"You got three special agents on the Wheatley kidnapping team. Rock, paper, scissors. The loser drives to Yakima and pokes around. Any more executive decisions you'd like me to make for you?"
"That's where we disagree," said Andie.
"Fine. The winner drives to Yakima."
Isaac was being a real hard ass. It must have stemmed from last night, the brief lapse in the parking lot when he'd let his guard down. Definite overcompensation, thought Andie.
"The issue isn't who goes:' she said. "It's how. I don't think it's smart for the FBI to march into this store and start flashing badges and asking questions. From all indications we're dealing with a fairly intelligent serial killer. We don't know the nature of his connection to this clothing store."
"If any," snapped Lundquist.
"True, if any. But we could blow everything if we walk in as straight agents. We need to be more subtle, more creative."
"This is a pretty flimsy tip to start spending the taxpayer money on surveillance."
Lundquist piled on smugly. "That's exactly what I said."
"Doesn't have to be surveillance. I can do a cameo appearance. The store caters to lower-income Hispanics and Indians. I'm half Indian. I can play the part."
"What's wrong with that, Kent?"
Lundquist made a face. "Because I can see how this is going to turn out. She'll do a cameo for an afternoon, then she'll ask for another day, then for a week, on and on. Before you know it, we'll be into a group-two undercover assignment to the tune of seventy thousand bucks, and in six months the auditors will come crashing down on my head."
Isaac raised his eyes to the ceiling. "Did I hear someone say the sky is falling?"
"Come on, Isaac. You know that's the danger of these cameos."
"To some extent, you're right." He glanced the other way. "How about it, Andie? Can you look me in the eye and tell me this is a one-afternoon cameo, nothing more?"
She would have liked to say yes, but she never suckered Isaac. "Can I make a suggestion?"
"Sure."
"Ju"st so we're not arguing about extensions day after day, let's just agree up-front on a time limit."
"How long?"
"Give me three days. If nothing turns up, I back off the assignment."
Isaac nodded. "Seems reasonable. You okay with that, Kent?"
He thought for a second, then said, "Fine. Three days."
"Good." Andie rose and started for the door before anyone could change their mind. "Thanks, Isaac. I'll pick you up a nice secondhand shirt or something."
"Don't forget about Kent."
"Oh, yeah:' she said with a thin smile. "I'll put his on six-month layaway."
"Three days!" he shouted, but she was already out the door.
Gus had hoped to hear back from Andie quickly, but as the day dragged on and last night's phone conversation played over and over again in his mind, he was no longer sure she even owed him a call. He had her assurance that she would do everything possible to work a deal with Shirley if her tips panned out. He could only assume that nothing had firmed up.
That afternoon he picked up Morgan from school. During the ride home he tried to follow up on the hunch Carla had raised yesterday--that someone was bothering Morgan at school. He asked general questions. How's school? Everything okay with your friends? The car was both the best and worst place for this kind of conversation. He had her captive, but with her riding safely away from the air bags in the backseat he couldn't read her face or check her body language. He wasn't getting anywhere, so he let it go for now. He wasn't going to pop the hard questions and try to gauge her reaction in the rearview mirror.
They were home by three o'clock. Morgan went to her room. Gus checked the answering machines in the kitchen and his study. Nothing.
He gave Morgan a few minutes to settle into her room, then checked on her. The door was half open, enough for him to see completely inside. Morgan sat cross-legged on the floor, her back to him. The television was playing. He watched the back of her head, her thin neck, the slight shoulders that made it ever so clear what a little girl she still was. Then he watched the screen. It was the sound that had caught his attention more than the picture. She was playing one of her old videocassettes. Very old. It was called More Baby Songs. Gus remembered it because Morgan used to play it all the time. She was little more than two and had just learned to use the VCR. It was kind of a family joke, but at twenty-six months she knew how to operate it better than her parents did. More Baby Songs had been her favorite video, and her favorite song was the one Beth had taught her. It was right about the time Beth had decided to go back to work for the hotel. The song was about a working mother who leaves her daughter at day care for the day. The daughter cries when she leaves, but the song taught her not to. Because my mommy comes back. She always comes back. She always come back to get me.
Morgan's voice was cracking as she sang along. Gus watched from the doorway, his heart breaking.