early edition of the Seattle PostIntelligencer landed on the doorstep. She stepped right over it on her way out the door, but the blazing headline practically reached out and tripped her: SERIAL KILLER LEAVES THIRD VICTIM. Beneath it in smaller typeset: May Be Killing in Pairs.
Andie tore open the paper and devoured the lead article. She finished with a two-word summary of her own, uttered aloud. "Oh, shit."
Victoria Santos was scheduled to arrive at Sea-Tac airport in thirty-five minutes, so she jumped in the car and then dialed Isaac Underwood at home on her cellular phone. She knew he was an early riser, probably staring at the paper and choking on his corn flakes right about now.
"Isaac, hey it's Andie. Seen this morning's P-I yet?"
"Just did. Not one of your better moves, Andie."
"Isaac, I swear. I don't know how it hit the papers. All that stuff about bookends--I just came up with that last night. I haven't told anyone but Kessler. I would never leak without prior approval from a supervisor."
"I believe you. The problem is, it looks like you did an end run on an ISU profiler. That isn't going to sit well with Victoria Santos. Yesterday she had a clean slate. Now you've got her boxed inside a theory she may think is silly."
"What should I do?"
"First, don't freak. Second, check the mirror every now and then. If you find your face turning blue, remind yourself: breathe."
"I'm serious. I'm meeting Santos in less than an hour." "You want me to talk to her?"
"No. It's my mess. I'll fix it."
"That's what I thought you'd say. I know you're short on time, but it would help if you could get a handle on how this leaked."
"I'll call Kessler."
"Good. But be careful with him."
"How do you mean?"
"I get along fine with him, but not everybody does. Back in my days with the department, people used to say he's perfectly balanced. Got a chip on both shoulders."
"Now you tell me."
"Hey, if anybody can dust off his shoulders, it's you."
"Thanks, boss," she said, then hung up. Morning traffic on the interstate was getting heavier by the minute. With one eye on the road, she dug Kessler's business card out of her purse and dialed him at home. His wife answered and said he was in the shower.
"Can you get him, please? This is extremely important."
Andie cut off a van as she veered toward the airport exit. Finally, Kessler came to the phone. "He-low," he said, a bit like a bumpkin.
"Dick, I don't mean to level any accusations, but how did the sum and substance of our conversation last night in the autopsy room make it into this morning's newspaper?"
"I called them."
"Without telling me?"
"I'm a firm believer in using the media to help solve crimes. Victoria Santos is, too. I've heard her lectures."
"I don't argue with the concept," said Andie. "But floating an untested theory might just put ideas in some whacko's head and make it come true. Hell, even you didn't buy the theory when I first suggested it."
"The more I thought about it, the more sense it made." "We should have at least run it by Agent Santos."
"It's too damn late for that now. FBI politics is you r p roblem, not mine."
"That's true," said Andie. "I was just hoping we all could get off to a little better start than this."
"Should have thought of that before you started making smartass remarks about who does the grocery shopping in my family."
"Come on, Dick. Let's not get petty, all right?"
"I'm not being petty. I'm actually doing you a favor.
This press leak gives you the perfect opportunity to fin d o ut right from the get-go whether the rumors are true." "What rumors?"
"From what I hear, Santos has one trait that overshadows even her brilliance."
"Her patience?" Andie said hopefully.
"Her ego. Best of luck, kid. Call me when her royal majesty is ready to meet."
Andie tossed the phone onto the passenger seat and checked herself in the rearview mirror. "Breathe," she said as she approached the airport.
Chapter Eight.
Morgan was dressed in her
Andie tore open the paper and devoured the lead article. She finished with a two-word summary of her own, uttered aloud. "Oh, shit."
Victoria Santos was scheduled to arrive at Sea-Tac airport in thirty-five minutes, so she jumped in the car and then dialed Isaac Underwood at home on her cellular phone. She knew he was an early riser, probably staring at the paper and choking on his corn flakes right about now.
"Isaac, hey it's Andie. Seen this morning's P-I yet?"
"Just did. Not one of your better moves, Andie."
"Isaac, I swear. I don't know how it hit the papers. All that stuff about bookends--I just came up with that last night. I haven't told anyone but Kessler. I would never leak without prior approval from a supervisor."
"I believe you. The problem is, it looks like you did an end run on an ISU profiler. That isn't going to sit well with Victoria Santos. Yesterday she had a clean slate. Now you've got her boxed inside a theory she may think is silly."
"What should I do?"
"First, don't freak. Second, check the mirror every now and then. If you find your face turning blue, remind yourself: breathe."
"I'm serious. I'm meeting Santos in less than an hour." "You want me to talk to her?"
"No. It's my mess. I'll fix it."
"That's what I thought you'd say. I know you're short on time, but it would help if you could get a handle on how this leaked."
"I'll call Kessler."
"Good. But be careful with him."
"How do you mean?"
"I get along fine with him, but not everybody does. Back in my days with the department, people used to say he's perfectly balanced. Got a chip on both shoulders."
"Now you tell me."
"Hey, if anybody can dust off his shoulders, it's you."
"Thanks, boss," she said, then hung up. Morning traffic on the interstate was getting heavier by the minute. With one eye on the road, she dug Kessler's business card out of her purse and dialed him at home. His wife answered and said he was in the shower.
"Can you get him, please? This is extremely important."
Andie cut off a van as she veered toward the airport exit. Finally, Kessler came to the phone. "He-low," he said, a bit like a bumpkin.
"Dick, I don't mean to level any accusations, but how did the sum and substance of our conversation last night in the autopsy room make it into this morning's newspaper?"
"I called them."
"Without telling me?"
"I'm a firm believer in using the media to help solve crimes. Victoria Santos is, too. I've heard her lectures."
"I don't argue with the concept," said Andie. "But floating an untested theory might just put ideas in some whacko's head and make it come true. Hell, even you didn't buy the theory when I first suggested it."
"The more I thought about it, the more sense it made." "We should have at least run it by Agent Santos."
"It's too damn late for that now. FBI politics is you r p roblem, not mine."
"That's true," said Andie. "I was just hoping we all could get off to a little better start than this."
"Should have thought of that before you started making smartass remarks about who does the grocery shopping in my family."
"Come on, Dick. Let's not get petty, all right?"
"I'm not being petty. I'm actually doing you a favor.
This press leak gives you the perfect opportunity to fin d o ut right from the get-go whether the rumors are true." "What rumors?"
"From what I hear, Santos has one trait that overshadows even her brilliance."
"Her patience?" Andie said hopefully.
"Her ego. Best of luck, kid. Call me when her royal majesty is ready to meet."
Andie tossed the phone onto the passenger seat and checked herself in the rearview mirror. "Breathe," she said as she approached the airport.
Chapter Eight.
Morgan was dressed in her
Similar Books
