The Magician Murders (The Art of Murder 3)

“You sure you want to nudge her? Last time we spoke, she was intimating harassment.”

“No, I’m

not sure,” Jason admitted. “But like I said, I’m concerned. I’d rather risk irritating her than have her come to harm.”

Shane’s sigh was resigned. “Okay. I’ll do a welfare check. See what her mood is these days.”

“Thanks.”

“And,” Shane added, “that’s the last I want to hear about Fletcher-Durrand until you’re back from sick leave. I got plenty of forgery, fraud, and felonies in my own backyard to keep me busy, thank you very much.”

They chatted a couple of minutes more, then Jason disconnected and phoned Russell at the LA office.

Russell was even less thrilled to hear from Jason than Shane had been. With sour satisfaction he delivered the news that Fletcher-Durrand was hinting about suing Jason and the Bureau for everything from trespassing to harassment following the events on Camden Island two months earlier.

“What total bullshit!” Jason exclaimed.

“Also, all of our current cases have been pulled by the Stafford County Sheriff’s Office.”

He’d known that was coming. “Right,” Jason said. “I don’t think they’re going to find the answer in our caseload, but they’ve got to look, I guess.”

“I’ll tell you what I told ADC Ritchie. With the exception of Fletcher-Durrand, I can’t see how taking you out would help any subject in any of our current investigations. And it wouldn’t even help F-D.”

“I agree.”

“Fletcher-Durrand wants to crush you through the courts.”

“They can try.”

“And if Eric Greenleaf wanted anyone out of the way, it would be me.”

“Probably, yeah.”

J.J. said, “I told Ritchie it’s Kennedy’s case files they should be looking at.”

“What?”

“The BAU is where they need to focus their attention. Think about it. Think about Kennedy. There’s a guy a lot of dangerous people would like to hurt. What better way to hurt him than take out his only friend in the world?”

Not an angle Jason had considered, and given the kind of perps who populated Kennedy’s case files, it was a little bit of a kick in the guts. He said lightly, “Only friend is a bit much.”

“Yeah? Well, in my opinion, eliminating you would be a big distraction for Kennedy. Maybe somebody needs a big distraction.”

There was a certain crazy logic to it, emphasis on crazy.

Jason said reluctantly, “It seems kind of Criminal Minds to me.”

“Sure,” J.J. said. “But psychopaths watch TV too.”

“I got a key made for you. In case.” Sam was pulling goodies out of paper sacks like a magician producing bouquets. Chili con carne! Beets! Potatoes! Cream! All out of a hat!

“Thanks.” Jason picked up the silver key lying on the white tile counter.

It had been nearly noon by the time Sam returned from town. As well as several bags of groceries, he’d picked up a couple of sweatshirts and a flannel shirt for Jason. That was classic Sam. He was not a guy for candy hearts and valentines, but he knew Jason had only packed for a weekend, so Sam bought him things he felt would make Jason’s stay easier, more comfortable. Like vodka and Lays potato chips and wool socks and fleecy sweatshirts.

And Sam was right. Wyoming in April was cold. The sky was almost purple-blue, and the edges of sunlight had a sharp, icy glitter.

“Magic City of the Plains?” Jason yanked off the price tag and pulled the black sweatshirt with the buffalo graphic over his head. The right fit too. Sam was nothing if not observant.