“It’s okay.” I turned my chair around so I wasn’t staring directly at the unseeing eyes of one of the victims—a blond girl who, before that morning, was probably close to my age and carefree, judging her life by the day, by her exercise routine, by what she was going to have for lunch that afternoon. I stifled a shudder.
Alex set a paper cup of water on the arm of my chair and leaned back against his desk. He kicked out his long legs and crossed his ankles, crossed his arms in front of his broad chest. His eyes were wide and bright and had that uncanny—but comforting—way of seeing me so completely that I shrank back a little bit in my chair.
“Where’s my culinary fee?” He shot me that cocky grin, but I couldn’t appreciate it. I pulled the Fog City bag from my purse and pushed it toward him.
“You’re not eating?”
I shook my head. “Not much of an appetite.”
Alex looked startled. “Are you sick? What about a donut?” He reached into a pink pastry box sitting on a stack of procedural handbooks and waggled a sprinkled donut in front of my face. I felt my lip curl and my stomach acids churn.
“I don’t see how you can eat with that”—I gestured to the white board—“and all of this going on.”
Alex dropped the donut and grabbed his burger, splatting a packet of ketchup on it. “All of what going on?”
I took a short breath, feeling an anxious flutter go through my belly. “Everything.”
Alex set his burger down, his eyes turning to a deep ocean blue. “It’s a practiced skill.”
I watched Alex eat for a few silent moments, stacking and restacking the UDA files on his desk. “Did you pull any files? You know, ex-cons, or unsolved cases with similar MOs?”
Alex smiled behind his burger. “Someone ought to get you a badge.”
I cocked my head, my angst turning into slight annoyance. “I’m serious. Does the department have any leads about who might have done this? Gang retaliation, Satanic offering, or something?
“Do you know how many actual cases of Satanic offerings there have been in San Francisco County?”
I felt my brows raise, suddenly obsessed with knowing if any of my neighbors—past or present—had set out a little offering to dear old dad.
“How many?”
Alex shifted his burger to one hand and wrapped his free fingers into an O-shape.
“Zero?”
“Nada. None.”
“That you’ve found,” I clarified.
“That have panned out to be actual acts of true Satanic ritual or Satanism. Generally, it’s stupid kids or your everyday socio-slash-psychopath.”
“I don’t know if that’s supposed to make me feel better or worse.”
Alex shrugged and stuffed a Sophie-worthy handful of fries in his mouth.
“So, you’ve got no leads.”
Alex rubbed his palm over his forehead, raked his fingers through his dark curls. “That’s the thing, Lawson. I looked—I really did—but nothing matched up to anything in the system. There were no prints, which means that our perp was careful or DNA-aware.” Alex glanced up at me, the statement in his eyes.
“Or didn’t have prints—or standard DNA.”
He nodded, his mouth contorted in that false, “sorry to have to point it out” kind of way.
“I’m not entirely sure that whoever did this was normal.” His eyes set on mine again and this time, the accusation seemed to burn into them. The weight of my secret—and my guilt—sucked all the air out of the room.
I needed to tear my eyes from Alex’s, so I chanced a glance at the whiteboard, my stomach protesting with a nauseous wave when I did.
“Are there any pictures of your vic?”
I shook my head. “Of course not.”
“Oh,” Alex said, “right—because they turn to dust, right?”
“Uh, no, Buffy, they don’t turn into dust. No film. Can’t be seen on film whether or not they’re dead or . . . dead again.”
“That’s a problem.”
There was a beat of awkward silence. Alex popped the last of his burger into his mouth and downed a mouthful of fries. I pulled the files closer to me, cutting the stack in half and pushing those toward Alex. “We should probably get to work on this,” I said. “We have a lot of files to go through.”
Alex paused, his eyes going soft.
“What?”
“You’re really tightly wound right now.”
“Of course I am, Alex. There’s a psycho killer on the loose ready to Filet-O-Fish his next vic.”
“We’re never going to make any headway with you in this state.”
I gritted my teeth, anger surging through my already tightened muscles. “With me in this state?”
Alex held up his hands placatingly. “I’m sorry; I don’t mean to offend you. I just think you need to relax a little bit. Do a little stress release before we get started.”
I crossed my arms and leaned back in my chair, scrutinizing the hard set of Alex’s jaw. “And I suppose you know exactly what I need to relax.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “I have a few ideas.”