"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 your problem, 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 find out 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 plaid jumper and knee socks, ready for school, asleep on the couch in Gus's office. Gus had gotten her up much earlier than usual, dressed her in her elementary school uniform, and taken her to work with him. She'd been out cold since they'd arrived downtown more than two hours ago, before dawn. He'd managed not to wake her as he held her in the elevator and carried her to the couch. She didn't have to be at school till nine, but he had to be at the office before seven. He arrived on time, sleepy kid in tow.
At eight-fifteen the eyes blinked open, and she began to stir. Gus looked up from the paperwork spread across his desk. He had never watched Morgan wake before, at least not the whole adorable process. It was such a contrast to the adult world of buzzing jolts from alarm clocks. He thought of those time-released films of flowers in bloom. She yawned like a bear cub shaking off hibernation, fending off the sunlight streaming through the east window of the big corner office.
She slid off the couch and went straight to the window, struck by the view from the forty-ninth floor. "Wow. This is like the Space Needle."
Her nose was pressed against the glass as she gazed toward snow-capped Mt. Rainier. Gus smiled wanly, then shrank inside. Six years old, and Morgan had never been to her father's office.
"No wonder you live here." The window fogged as she spoke into it.
"This is just an office, sweetheart. Daddy doesn't live here."
"Mommy says you do."
The words cut to the core. No point debating it.
Morgan stepped away from the window. The colorful collection of carved wooden horses on the end table had caught her attention. She took one. Gus jumped up before she could grab the others. "Those aren't toys, honey."
"They look like toys."
"That's because they were, once. But now they're antiques. Expensive antiques." He took the carved thoroughbred and put it back on the table by the others.
"Are you going to take me to school today?"