"Russell Granger's not very honest."
"And could very well have been researching criminal activity to inspire his own set of crimes. Sinkus is chasing Eola," D.D. declared crisply "I want you in charge of Granger. Hunt down the neighbors, locate this former head of mathematics at MIT. Let's see what kind of life Annabelle's father led in Arlington. Then get serious about their life on the run. You have cities, you have dates. I want to know—did Annabelle's family run because of something Russell Granger feared or because of something Russell Granger did. You get me?"
Bobby nodded. "We should follow up with Walpole," he said. "Catherine's convictions aside, we need to check Umbrio's prisoner file for records of previous correspondence, the visitors' log, that sort of thing. Make sure he continued to be the antisocial fuckup she knew so well."
"Agreed."
"I… uh, I'm pretty busy covering the Granger angle. . . "
"Yeah, yeah, yeah, I'll sic someone else on it."
"Okeydokey" Bobby said.
"Okeydokey," D.D. agreed.
Satisfied, she zipped up her files, snuggled deeper into her seat.
"Good night, Bobby," she murmured. Thirty seconds later, she was out cold.
Bobby glanced across the aisle to where Annabelle still slept, seat reclined, long dark hair obscuring her face. Then he glanced back to D.D., whose head was already lolling against his shoulder.
Complicated case, he thought, and tried to get some rest.
Chapter 24
WE FOUND THE note on D.D.'s car on the third floor of the parking garage at Logan Airport, positioned under the right windshield wiper.
None of us had spoken since we'd disembarked from the plane, trudging through the terminal, the yawning pedestrian skywalk, the labyrinth of walled-off construction sidewalks that tunneled through Central Parking. Outside, it was cold and raining. The weather matched our moods. I was preoccupied with thoughts of my father, questions about my past, and—oh yes—the need to pick up Bella from the vet's, which was always complicated when using public transportation. D.D. and Bobby were no doubt thinking high-level police thoughts, such as who had once kidnapped and murdered six girls, had the subject done such a thing before, and—oh yes—how could they blame my dead father for this entire mess?
Then we saw the note. Plain white paper. Thick black ink. Handwritten scrawl.
D.D. moved immediately to block my view The first two lines, however, were already seared into my brain.
Return the locket or
Another girl dies.
There was more text. Smaller letters, lots of words following the opening threat. I couldn't read them, however. Details, would be my guess. How exactly the police should return the locket. Or how exactly another girl would die. Maybe both.
"Shit," D.D. said. "My car. How did he know… ?"
She conducted a quick twirl of the vast cement space. Looking for the messenger? I saw her gaze dart to the corners and realized she was checking for security cameras, trying to see how lucky they might get. I glanced around for security cameras myself. They weren't that lucky.
Bobby was already leaning over the front hood of the car, scrutinizing the sheet of paper, careful to touch nothing.
"Gotta treat it as a crime scene," he said in a clipped, tight voice.
"No shit."
"We've been away, what? Thirty, thirty-one hours? Pretty big window for delivery."
"I know," D.D. singsonged, her tone as curt as his.
She shot me a glance over her shoulder, her expression all pissy again.
"Hey, can't blame my father for this one," I said.
She glowered. "Annabelle, now would be a good time to catch a cab."
"Perfect. Wonder how many reporters I can find along the way? I'm sure they'd love to hear about this."
"You wouldn't dare—"
"Gonna return the locket?"
"One, this is police business. Two, this is police business—"
"Who wrote it? Did he sign a name? Mention me? I want to read the note."
"Annabelle, catch a cab!"
"Can't!"
"Why not?"
"Because this is my life!"
D.D. thinned her lips. She pointedly returned to the note, still untouched on the windshield of her car. She wasn't going to let me see it. She wasn't going to share. Law enforcement was a system. One that didn't care about a person like me.
Moment stretched into moment. D.D. read. Bobby studied her face, his own look impenetrable. They were in the zone. I was outside, looking in.
Even I have my limits. I gave up, turned away.
"Wait!" D.D. glanced at Bobby. "Go with her."
"Hey, I don't need a babysitter."
D.D. ignored me, still speaking to Bobby "I got this covered. You stay with her."
"We need to talk about this—" he stated levelly.
"We will."
"I don't want you doing anything rash."
"Bobby—"
"I mean it, D.D. You may be the sergeant, but I'm the former tac-team guy." He stabbed his finger at the note. "I know about this. This is bullshit. You will not do what this says."