He looked so hopeful that she had to chuckle. “Most people in our business don’t hope for murder and mayhem.”
“And, of course, I don’t either,” he said, throwing down his pen. “But I really don’t play the political game well.”
“That’s a lie, sir,” she said cheerfully. “You play it very well.”
He looked at her and said, “What are you after? You’re never nice.”
“Ouch,” she said, staring at him. “You don’t have to be so harsh.”
“The truth is the truth,” he said. “What’s in your hand?”
“Eight cases,” she said, wondering if he were serious. Was she such a bitch? Realizing he was waiting, she added, “So far.”
“Eight cases of what?” he asked, his tone hard and cold.
“Eight cases similar to Jason’s.”
His shocked gaze widened; then he shook his head. “No way in hell,” he said. “We would have noticed.”
“Only one thing connects them all,” she said. “The clothing that they were found in didn’t fit.”
He stared at her and crossed his arms over his chest, as he tilted his chair back and kicked his legs up onto the top of the desk. “That’s pretty slim.”
“Maybe,” she said, “but it’s in all of them. Except this one’s a little different.” And she held up the info sheet on Christina.
“What’s different about her?” he asked, reaching for the sheet. She handed it over, and he quickly read it. “I remember this. She went missing, never to be seen of again.”
“Except her clothing was found,” she said.
“That’s not all that unusual,” he said.
“And along with it was another dress that was too big.”
He looked up at her from the piece of paper in his hand. “And your point is?”
“It has the earmarks of the other cases,” she said, “but no body.”
*
Simon shouldn’t havemade that 9-1-1 call. He knew he shouldn’t have, and it was really, really pissing him off. But, every once in a while, these visions were so damn strong that he knew he would have to do something about it. And, when he read about it later in the news, he’d been right. But that didn’t mean he should have done it. Anything that could confirm it was his voice would just get him into deep water. He already knew the cops would use every angle, every bit of evidence against Simon, and there would be absolutely no way to back out of the mess.
Life sucked, and then you die.
That was the motto he’d heard. But his was the opposite.Life sucked; you made it better, so it sucked less.
Still there’d just been something about this murder, and Simon knew that somehow that guy would walk if Simon didn’t turn him in.
It didn’t make any sense because what he had done was so clear-cut, but Simon couldn’t take the chance. He hated the fact that now, all of a sudden, he was this Good Samaritan. He knew shit happened, but he didn’t want to be the one who was around when it did. He could take care of his own, and he had many times, but no way in hell did he want to start taking care of everyone else. He’d pulled himself out of the gutter and planned to never go back. Nothing ugly was allowed to touch his world. And it didn’t, at least on the physical side. But, for whatever reason, somehow something had gotten in under his skin and into his psyche.
And he was unnerved enough to worry about it.
When his phone rang a few minutes later, he answered it. “What?”
First came silence, and then a female said, “This is Detective Morgan. You came in to speak with me a few days ago.”
“Oh,” he said, and immediately images of the tall, lean, physically fit detective flooded through his mind.Chestnut-colored hair, huge chocolate-colored eyes, wide mobile mouth. He was always hungry—in one way or another—when he thought of her. “What can I do for you, Detective?”
“Do you have any other details?” she asked. “On the boy, Jason.”