TJ gave a chortling laugh but said nothing. He smiled at Boling, who said, "It's a joke I won't repeat. It involves horny sailors out to sea for a long time."
"Thanks for not sharing." Dance dropped into her desk chair, sipped the coffee that had materialized and, what the hell, went for half of the doughnut that also had appeared as a gift from the gods.
"Has Travis--well, Stryker--been back online?" she called to Jon Boling.
"Nope. Haven't heard from Irv. But he'll be sure to let us know. I don't think he's ever slept. He's got Red Bull in his veins."
Dance picked up the phone and called Peter Bennington at MCSO forensics for the latest information on the evidence. The gist was that while there was by now plenty of evidence to get a murder conviction against Travis, there were no leads as to where he might be hiding out, except those traces of soil they'd found earlier--a location different from that where the cross had been left. David Reinhold, that eager young deputy from the sheriff's office, had taken it on himself to collect samples from around Travis's house; the dirt didn't match.
Sandy soil . . . So helpful, Dance reflected cynically, in an area that boasted more than fifteen miles of the most beautiful beaches and dunes in the state.
DESPITE HIS ABILITY to report that the CBI was "doing something techie," Charles Overby got T-boned at the press conference.
The TV in Dance's office was on and they were able to watch the crash live.
Dance's briefing to Overby had been accurate, except for one small detail, albeit one she hadn't known.
"Agent Overby," a reporter asked, "what are you doing to protect the community in light of the new cross?"
Deer in the headlights.
"Uh-oh," TJ whispered.
Shocked, Dance looked from him to Boling. Then back to the screen.
The reporter continued that she'd heard a report a half hour earlier on a radio scanner. C
armel police had found another cross with today's date, June 28, near China Cove on Highway 1.
Overby sputtered in response, "I was briefed just before coming here by the agent in charge of the case, and she apparently wasn't aware of it."
There were two senior women agents in the Monterey office of the CBI. It would be easy to find out who the "she" in question was.
Oh, you son of a bitch, Charles.
She heard another reporter ask, "Agent Overby, what do you say to the fact that the town, the whole Peninsula's in a panic? There've been reports of homeowners shooting at innocent people who happen to walk into their yards."
A pause. "Well, that's not good."
Oh, brother . . .
Dance shut the TV off. She called the MCSO and learned that, yes, another cross, with today's date, had been found near China Cove. A bouquet of red roses too. Crime Scene was collecting the evidence and searching the area.
"There were no witnesses, Agent Dance," the deputy added.
After she hung up, Dance turned to TJ. "What do the Swedes tell us?"
TJ had phoned the proxy service company and left two urgent messages. They had not returned his call yet, despite it being a business day in Stockholm and only past lunchtime.
Five minutes later Overby stormed into the office. "Another cross? Another cross? What the hell happened?"
"I just found out about it myself, Charles."
"How the hell did they hear?"
"The press? Scanners, contacts. The way they always find out what we're doing."
Overby rubbed his tanned forehead. Skin flakes drifted. "Well, where are we with it?"