CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
I leave Kit in the car when we arrive at the precinct.
Kane’s people tend to make law enforcement a strange combination of angry and nervous, while Kane tends to challenge them with his cool calculation. In short, Kane makes them even more nervous. And that, I realize, is what I sensed in Miguel. Kane makes him nervous and yet he confronted me, of all people. Interesting and curious.
Once I’m inside the building, I endure the tedious pass-through security, allowing them to wand me, but there’s a price for sticking things between my legs. In this case, I steal a donut and keep on walking. The guard yells after me, “Hey!”
“Arrest me,” I call over my shoulder.
I’ve just finished licking the icing off my fingers when I walk into the precinct and go straight to Houston’s office. He’s on the phone, towering above his desk. Either he’s antsy and can’t sit or the former football player turned law enforcer plans to bench press the desk.
He glances up at me, and says, “She’s here now. I’ll call you.” He hangs up, a pinch between his brows. There’s always a pinch between his brows. That’s what happens when you near forty and you’re always scowling. It marks your face. “That was your brother,” he announces. “He filled me in on everything. We’re exchanging information to follow up on any lead the other person has in hand. But he thinks the waitress is our killer and this is over.”
“The man watches cartoons. He lives in a fantasy world.”
Houston scowls. “What’s wrong with cartoons?”
“Bottom line, Chief, good thing Andrew’s not a profiler,” I say dryly. “There’d be more killers on the streets.”
“You’re that sure it’s not her?” he challenges.
“I haven’t even had time to do a proper profile. No one has. And no, I’m not sure. I’m not ruling her out, but I don’t know enough about anyone or anything to do with this case to get that damn comfortable. She is just as easily a victim as she is a killer.”
“She came into your house, Lilah. That’s an aggressive action.”
“That she could have been paid to do,” I say. “I didn’t get a killer read off her.”
“And you know when you’re with a killer?”
I meet his stare. “Yes. I do.”
“Said every victim from the grave,” he retorts.
“You need better punchlines. That one was stupid.”
He grits his teeth. “Andrew told me Kane’s one of the names this guy threw around as an investor. He’s a target.”
“Okay. I need the agreement.”
“That’s all you have to say?”
“That’s it.”
He grunts this time. “I talked to our DA’s office, who’s been working with the DA in Long Island. After the Umbrella Man, they’re all so damn desperate to hush any talk of a serial killer, they’ll do just about anything. In this case, Marilyn gets the agreement, signed by both offices, on the condition that everything she tells us is truthful. A lie equals a voided agreement. I’m just waiting on the documents.”
My cellphone rings and I grab it from my bag to find Andrew calling. I answer. “I’m with Houston.”
“Put me on speaker. It will save one or both of us repeating ourselves.”
He won’t get an argument from me. Repeating everything ten times is a curse of the job. I punch the speaker and shut the door. “You’re on with us both, Andrew,” I say, returning to the desk across from Houston.
“During the search of Ann Casey’s car, the Boston PD found a box of what looks like pellets for a BB gun, but they look too small. I’m back to facts, Lilah. Ann, the fake sous chef herself, had a partially eaten brownie in her lap. She pulled over to a rest stop to eat it. What better way to die than while eating chocolate?”
“Why kill yourself when you have chocolate?” I counter. “It solves a lot. There’s serotonin—”
“She’s our killer, Lilah.”
Houston’s brows lift, his eyes on me. I ignore him.
“Or she’s a distraction,” I argue. “You’re too easily convinced, Andrew. What does the family say about her?”
“No word yet. Where do you want Boston to send what they found? To the Quantico lab?”
“It’s certainly unique enough to benefit a look by the best lab in the country, but no, send it to Danica in Suffolk County. She’s already on this, but I need it to her by tomorrow, whatever that costs. As for Ann, she lives and works in Houston’s territory. You two figure out how you want to follow up with local connections. But I need my phone. One of you call the other back.”
“Lilah,” Andrew starts.
“You want this to be over, Andrew. I get that. But it’s not. And by the way, Marilyn says Emma’s fiancé isn’t involved. In fact, she said Emma was leaving the group for him. I don’t know if that makes him more interesting or less. I completely forgot we were supposed to interview him.”