Jason stared. “You don’t think there’s a copycat killer out there?” That was news. When had Kennedy made that deduction? And why wasn’t he sharing his theories with his partner? Okay, temporary partner.
As though reading Jason’s mind, Kennedy said—his tone almost placating, “I think that it’s too soon to draw any conclusions. Look, this kind of investigation takes time. We’ll know more after we talk to the Davies girl. Meantime, will you at least try to keep an open mind? You’ve got a promising line of investigation in tracking down the artist of the mermaid charms. That’s what you need to focus on.”
In other words, stay out of my way.
Oh, but hey. They had definitely made progress in the area of interpersonal relationships because Kennedy didn’t say it aloud. In fact, he was making an obvious effort not to say anything offensive or dismissive.
“All right,” Jason said curtly.
Kennedy looked relieved, but Jason too had made progress. Kennedy was the senior on this, after all, and the guy Jason was currently sleeping with. Jason could also be courteous and considerate—and keep his own counsel and follow his own line of inquiry.
* * * * *
Manning phoned on the short drive to the police station.
Jason saw the SAC’s ID flash up and threw Kennedy a quick look. He let the call go to message. A moment later, Manning phoned again.
“Answer it,” Kennedy said. “He’s not going to give up.”
Jason pressed to accept the call. “West.”
“Agent West, I was, erm, expecting to hear from you before now. What is the status?”
Hadn’t they only spoken the day before? Jason said cautiously, “The status, sir?”
“Are we or are we not looking for a copycat killer in Kingsfield?”
Copycat killer in Kingsfield. Try saying that three times fast. Jason replied, “It’s still too early to draw any conclusions. The last victim isn’t able to speak yet. We’ll know more when we can interview her.”
“Diplomatic,” Kennedy commented.
Jason frowned at him.
“I watch the news, Agent West.”
“Sir?”
Manning said, “All I want to know is did Kennedy put the wrong, erm, man in prison ten years ago?”
Jason stared at the rows of old houses and tidy gardens gliding past. “No. Absolutely not.”
“I’m not looking for an, erm, whitewash job, Agent West. I—we—want the truth. We need the truth.”
No, what Manning wanted was corroboration. Justification for going after Kennedy. This wasn’t about “we” or the Bureau. It was about Manning and Kennedy. This was a long-running feud. And Jason was now caught in the middle of it.
“Sir, Martin Pink is the Huntsman. I interviewed Pink myself three days ago, and I’m confident we got the right man.”
Manning said shortly, “I’m glad you’re so certain, West. But as I said, I watch the, erm, news, and it sounds to me like not everyone is, erm, convinced on that point.”
“Well, I don’t believe it’s possible to get unanimous consent on any point, sir.”
Kennedy gave a quiet laugh and turned into the parking lot behind the police station.
“Indeed,” Manning said. “Keep in mind why you’ve been assigned to this case, West. I want regular updates. I want daily updates.” He hung up noisily.
Daily? Why stop there? How about hourly?
Jason clicked off and glanced at Kennedy. Kennedy seemed to have nothing more on his mind than angling the car into one of those too-small painted slots.