“Never thought of myself as a tool.”
“C’mon,” Dixon said. “Sometimes you’re a hammer. Other times an ice pick.”
“Lovely image. Thanks, Roxx.”
Burden stood up. “Enough feeling sorry for ourselves. We don’t have time for that shit. We’ve got a man down, and we need to go after this fucker like a freaking tornado. I don’t know about you, but I’ve had enough of his crap.” He tossed the case files on the worktable. “I spoke to my lieutenant on the way up here. Overtime’s authorized and he’s working on getting us some extra manpower, on top of those interns.”
“Has he issued a statement about Robert?” Vail asked.
“No. He felt it was better to wait before we release the fact that the killer’s got one of our inspectors. He thought it’d spark a wave of fear.”
Vail raised her brow and nodded. If we can’t protect ourselves, how can we protect the people?
“So back to the nuts and bolts. Investigation 101.” Burden took a marker and uncapped it.
Vail took a deep breath and mentally slapped herself. When someone close to her went missing, there was no time to rest, no time for self-doubt. She rose from her chair and literally rolled up her sleeves. Time to get back to work.
FOUR HOURS AND FIFTY-ONE minutes passed. Vail repeatedly kept looking at Friedberg’s empty chair and abandoned desk, files piled on the right edge, a notepad front and center. And a thick book, Complete History of San Francisco Bakeries, on the left. A history of bakeries?
They still had no knowledge of Friedberg’s whereabouts and no way of directly communicating with the Bay Killer, unless he texted them. And that was the way he wanted it. He wanted-demanded-control, and thus far had been successful in attaining all that he desired.
The tasks of many of the inspectors in the department had been diverted and a few were now working Friedberg as a missing persons case, engaged in various tasks along those lines. But they all knew it was much more than that. Knowing, and being able to do something about it, comprised an insurmountable gap.
The Homicide room was a flurry of people, phones and cells ringing, keyboards clicking and laser printers whirling. The law school, criminal justice, and sociology interns were in another room with the same information, making follow-up phone calls on the older cases; they were due to have a group conference in an hour to get briefed on any newly discovered information and to assist in integrating the material into their existing database of knowledge.
The latter text messages had originated from disposable cell phones purchased with cash at two different Bay Area electronics stores during the past four months. Even if they had surveillance cameras focused on their registers-which they did not-the video would have been written over many times since.
Hartman had still not called, but he was at least closer to returning to the office. Even if he hadn’t gotten the voicemail she had left on his cell, he would soon retrieve the ones she had left on his work phone. She decided that, grudge or not, he would return her calls because of their volume-and urgency.
Vail rose and looked at the murder board. All the victims’ names and locations, causes of death, occupations, photos, and key crime scene attributes stared back at her. It was talking to her, a constant chatter-but it was as if it was written in a foreign language. Perhaps there would be one new fact someone would discover that would pop the lid off the case. But she had the sense that all they needed to know was on the board in front of her.
Vail called over to Dixon. “You in the middle of something?”
Dixon pushed back from her makeshift desk. “What do you have in mind?”
“Let’s go take a look at the video we captured. Maybe something will hit us.”
They had asked Allman and Scheer to email the videos they had taken using the large file service, YouSendIt.com. The photo lab informed them the footage was now available to view. Hoping to find something to stimulate her brain, the videos represented an unexplored avenue.
They settled themselves in front of a monitor and opened the first file-Allman’s video. Cityscape images scrolled by. They watched it straight through, then started it again. Vail yawned and reached for the coffee cup she had brought with her from Homicide.
“What do we see?” Dixon asked. “Restaurant. A bar.” The scene panned slowly. “Another bar. A cell phone store-and another bar.”
Vail took a drink and leaned forward. “Two auto body shops. Bus stop.”
The sixty-second video ended and Dixon opened her own file. Repeating the process, they first watched it in its entirety, absorbing it all before calling out their observations.
As Vail sat there, deep in thought, her phone vibrated. She jumped-startling Dixon, as well. The number brought relief-and a slight lift to the corners of her lips. “Keep going with this. I’ll be right back.” She pushed through the door into the hallway, then answered the call. “Hey.”
“Hey yourself,” Robby said. “Sorry it took me so long to get back to you. That stakeout we were on turned into-”
“That’s okay,” Vail said. “It’s fine. No big deal.”
“You sound…stressed, for a change. Everything okay?”
Vail closed her eyes and took a breath. “I needed a favor and you’re the only one I can trust. I had to find out where an old partner was assigned.”
“This may sound like a really, really dumb question. But you’re an FBI agent. All you needed to do is-”
“First of all,” Vail said, “that’s not a question. But you’re right. It’s dumb. I could’ve picked up the goddamn phone and made that call myself.”
“You’re cursing. And you’re definitely stressed out. This isn’t good, is it?”
“No.”
“So what’s the deal? Why didn’t you want to make that call?”
“Robby. This isn’t helping.” Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. Talking about this is difficult enough. But over the phone…
“Sorry. I’m- I’ve only got a few minutes ’cause I’m still on that case and-”
The door opened and Dixon poked her head out. “You coming?”
Vail twisted the phone away from her mouth. “I’ll be there in a minute.”
The door closed and Vail turned her attention back to Robby.
“It’s not earth-shattering. It’s-it’s something I’d much rather tell you in person, not over a phone. But-”
“Yeah,” Robby said, his voice muffled. “I’ll be right there. Put him in a room. Give me a minute.” Then, back into the phone: “Karen. I don’t mean to be short. But get to the point. What do you need help with?”