If Jack's tail is still there, then Jack is still there. So the easiest way to follow Jack is to follow her tail.
They'll be looking for someone stalking Jack.
But they won't be looking for someone stalking them.
The Gingerbread Man gets back into his plumbing truck and finds a parking space a block away from the surveillance team.
Then he turns off the engine, shoves his hands in his pockets, and waits.
Chapter 29
AS USUAL, HERB BEAT ME TO work.
"I didn't know you owned a pair of jeans," he said.
"I'm undercover."
"I don't think they make Bon Jour anymore."
"Are you saying I'm out of style?"
"Is that an Izod shirt? I haven't seen one in fifteen years."
Like Herb could talk. The tie he wore today had a pineapple hand-painted on it.
"You're fired," I told him.
Herb ignored me, turning his attention to a box of grocery Danish. The phone rang.
"Daniels."
"My office. Benedict too."
Bains hung up. His small talk needed work.
"We are to proceed directly to the office of our captain," I informed Benedict.
He nodded, stuffing the rest of the breakfast roll into his mouth, basset hound jowls inflating like balloons. Canine to chipmunk in 2.2 seconds.
We walked down the hall, Herb madly chewing and me trying to keep pace, having judiciously left my cane in my office. No point in looking frail before the almighty Captain Bains. Herb did a big cartoon swallow and we went in.
Bains took off his reading glasses and nodded at us.
"Early this morning our man left a package for the Chicago Tribune. It contained some body parts, in a plastic bag, that have since been confirmed as Theresa Metcalf's. There was also a letter."
Bains glanced at the paper on the table, encased in a big plastic bag. Herb picked it up and we read.
Chicago,
This is the Gingerbread Man. The lies must stop. My plan was to leave this city after the fourth, but now I may stay to take revenge for the things said about me. I let that Judas live, and she betrayed me. Now you will all pay the price.
Let me make it clear. I am no joke. I will kill your daughters, Chicago. Your sisters shall suffer. I will continue to kill until I am shown respect.
Fire Daniels. Let the truth come out.
"Has this been run yet?" I asked.
"It will be, afternoon edition. We were able to hold it back until we confirmed the parts belonged to the second girl."
"Did we get anything?" Benedict asked.
"No prints. He left it in a bathroom at a coffee shop. A team is still taking the place apart, dusting for prints, talking to customers and staff. It was a busy place, even that early in the morning. No one remembers anything. We have a tape of the phone call to the Trib; they automatically record their tip line. Voice print is being done, but it won't help unless we catch him."
"Why weren't we called last night?"
I realized, as it came out of my mouth, that I already knew the answer.
"The mayor has given jurisdiction on this case over to the Feds. Officially, you are on a leave of absence pending charges of official misconduct. The paper will run a statement from the police superintendent alongside the letter."
"That's bullshit, Captain!" Herb had a mad-on, venting for both of us. "The Feebies couldn't catch a cold in a snowstorm."
"Jack is officially on a leave of absence. You, Herb, will still keep our end of things up around here. And whatever Jack decides to do, on her own time as a private citizen, is her business."
I smiled. I never liked the spotlight much anyway.
"Now bring me up to speed," Bains said.
Herb and I took turns, relating what we had so far, and what we were going after.
"So the women are connected," Bains said when we finished.
"We think so. Maybe not to each other, but definitely to our perp. He's not grabbing women of a certain type, he's grabbing women he knows and wants to punish. If we can find the link, perhaps we find him."
"In his note, he refers to the fourth. The Feds think it's the fourth of next month."
"Could be," I said. "Or it could be the fourth victim."
The phone rang. The chief picked it up, listened, and held out the phone for me.
"Daniels."
"This is Briggs, front desk. Don't want to bust your chops in front of the boss, but we've got a guy on hold says something happened to your mom."
Panic exploded within me. "Put him through."
"Jack? Guess who."
I gave a quick nod to Bains and mouthed "It's him." He picked up his cell phone and gave word to trace.
"What's happened to my mother?"
"Just blowing smoke, Jack, so they'd put me through to you. But I did leave you something, in the alley behind your building. A picnic lunch. Enjoy it. See you soon."
The line went dead.
"He's off," I said.
"Pay phone on Michigan," Bains said. The days of long traces were in the past. The modern phone trace was practically instantaneous.
I relayed the conversation word for word, Benedict writing it all down. A minute later the chief's cell phone rang.
"They missed him," he told us. "Blended into the rush hour crowd."
"Let's go check the alley," Benedict said.
Bains came with us. We didn't bother to stop for coats.
The district building was on a street corner, and on the third side was the parking lot. The alley wasn't an official alley; just an enclave where the Dumpsters were kept. We approached it cautiously, eyes scanning everything. Since we both outranked Herb, he did the honors of rooting through the garbage.
"Looks like a cooler," he said, moving some bags. "Big one."
Bains gave the go-ahead to open it. Herb lifted the corner, holding the edge with a handkerchief.
"Christ."
It was bad. Real bad. This had surpassed murder and become butchery.
"Let's rope it off, get a team in here." Bains shook his head. The third body being found right behind his police station wouldn't help his career.
I left the scene, placing a phone call to Mom, just to make sure she was safe. Then I sat on the steps in front of the district building, still without a jacket, letting the cold be my penance.
I'd let another person die.
The team came, and the reporters, and a crowd of gawkers.
I thought about my job, and my mom, and my insomnia, and my date that afternoon, and Don.
I thought about Benedict, and Phineas Troutt, and Harry McGlade, and my past, and my ex-husband, and the dog I had when I was a kid that we had to put to sleep because he broke his leg chasing a rabbit.
I thought about the stars in the sky. I hadn't seen the stars in years. The smog in Chicago was thick enough to blot them out. For all I knew, they weren't there anymore.
I wondered what the point was. No one was happy. Every day brings some new annoyance, some new problem, some new pain. And if you managed to avoid cancer, and AIDS, and drugs, and car accidents, and malevolent acts of God, there was still the chance that some wacko would grab you, or your kid, and torture them to death for no reason.
I tried to remember the last time I laughed so hard it hurt. I tried to recall a day where I went to bed happy.
I couldn't.
Special Agents Dailey and Coursey, in matching black trench coats, materialized from the crowd and walked briskly up to me. They moved in step, left foot, right foot, as if they were doing a Wrigley's Doublemint commercial. I didn't hide my disappointment when they stopped in front of my stoop.
"We hope there's no hard feelings," Dailey said.
I gave him a blank look.
"That you're off the case. We know what it's like, and we'll do our best to keep you in the loop."
How about that? An olive branch.
"In return, we'd like to use some of your men."
The left hand giveth, and the right hand taketh away.
"What for?"
"We believe we've found the horse. We'd like to put it under twenty-four-hour surveillance."