out of his trance. "I remember."
Maggie shifted in her chair and stared at both of them. She caught Stride's eye and cleared her throat conspicuously. Stride realized that he hadn't introduced her, and he saw, too, that Andrea suddenly realized that Maggie and Stride were together. She instinctively took a step backward, not wanting to intrude.
"I'm sorry," Stride said. "Andrea, this is my partner, Maggie Bei. We decided to play a few hands to unwind after pounding the pavement all day. Maggie, this is Andrea Jantzik. She teaches at Duluth High."
"Charmed," Maggie said slyly. "Why don't you join us? Take third base. Let Stride here teach you all he knows about blackjack, which is how to win and not have fun."
Andrea smiled and shook her head. "Oh, no, I don't want to intrude."
"You're not intruding at all." Maggie hesitated and concluded that subtlety wasn't working. "I'm just his partner in crime. That's all."
"Oh," Andrea said. She repeated, "Oh."
"In fact," Maggie said, "I think I'm going to try my hand at the slots. There's one here called the Big Pig, and it's supposed to oink when you hit the jackpot. I'd like to hear that. So why don't you take my place?"