The Movie-Town Murders (The Art of Murder 5)

Sam made a sound that wasn’t quite a laugh. “Funny you should ask. There’s a possibility Berkle wasn’t acting alone.”

Berkle… Why was that name so familiar?

“Says who?”

“Says his logbooks.”

Logbooks? Oh, right. Oh hell. Berkle had been a long-haul trucker. Sam was talking about Oregon and the Roadside Ripper case.

Jason asked, “Who’s the possible accomplice?”

“An unknown subject referred to only as Bone Road.”

Jason asked, “Is that a CB handle or a pet name or what?”

“Your guess is as good as mine. So far, it’s a dead end.”

That was the problem with shooting your prime suspect. Not that Sam had shot him. That had been the work of a local deputy sheriff who had, in Sam’s words, formed an attachment to Special Agent Adam Darling.

Awkward things, attachments.

Jason glanced down at the pile of hair lying in the bathroom sink like a soft black nest, glanced back at the man in the mirror. He couldn’t decide if he looked more like a skinhead or a chemo patient. His face was all sharps and angles, his green eyes looked huge and feverish.

Either way, he did not look like himself. That was the goal.

He asked, “Does this mean the band’s getting back together?”

“What’s that?” Jason could hear the frown in Sam’s voice.

“Are you putting the Roadside Ripper task force back together?”

“Ah. Not exactly. More like a symposium with some of our key players.”

“Adam Darling?” Jason suggested.

“Correct.”

“Travis Petty.” That one wasn’t a question. Jason had no doubt Petty would get himself on that task force—oh, sorry, symposium—whether Sam thought of it first or not. But Sam would, of course, think of Petty. Petty had been on the original taskforce, and Sam thought highly of his abilities.

And sure enough, Sam said neutrally, “Petty’s an obvious choice.”

“Mm-hm.” The fact that it was true didn’t make it any less irritating.

Sam spoke quietly to someone on the other end. He came back on the line. “Sorry. We’re going to have to cut this short.”

“Right. Thanks for touching base.”

That was bound to sound like a weird comment. Because it was a weird comment.

Sam didn’t seem to notice. “I’ll try to phone tonight.”

“Sure. It’s fine if you can’t, though, Sam. Everything’s under control here.”

“I never doubted it.” Sam’s tone was wry. “I still like hearing your voice last thing at night.”

Okay. That was nice. That went a long way to soothing Jason’s irritation at the thought of Sam once again working side by side with SA Petty. “Same,” he said softly. “Talk to you later.”

Ono’s apartment felt very empty after Sam cut the connection.

Jason sighed, regarded his reflection.

It had been a decade since he’d worn an earring, but he’d had his ear repierced in Amsterdam. He pushed in the small diamond stud and regarded the result critically. Yeah, that worked.

The shaved head, the stylish stubble that wasn’t quite a beard, the earring, and… Jason reached for a pair of fashion glasses with oversize black frames.

He slid the glasses on, tilted his head, considered himself. “I think so.”

He did not look like an FBI agent. That was for sure. He looked like a trying-way-too-hard adjunct professor who was more than likely going to end up sleeping with one of his students.

He winked at his reflection.

Art, like the devil, was all in the details.