Mancuso had sent the case file over, and Zoe had left it untouched on her nightstand, intent on getting a bit of rest before her flight. But a nightmare had woken her up after only three hours, and she hadn’t managed to fall back to sleep.
She read the autopsy report of the first victim, Susan Warner. The thing that kept drawing her attention was the decomposing left foot. She had already made some definite assumptions based on that fact. And there was the interesting detail about the mouth . . .
“Working on the plane, huh?” a friendly voice asked.
Zoe shut the folder and looked at her neighbor. He was a middle-aged man with thinning blond hair, a tan that seemed fake, and a you-gotta-love-me smile. He held a small glass of whiskey in his hand, swirling it to melt the one cube of ice. Zoe sighed inwardly, preparing for the arduous task of the small-talk ceremony.
“Yes,” she said. “It’s a good way to save time.”
“I’m Earl Havisham.”
“Zoe.”
“I try not to work while traveling,” he said. “It’s a good time to focus on myself, you know?”
Zoe nodded, somehow managing not to comment that he wasn’t focusing on himself right now. “Well, I like to work while traveling,” she said and opened her folder, hoping they were done.
The time of death had been several days before the body was found, but the location it was found in was a public place. What had the killer done with the body during that time span? There was the torn dress that—
“I have a slight fear of flying,” Earl said.
He glanced at her folder’s contents, the top page clearly marked “Autopsy Report.” Annoyed, she shut the folder again.
“That’s why I drink,” Earl continued.
“Okay,” Zoe said. She was done being polite.
“I’m a technical writer for a start-up company in Silicon Valley.”
“Sounds exciting.”
“Well . . . not as much as you’d think.”
He sounded completely serious. Was it a subtle display of sarcasm? Didn’t feel like it.
“What do you do?”
“I’m a forensic psychologist.”
“Oh, wow.” His eyes shifted just a bit, his body tensing.
It was a typical reaction to her profession. Some people were cautious with psychologists, feeling they might be analyzed at any moment. And almost everyone was weirded out by the word forensic because it made them think of dead bodies. The combination of the two brought many conversations to a screeching halt—which would be great in this instance.
When people did ask her what that meant, she’d explain that what she mostly did was analyze crimes to try to come up with a profile of the criminal. This helped the investigators narrow their suspect pool from “all the people in the world” down to a tight, manageable group. It was a very careful explanation that avoided the terms serial killers, sex crimes, victim profiles, crime scenes, and other phrases that tended to make people shift uncomfortably in their seats.
“Do you like it?” he finally asked.
“It has its moments.” Her tone was curt and unpleasant, and she gave him a narrow-eyed stare. She had been told several times she had intense eyes. She hoped they would shut him up.
She opened her folder for the third time and thumbed to the second victim. The victim’s mouth had been sewn shut with a black thread. Did that have any significance? Perhaps he’d killed them to—
“So where are you headed once we land?” He leaned toward her, his voice lower.
Zoe shut her folder, her jaw clenched tight.
He kept leaning closer. “I need to go to my company’s branch at the Gogo Building. But I’m not expected there until ten, so—”
“Then maybe you should use that time to find a woman who is interested in hearing about all the times your mother was disappointed in you,” Zoe said. “If you get lucky, she might not notice that wedding ring outline in your pocket . . . nice tan on your finger, by the way. It’s a good thing you remembered to take the ring off before they sprayed you. And then maybe you’ll have sex, and your self-confidence will be bolstered enough for that business meeting you’re clearly so worried about.”
Some of it was just guesswork. Everyone’s mother was disappointed in them at one point or another. It was nothing more than a psychological parlor trick. But from the outrage in his eyes, it seemed she was right on every mark—even his business meeting. She was beginning to enjoy their conversation.
“Bitch,” he muttered, turning away.
“Oh, Earl.” She smiled at him. “That’s really no way to talk to someone who works for the FBI.”
CHAPTER 9
Chicago, Illinois, Monday, July 18, 2016
Tatum had almost decided to let Zoe get to the police headquarters on her own, but he decided at the last moment to pick her up, talk to her a bit before she met Lieutenant Martinez and his fake profiler. It was best to make sure they were on the same page. While he waited for her, he called Marvin to make sure the old man was fine.
“Of course I’m not fine, Tatum. You left me to take care of your beastly creature. It already scratched me twice.”
“I meant how are you aside from Freckle. Are you feeling well? Did you remember to take your pills?”
“I’ve been taking those pills for nine years, Tatum. You think just because you went to Chicago, I’ll suddenly decide to stop? Of course I remember the pills.”
“Good. And what about—”
“I stopped taking the blue one; I told you that. It made my throat itch.”
“What? When?”
“Last week. I told you that, Tatum. Don’t you remember?”
“You didn’t tell me anything about that.” Tatum felt his gut sinking. “Did you ask Dr. Nassar about it?”
“No, there’s no need. I talked to Jenna about it.”
It took Tatum a moment to place the name Jenna as his grandfather’s girlfriend with the cocaine habit. “Is she a doctor?”
“No, but she had the same problem a year ago. Her doctor prescribed her something else. She had some extra, so I’m taking those instead.”
“Marvin, you can’t do that. Talk to Dr. Nassar—”
“Nassar is a busy man, Tatum. And these green ones are great, no side effects—”
“What green ones?”
“The ones Jenna gave me.”
“Do any of these pills have a name? What are you taking?”
“I don’t remember, Tatum, but it’s fine. Jenna told me. She had exactly the same side effects and—”
Tatum noticed Zoe amid the hundreds of people heading out of the terminal. She was striding quickly toward the exit, her gray suitcase dragging behind her.
“Listen, I have to go. Take your damn pills, even the blue one with the itchy throat. And don’t take the ones from Jenna. And call Dr. Nassar. He will give you what you need.”
“I have what I need.”
“If you don’t call Dr. Nassar, I will.”
“You’re a pain in the ass, Tatum.”
“Take your pills. And remember to feed the fish. Bye.” He hung up and hurried after Zoe. He caught up with her and tapped her shoulder.
“Dr. Bentley.” He smiled, trying to temporarily set aside Marvin and the green pills.
“Agent Gray. I thought we’d meet at the police station.”
“Yeah, but I figured I could pick you up. I rented a car yesterday, so no need to take a cab.”
“Thank you. That’s very thoughtful.”
She seemed to be in a cheerful mood. Perhaps she was glad to get out of the office for a bit. It made Tatum feel better about asking for her.
“Want to grab some breakfast first?” he asked. “There’s a place called Hillary’s Pancake House not far from here, and it has some nice reviews on Yelp.”
“Sure,” she said, her eyes lighting up. “I’d kill for some coffee.”
“Let’s go, then,” he said. “Want me to get your suitcase?”