The music ended abruptly. I stumbled to my purse, yanked out my iPhone, and checked caller ID.
Groaned again.
Dropping onto the edge of the bed, I hit callback. Slidell picked up right away. Background noise suggested he was in a car. “Yo.”
“You phoned.”
“Tell me this ain’t some new epidemic?”
My drug-clogged brain could do nothing with that.
“First Ryan takes a powder, then you.”
Seriously? “You’re welcome for the photocopies,” I said.
Slidell made a noise I took to mean thanks.
“You pulled your own disappearing act.” I yanked a tissue from the box and held it to my nose.
“Had to check out a lead on the Leal thing.”
“What lead?”
“Guy walking on Morningside Friday afternoon spotted a kid getting into a car. Said she looked upset.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning the moron’s got the IQ of lentil soup. But the time line fits, and the guy’s sketch of the kid skews right.”
“Did he get the license?”
“Two digits. What the hell’s wrong with your voice?”
“It could be a break.”
“Or it could be the toad’s hallucinating.”
“What’s with you and Tinker?”
“Guy’s like something crawled out of a saucer at Roswell.”
Slidell’s negativity didn’t surprise me. His knowledge of the alleged UFO incident did.
“Is it just that Tinker’s state?”
“It’s all bullshit.”
“What do you mean?”
“The SBI’s taken a real hosing in the press lately. Now some asshole in Raleigh’s decided a clear on a serial involving kids is just the spit shine they need.”
Beginning in 2010, the SBI had been rocked by a scandal involving the serology and bloodstain units in its forensics lab. The North Carolina attorney general commissioned an investigation, and the conclusions were blistering. Faulty lab reports. Failure to report contradictory results. A unit director who lied about his training, perhaps perjured himself. Prosecutorial bias up the wazoo.
Defense attorneys throughout the state did the happy dance.
Appeals were submitted. Convictions were overturned. The ensuing avalanche of litigation was expected to cost North Carolina millions.
The media went batshit.
In the end, heads rolled, including that of the lab director. The legislature enacted a number of reforms. Procedures and policies were revamped. The accreditation process was changed. The SBI was still battling to restore credibility.
Was Slidell right? Was the bureau inserting itself into our investigation in an attempt to rehab its image?
“You think Tinker was sent to this morning’s meeting because of politics?”
“Nah. I think he likes the pickles they serve downstairs.”
“Nance has been cold for years. Isn’t it risky for the SBI to insist on involvement in such an old unsolved?”
“The public sees a clear, they’re heroes. They don’t, we’re the dumb rubes who screwed up.”
I had to admit, that made some sense. “SBI input isn’t necessarily a bad thing. Maybe Tinker can help. You know, bring a different perspective.”
“The fuckstick’s already on my back.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning I’m topping his speed dial.”
“Perhaps he has something useful to tell you.”
“He’s trying to slime into my case.”
Sensing further discussion of Tinker would be unproductive, I changed tack. “What’s your take on Rodas?”
“Lose the cap. It ain’t bear season.”
“Actually, it is. In some counties.”
“Guy seems okay.”
“His first name is Umpie.”
“No shit.”
“No shit.”
“I may have to rethink my view. Look, while I’m tied up with Leal, what say you go back over Nance. See if anything jumps out at you.”
“Sure.” I closed my eyes for a moment. Rebunched the tissue. “You think you’ll find her alive?”
“I gotta get back on the street.”
Three beeps, then dead air.
Birdie was in the kitchen staring at his dish. I filled it.