• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

“There honestly wasn’t time, Ollie. No, of course there was time. It’s just that I, oh damn, this sounds ridiculous, but I really wasn’t even thinking about it until it popped right into my head. Surely you’ve done the same thing.”

“Yeah, sure, but then when I find something, the first thing I do is tell my partner. You didn’t say a word. You just tromped into the conference room and showed everyone how great you were. It wasn’t a very nice thing to do, Sherlock.”

“No, you’re right. It wasn’t. I can only say that I honestly wasn’t thinking about it.” It was true. She hadn’t known that Savich would put her on the spot in front of the whole Unit, but he had. There’d been no time then to say anything to Ollie. No, there’d been time. She just hadn’t thought about it. “Listen, Ollie, what happened was this. When I was on the plane going to Boston, I was pushed into this old woman coming out of the gangway. She turned on me and blasted me with the foulest language I’d ever heard. She looked mean. She looked at me as if she wanted to kill me. She’s the one who should get all the credit if this works out.”

“How did Savich know that you’d come up with something?”

“I can’t tell you that, Ollie. I’d like to, but I can’t. I’m sorry. Please. I might not be around much longer. I don’t know.”

“What’s going on?” Even though Ollie was a fatalist, he forgot anger very quickly. He laid his hand on her shoulder. “It’s something heavy, isn’t it?”

“Yes. Very heavy.”

“Sherlock. In my office. Now.”

Ollie spun around at Savich’s voice. “Would you like to tell me what’s wrong?”

“No, this is just between the two of us, Ollie. Stop looking like a rottweiler. I’m not going to pound her into the floor—at least not yet, not here. Come along, Sherlock.”

But they didn’t go to his office. He led her out of the Hoover Building to a small park that was catty-corner to it. “Sit.” She sat on the narrow bench. Fortunately, she didn’t have to wake up a homeless person and ask him to leave. It was a beautiful day, the sky clear, just a light, cool breeze. The sidewalks were crowded with a batch of fall tourists. There were two families with small kids eating picnic lunches on blankets. It was utterly foreign to her, this family thing. It hadn’t been, a long time ago. That was before her mother had become ill. At least before Lacey had realized how very ill she was.

“I’ve given this a lot of thought.”

“You found me out so quickly, I’m sure that you’ve had plenty of time to figure out everything.”

“Look at me, Sherlock.”

She looked. Then suddenly she began to laugh. “You look like Heathcliff: brooding, piercing eyes, and dangerous. I remember thinking once that you had summer-blue eyes, a dreamer’s eyes. But not now. You could kill easily now.”

He wanted to smile, but he didn’t. Dreamer’s eyes? Jesus, that was nuts. He said, “I’ve reviewed the seven murders this guy did seven years ago. I called Ralph Budnack in Boston and asked if he’d heard of any murders committed with this same M.O. other than the one they’d had just the other day. He said they hadn’t heard about other murders, but that they’d just realized they had a serial killer on their hands, a guy who’d struck in San Francisco seven years ago.” He paused a moment, turning at the unearthly cooing of a pigeon.

“I finally managed to get in to see Detective Budnack,” Lacey said. “He wouldn’t even talk to me. He said I was a sicko and that they didn’t need any help.”

“I know. I spoke to him right after he kicked you out of his office.”

She wanted to hit him. “That was Tuesday afternoon. You didn’t say a damned thing about it when I called you that night!”

“That’s right. Why should I?”

“Well, so you really didn’t have to, but you knew. You knew all the time what I was trying to do.”

“Oh yes. Tell me, Sherlock, what did you do for the other two days?”

“Nothing that got me anywhere. The medical examiner wouldn’t talk to me even when I managed to lie my way in. With my background, it wasn’t that hard. But he