July 30
"FEDS?"
"Yup."
"Lots?"
"Yup."
"BSS?"
"Course."
"DMI?"
"Yup?"
"Us?"
"Lickspittle."
Darcy squinted his eyes as if he were having trouble seeing. "Are you two people speaking in a foreign language? Or is this maybe a code? Because I am usually good with codes but I cannot figure out what you are saying."
I smiled. Granger looked annoyed. In short, each did what we did best. "Sorry, Darcy. Cop talk. Shorthand for actual dialogue."
"Oh. Could I learn to talk cop talk? I would like to talk cop talk."
"I'm sure you'll pick it up in no time."
"What did you say?"
"Bottom line: We're about to be invaded by an infestation of FBI agents, specialists in serial killers, because they think we're doing such an incompetent job of handling this case. Once they arrive, we'll probably be delegated to paper-shuffling and answering the phone."
The three of us stood in the front lobby of downtown headquarters. The university interviews were over, and beyond the revelation that our sadistic killer was on the nest, it had proved pointless. Plainclothes officers were interrogating all of Esther Goldstein's neighbors, but I didn't expect it to be any more productive. This woman had obviously planned her escape carefully and arranged a hideaway, probably stocked with lots of cash. I had a call in to her doctor, but in the time-honored tradition of doctors everywhere, she was making me wait. Until she received a court order.
"It isn't fair," Granger grunted. He was as unpleasant as ever, but at least he was speaking to me again. Although I may have preferred it when he wasn't. "I've been busting my ass day and night on this case. We caught one of the perps."
"But the murders haven't stopped."
"But why feds? They're not any more likely to catch her than we are!"
Poor Granger, mourning over his lost turf. I could almost feel sorry for him, if I didn't despise him so intensely. "This die was cast the moment Joshua Brazee became one of the victims and Thomas Stevens went missing. In this celebrity culture of ours, media attention of that magnitude was bound to create a hue and cry for federal intervention. We'll just have to take it in stride." I didn't tell him my worst fear-that with the feds around, all nonessential personnel would be reassigned. Or that a consulting psychologist only hanging on to her job by a wing and a prayer would be dismissed.
Out the corner of my eye, I spotted O'Bannon lurching from his office, doing his best to make it appear that he didn't need the cane at all. He approached, didn't bother with pleasantries. "Pulaski, you're doing the press conference."
"Good morning to you, too," I replied. Had to make the smart remark before we got on with business. It was like my trademark. "What press conference? I thought the Feds were invading."
"That's why we need a press conference. To, you know, explain the situation."
"To save face."
"Whatever. Wouldn't be bad if you gave the impression that we asked for federal assistance. Not that we needed it, but as a goodwill effort to becalm the tourists, yadda, yadda, yadda. The city is already on orange alert. Any more murders and the whole town will shut down."
"Chief…"
"Is it possible you could just do what you're told this once without arguing about it?"
"You've got it wrong. I think the press conference is a good idea. But-do you remember what happened the last time I did a press conference for you?"
"That won't happen again."
"You say that, but-"
"Back then, no one knew who or what you were. With the Edgar case, you earned their respect. No one's going to give you any crap."
"Chief," Granger cut in. Apparently he was incapable of allowing anyone else to talk to his boss for more than a minute without jamming himself into the conversation. "Nothing personal against Susan"-It isn't?-"but shouldn't the press conference be held by someone who is actually a member of the police force? Like maybe, the head of homicide?"
"Sorry, no. Gotta be Susan."
Even I was perplexed by this. "Why me?"
"The feds aren't idiots. They'll be watching CNN, too. They'll see this. So it has to be you."
"Because…"
"Because the feds are okay with you. In fact…" He glanced at Granger, then quickly looked away. "They want you to act as liaison between them and us."
"What?" The top of Granger's head almost flew off. "That's completely inappropriate. I'm the head of the department and-"
"It's not my call," O'Bannon grunted. "Seems the feds have a high opinion of you, Susan. Based on the work you did with them on the Edgar case. And some rather glowing reports written about you by their late colleague Patrick Chaffee."
Dear sweet Patrick. I might've known.
"So you're elected. Go home, put on something nice to wear, maybe even a little makeup for the cameras." He looked me straight in the eyes. "And make sure you're fit and ready for the conference at one P.M."
Message received and understood. "Will do, Chief."
He started to leave, then noticed Darcy hovering on the fringes. "Aren't you supposed to be at home?"
Darcy stared at the floor. "I-I have to be here in case…in case there is a math emergency."
"A math emergency?"
He didn't look up. "I am-I am-I-" He swallowed. "Susan made me her official math consultant."
O'Bannon said what I was thinking. "She did?"
He shook his head in a sideways direction. "I have been reviewing all of the evidence, looking for clues that we might have missed. Math clues."
O'Bannon scowled, gave me a glance, then lurched away. "Hope she pays you better than I'm paying her."
I was just about to inquire about the nature of our nascent consulting relationship when I heard Amanda David calling me across the office. "Susan! Telephone!"
I raced to the phone. "Please hold for Dr. de Alameida." As luck would have it, I got to talk to the doctor after only a two-hour wait. And I didn't even have to show her my health insurance card. "Dr. de Alameida here."
I explained who I was and why I was calling. She had read about Esther in the morning paper, but assumed it must be someone else with the same name. "The woman I treated was quiet, thoughtful, introverted. Very maternal."
"So you're her OB-GYN?"
There was a pause. I never like pauses. "No, I'm an oncologist."
"A-" My turn to pause. "You weren't seeing her about her pregnancy?"
"No. I knew she was pregnant, of course, but that wasn't why I was seeing her. I'm a cancer specialist."
I tried not to let my eyes balloon. "Cancer? Esther Goldstein has cancer?"
"Of the throat, yes. Horrible thing, especially in a woman so young. Apparently she smoked in her younger days. Pity."
"And-what exactly is her condition?"
"Well…it's only a matter of time."
"You're telling me she's terminal?"
"I'm afraid so. The cancer is quite inoperable. And chemotherapy is out of the question, given that she's carrying a child. Not that it would be likely to succeed in any case."
I pressed my hands against the desktop, trying to get a grip on what I was hearing. "You're telling me that my sadistic killer is not only pregnant-but dying?"
"When last I saw her, there was a real question about whether she would be able to carry the child to term. I wanted to hospitalize her, but she refused. Said she had too much to do."
And so she did. Small wonder she didn't fear the death penalty. She knew the grim reaper would take her long before the criminal justice system.
"Doctor, do you know who the father of her child is?"
"I'm afraid not. She was quite silent on that question, and of course, it was really none of my business."
"Do you know anything about her friends, family? Places she might go?"
"No, sorry. I know this, though-she had been trying to become pregnant for a long time. Had visited fertility specialists-in fact, she was referred to me by one of them. A Dr. Landon Lorenz." A moment of silence, then a clicking of the tongue. "Rather ironic, really. And sad. All that time and money spent trying to become pregnant, and when she finally succeeds, she develops a fatal illness. Tragic, isn't it?"
Yes, tragic, I thought, as I hung up the phone. And just the thing that might push an already dangerously unstable personality over the brink.
I had some thinking to do.