Simon Says_. Walk (Kate Morgan #6)(69)
Author: Dale Mayer

 

“Is he okay?” Smidge asked, his tone sharp.

 

“He is. He’s home, and we’re trying to keep an eye on him, making sure that it’s nothing major.”

 

“Head wounds are bad,” the coroner noted, with a sigh. “I hope he’s staying home, where he can recover. It’s too easy for a head wound to become something much more serious, even when you thought it was nothing.”

 

“Great, now you make me feel bad, and I want to go look after him.”

 

“So you should,” he snapped. “At least if you give a crap.” And, with that, he disconnected.

 

She pinched the bridge of her nose and sat here for a long moment, wondering how everybody got to hand out judgment and advice at the same time. Yet it got her worried to the point that she wondered if she should pack it in for the day. Then she remembered the recent vision that Simon had had and realized he wouldn’t appreciate her doing anything but focusing on the case. As that’s what she did best, it was what she needed to focus on.

 

Feeling a gentle pat on her shoulder, Kate lifted her head to see Lilliana, staring at her in concern.

 

Kate smiled. “I’m fine, just dealing with all those well-meaning people who have advice to give, telling me that I should go and be with him, because head wounds can be tricky.” Kate rolled her eyes. “Head wounds can be tricky. Still not sure what anybody thinks I’ll do about it.”

 

Lilliana gave her a commiserating look. “Everybody’s full of advice and judgments,” she agreed, “and it’s hard to keep our own at bay, particularly doing the work we do. We see the worst in humanity, so it’s easy to automatically pick up that same tainted view and apply it to everything around us. We have to see the worst in everyone in order to come up with theories and figure out what our lovely criminals are up to, but then you need to let it go. I’m not sure who you were talking to.”

 

Kate’s lips twitched. “Smidge.”

 

Lilliana’s eyes widened in horror, and she shuddered. “The fact that he even talks to you is amazing,” she muttered. “No wonder you’re still recovering from that call.”

 

Kate burst out laughing. “It’s not that bad.”

 

“Yeah, Smidge is right. Head wounds need to be watched. We know that, but Simon appears to be doing okay.”

 

Kate immediately nodded. “I think he’s doing fine. In a way, he’s doing better than we are.”

 

“Why is that?” Owen asked, as he came back with a huge mug of coffee. On the cup were the words Monday sucks, but then so does every day.

 

Kate winced. “That’s a very depressing cup.”

 

“I know, and I really like it.” He flashed her a bright grin and headed to his desk.

 

She sighed. “Is that what our role’s down to, that every day just plain sucks?”

 

“Sometimes,” he admitted, still with a grin. “What else will you do? Live and learn, keep up the good fight. It is what it is.”

 

She ignored him and turned back to Lilliana. “Do we have anything to go on?”

 

“Which case?” Lilliana asked in a wry tone. “We’ve got Samantha, though none of us have a case file for, a known missing person, apparently locked up someplace with no light, with a guy who keeps bringing her food but doesn’t rape her. So not likely to be Samantha that Simon connected with earlier today, when watching the guy with a belt go up some stairs.”

 

“But Simon asked Samantha if her kidnapper hurt her, and she said yes, just no details, other than not rape yet. Maybe he’s been beating Samantha,” Kate suggested.

 

They all contemplated that for a moment.

 

Lilliana broke the silence. “Okay, so, if these current murders are connected to the cold cases from eight years ago—meaning we have a serial killer who woke up from his nap—what would trigger a rebirth of this behavior?”

 

Kate nodded. “That’s what I don’t understand. If our serial killer was in jail and is free now, that might do it. The killer is no longer confined, not under guard, and can now continue his killing spree. That’s from the killer’s viewpoint. However, we could have a family member of a victim seeking revenge on the killer. Maybe mom or dad see the killer walking around free and clear, or completely unfazed by the pain his murders caused, or unaware and even not giving a shit about what happened to these people left behind.”

 

“Did you talk to the shrink?” Lilliana asked Kate.

 

Kate slumped lower into her chair and glared at her. Kate was about to answer when the door opened and Sergeant Colby walked in. “I heard that last question.” He turned to pin Kate with a hard gaze.

 

“No, I haven’t seen him yet,” she replied irritably.

 

“Go. Now.”

 

She glared at him, and he motioned toward the door. She jumped to her feet, snatched a notepad, and walked away, heading toward the shrink’s office—the last place she wanted to go. She always felt that, no matter what she said, somebody would judge her for it.

 

Even worse, where she would now judge the shrink.

 

*

 

Having talked to Kate, Simon was somewhat better balanced over his latest vision. He grabbed his notebook and checked what he had written. Then his foreman had called with a problem, and, by the time Simon solved that one, another problem arose and yet one more after that. It didn’t take long for his entire morning to be eaten away with troubleshooting, but that’s also how his days often went.

 

As he worked at his business day, he finally sat down with a cup of iced coffee and his notebook and started a to-do list. Only now, he felt himself nodding off. By the time he jerked awake again, he realized that he had drifted into a solid forty-minute nap.

 

He got up and stretched, feeling remarkably better. As he reached for his notepad, he froze because the notes written on it weren’t what he expected to see.

 

He had been sleeping. Simon was sure he had been sleeping. Yet something on his notepad hadn’t been there before. Instinctively he turned to look around, but he was still alone. He had to wonder if he had written the message. It was scrawled in really crappy handwriting, so was it his? Or was it something completely different? He studied the mess, trying to make sense out of the word and finally came up with Samantha.

 

He groaned, as he sat down again. “Samantha, I get it. I just don’t know what I’m supposed to do about it.”

 

If she had reached out to get through to him while he was asleep, had she been sending other messages that he wasn’t receiving because of his injury? What messages could he possibly receive, when as injured as he had been?