The District. Carol EricsonЧитать онлайн книгу.
calling me Christina, and I’m not here to trample over your procedures and protocol. I’m here to find a killer and get some justice for these victims. I hope that’s your objective, too, Lieutenant Fitch.”
He thrust out his hand. “Call me Charlie.”
“Done deal, Charlie. Now let’s nail this SOB.”
* * *
“I MISS YOU, Kendall. Be a good girl for G-Ma.” Christina blew kisses at the laptop until her mother’s face filled the screen.
“I’m taking her to the park today. What are you doing? Are you going to stay in the city? At least you’re not too far away this time. You can pop in for a visit.”
“With this third murder, I’ll be here for at least another week, but it looks like I need to go back to Portland for some further investigation.”
Her mother ran a hand through her still-lustrous dark hair streaked with silver. “I wish you’d take some nice desk job and settle down. Kendall needs a father and some stability.”
Christina put a hand over her heart where the guilt stabbed her. “Kendall has a father and right now you’re providing the stability, Mom. After this case, I’m planning on doing more profile work. Believe me, I’ll be spending lots of time at my desk.”
“Yeah, well about Kendall’s father...”
“Oops, gotta go, Ma. Have fun at the park and if you have time take Kendall for a shaved ice at that new place. She loves that stuff, even though half the ice ends up in her lap.”
Her mom shook her head. “You need to get your life in order.”
“I will. I am. Love you, Ma.”
She ended the videoconferencing session and shoved the computer off her lap. She hated it when her mother was right.
She rolled off the bed and headed to the bathroom. Now that she had Charlie Fitch on her side, he’d invited her to the station today to review the report on the latest murder. The Portland P.D. had done some more background on the victim, and she had nothing in common with the previous victim in San Francisco or the woman yesterday—nothing except the tarot cards shoved between their cold, dead fingers.
And the other tarot card? Had there been another tarot card in the vicinity of the other victims that they’d missed?
She’d called her bureau chief, Rich Greavy, to report this recent finding, but she had to leave a message for him. The fact that he wouldn’t take her call didn’t surprise her. Even if he didn’t get back to her, she knew he’d give his approval for her to return to the other crime scene in Portland—as long as she stayed out of his hair.
She showered and changed into yet another pantsuit, the unofficial uniform of the female FBI agent. She paired the beige slacks and jacket with a peach blouse and some sky-high heels. They went well with the .45 she’d strapped to her body.
Fifteen minutes later, she wheeled her small rental car into the parking lot of the station. She strode through the squad room toward the detectives’ area and knocked on the lieutenant’s door.
“C’mon in.”
She poked her head into his office. “Good morning, Charlie. Do you have the reports?”
“All ready to go.” He tapped some file folders on his desk. “So the Bureau’s sending one of your brethren out here to help you.”
“Really?” She sealed her lips and fought the warmth that crept into her cheeks. Too late.
Fitch raised his brows. “You didn’t know?”
No, because the Western Bureau Chief didn’t believe female agents were competent to handle murder cases on their own.
“Ah, never got the confirmation.” She shifted her purse from one shoulder to the other. “He’s coming today?”
He picked up the thick file folders and waved them in the air. “Yep. Told him you’d be here this morning and I’d have the reports ready for the two of you.”
“Yeah, great. Looks like we’ll be putting together a task force on this case, or at least a task force of two.”
“Swell.” He dropped the file folders on his blotter.
And just like that, Greavy had probably wrecked the tentative rapport she’d established with Fitch.
Leaning over his desk, she scooped up the reports. “If you have someplace for me to sit, I’ll get out of your way and wait for the other agent.”
“To your right, three doors down there’s an empty office. You’re welcome to use it until your partner in crime fighting shows up.”
“Thanks, Charlie. Coffee?”
“No, thanks.”
Pursing her lips, she glared at the bald spot on his head as he bent over his desk. “I meant for me.”
Without an ounce of embarrassment, he aimed a stubby finger toward the door. “Back in the squad room.”
“Thanks a lot.” She clicked his door shut and blew out a breath. Yep, that rapport was totally trashed.
Her high heels clicked on the linoleum as she hugged the file folders to her chest and made her way back to the squad room.
Christina balanced the file folders on the edge of the counter and shook a disposable cup loose from a stack.
“Do you want me to get that for you?”
Christina glanced over her shoulder at a fresh-faced female cop, her hair pulled back in a tight ponytail. “I think I got it.”
The officer reached around Christina for the coffeepot. “That’s okay. You’d better grab those folders instead.”
Snatching the case files from the counter, Christina laughed. “You’re right. Those almost landed on the floor.”
“Not that I wouldn’t mind getting a look at them.” The woman aimed a steady stream of steaming brown liquid into Christina’s cup.
“Is that so, Officer...” She squinted at the cop’s name tag. “Griego?”
“Yes, ma’am.” She replaced the coffeepot on the hot plate. “I’ve been on patrol for two years now, and I’m just itching to take the detective’s exam.”
“Homicide?”
“That’s my goal.”
Christina raised her cup to Officer Griego. “If I need some help, I’ll make a request for you.”
“Thank you, ma’am. I’d appreciate that.”
As Officer Griego turned away, Christina grimaced and tipped some cream into her cup. You hit thirty and you become ma’am.
She blew on the surface of her coffee as she made her way back to the office Fitch had indicated before. She dropped the file folders on the desk, leaving the door open behind her. The open-door policy seemed to work better with the police departments, and she just might need Officer Griego’s help.
She flipped open the covers of the two files and reached for a third tucked into her briefcase. She positioned the case file for the Portland murder next to the other two. The tarot cards and the M.O. tied two murders in San Francisco to the one in Portland. No doubt about it.
Why only one in Portland and two here? Had they missed a second one in Portland? If these were random, then the killer must’ve been in Portland for business or pleasure. Or maybe he lived in Oregon and San Francisco was the trip away from home, but the Oregon murder had come between the two in the city.
The close succession of the two murders here had allowed her to see the crime scene for herself this time. When the tarot card had been discovered on the body of the murder victim in Portland, just like it had here,