Colt grinned back. “Great, Sully.”
“Not done, my man. They also matched prints at Angie’s.”
Colt felt an electric pulse sear through his system. That news was more than great.
“Sure,” Sully went on, “you could argue with the prints at Angie’s, she had loads of visitors, probably why he was careless. He could have visited her anytime. But Feb’s? He’s fucked.”
He was, two plus two were equaling four, more than a coincidence, so much so if the impossible happened and this shit went to trial, a jury would think that too. It was fucking brilliant.
“Anything from Pete and Butch?” Colt asked.
Sully shook his head but he was still grinning. He leaned back in his chair and lifted his arms to place both hands behind his head.
“Those scenes are clean but this is what I think,” Sully started then leaned forward quickly, excited, ready to call it down and he put his elbows on his desk, “he goes to Feb’s before all this shit, we don’t know when, before Marie tips it with her confrontation. Does Feb routinely have her house fingerprinted? No. He doesn’t reckon she’ll ever find the cum rags ‘less she moves and she might not even know what they are. Or, he’s so sick, he might not even care or he might want her to find ‘em,” Colt nodded and Sully went on. “Then Marie tips it and he uses what he’s learned from Feb’s journals to go on his vengeance spree. From what we can tell, Puck’s between Marie and Pete, probably still actin’ on rage, maybe even lookin’ for you, but findin’ Puck. He’s careful at Pete’s but not so careful with Angie. Careful enough with the crime scene but, he lives in town, Angie’s place he’d reckon was infected. Might even be he would think we wouldn’t give two shits about Angie, bein’ who she was. He’s back to careful with Butch. After Marie, he’s controlled with all of them, even Angie, perfecting the kill.”
“The profilers get that list? Isolate a victimology?”
“They got it. They figure Angie was his way of announcing this to Feb, on a high from doin’ Pete and decidin’ it was time for her to learn she had a hero. But with that note about Puck, the warning about you and it bein’ Butch and Pete who bit it, they’re thinkin’ his next target is a guy named Grant who lives in Sturgis.”
Colt didn’t want to know but he asked, “What’d he do?”
Sully didn’t want to tell him but he said, “He worked a bar with her, assistant manager. Tried it on with her, wouldn’t take no for an answer, got insistent. She liked the job, liked the town, wanted to stay awhile, she reported him. Grant didn’t like it much and made his feelings known. Her manager made his feelings known by firin’ Grant’s ass. Guy left the job, not the town, kept harassin’ her until she finally took off.”
Colt again thought it was good Feb was home so he and Morrie had her back. He also wished he was the one who told this Grant asshole that there might be a serial killer with a hatchet after him, wreaking vengeance for all the wrongs done to Feb. He would have got a fair bit of satisfaction out of that.
“Grant bein’ warned?” Colt asked.
“Agents headin’ that way,” Sully told him then asked, “You find any link between Amy Harris and Denny?”
Colt shook his head. He’d spent a goodly amount of time in her house and even more time talking to her neighbors. He found nothing in the house. The neighbors, all the same story. Shock at the suicide, she didn’t seem that type of girl. They liked her as a neighbor. She was helpful, watching kids, dogs, cats, picking up mail while they were away. They knew her as sweet, nice, quiet and shy.
“Didn’t even find any evidence she had a kid which means zilch on her having him adopted. Like it never happened,” Colt told Sully.
“Maybe it didn’t and she was tellin’ tales.”
“Weird tale to tell.”
Sully nodded. “This is true.” He gave Colt a look. “Could it be the world just didn’t understand her and she’d had enough?”
In his sixteen years as detective he’d had five suicide callouts. In his career as a cop, he’d seen two more. Colt never understood murder, no matter what. Suicide was different. He didn’t condone it but the seven he’d seen, what he learned after, he understood them.
Amy’s, no.
“Doc’s informin’ her folks, I’ll get to them when they get here.”
Sully nodded. “Speakin’ of here, why are you? You’ll never earn another frittata from Feb sittin’ behind your desk.”
“She’s closing tonight.”
“Ah,” Sully grinned, “still, she’s behind a bar, wearin’ one of her chokers, no doubt, lookin’ hot, definitely no doubt and that bar’s two blocks away. You walk out the front door, you’re off duty, so, again, why you still here?”
“Good question,” Colt said and stood up, grabbing his blazer.
He was on the move when Sully called out, “You still want me to activate the Lorraine gossip tree?”
Colt didn’t turn, just lifted his hand in a wave that was a single flick of the wrist and called back, “Absolutely.”
*
Colt hit J&J’s and his eyes hit Feb.
Hers hit him and she gave him a jaw tilt.
Denny Lowe’s psychotic vengeance, Cal Johnson’s bleak retribution and Amy Harris’s incomprehensible suicide and still, one jaw tilt from February and all was right in the world.
For the first time in twenty-two years after the jaw tilt, Feb didn’t take her eyes off him. And for the first time in twenty-two years, he gave her a smile.
She caught it then bent her head but he saw the smile that was directed at him but aimed at the floor. That smile was warm, it was knowing, it was everything it used to be at the same time it was a fuckuva lot more. He’d tasted her, he’d been inside her. She liked it enough to make him a frittata. Now her smile told him she also liked it enough to smile in a way that told him she wanted more.
Yes, all was right in the world.