I start to piece together those thoughts. Any religious person knows that you never put a bible on the ground. It’s disrespectful to God. The Poet believes he’s a god. What if he believes placing a book of poetry on the floor was no different? It was disrespecting him? And as the person running the event, had he held Summer responsible for that disrespect? Of course, it’s only a theory, but it feels like I might be onto something.
I finish the interview with Debra and meet Lang, who’s just finished an interview of his own in the hallway. “I have one more,” he says, “and nothing worth hearing to tell you so far. How about you?”
“I’m done with mine for tonight. I might have a few ideas the last interview sparked, but I’m not sure yet. I need to process and go by the forensics lab before they’re gone. I want to see if I can clear one of the poetry books used for the guests at the Summer reading for my review.”
“Definitely your kind of reading, not mine. You want to meet up after?”
“I think I need to spend some time lost in poetry tonight.”
“I’ll come over.”
“I don’t need you to come over,” I amend. “Wade set up a camera at my front door and I have my trusted friend right here, should I need her.” I pat my weapon. She’s a “her” and a badass, just like me. Except for last night. I failed the badass test last night for sure.
He looks like he wants to argue, but he settles on, “Call me when you’re headed home.”
“I don’t need a phone check-in, Dad. I have a patrol by my place, remember? And yes, I know to call in and let patrol know when I head home.”
“Just freaking call me,” he snaps.
“Okay. Okay.”
He gives me one of his best glares and then stalks away to deal with his next interview. I take that as my cue to head for the door, and I do so relieved that I’ve gotten free of Lang for the moment. I have a few investigative steps left to take tonight, and at least one is best handled without him. For his own good, but probably not mine.
Chapter 51
I can almost hear, in my mind, a clock ticking off the minutes until someone else dies, but I can’t allow that pressure to get to me the way it did this morning with Newman.
It’s exactly why I don’t dive into trouble that I know I will later when I leave Lang at the station. I start out by doing just what the captain ordered: I work the case in the expected, safe way. In fact, my first solo investigations of the evening are perfectly acceptable and without recourse.
Mostly.
After discovering that I’ve missed Hazel at the ME’s office, I swing a few miles away from the precinct to the crime lab to drop off the sample I took from Newman’s tire. While I’m there, I’ll do a little begging and bartering to move us up to the front of the testing line.
Fortunately for me, once I’m in the building, I discover that Antonio Lopez, one of my preferred investigators, is present and working at this late six p.m. hour. He’s my go-to guy when I can manage as much, for a reason: he’s smart and dedicated. He lives to be a part of the solution.
Eager to rally his help, I hunt him down, and it’s not long before I’m standing outside the glass of the evidence room, watching as he studies something under a microscope. I pound on the window, and he gives a little wave and hurries in my direction, yanking off his gloves as he does. He tosses them in a trash can and then exits the lab to join me in a small exterior office.
“Hola, Detective Jazz,” he greets, his hands shoved into his lab coat. “What can I do ya for?”
I could chitchat, and I often do with Antonio, but not this time. Not with that clock ticking in my mind. Tonight, I get right to the point. “I have a potential serial killer and a missing detective. I need answers.”
His eyes go wide, as I’d expected. “What detective?”
“Detective Roberts.”
“Roberts? He was just in here, riding my ass about a case.”
“The Summer case?”
“Yes, Summer. He was all-in on that case. And now—he’s gone?”
“Missing. We’re concerned it’s related to the investigation. I’ve taken over the Summer case, and we now have a second victim, Dave Gaines.”
“Holy hell.” He scrubs a lightly stubbled jaw, his hands settling on his hips. “What can I do?”
“I recognize that you’re backed up and we’re weeks out on most of our DNA results. But I need a few items pushed to the front of the line. If that can’t happen, I need to see if the FBI lab can help.”
“I’ll make it happen.” He points to the desk and grabs a pen and paper. “What do you need above all else? I’ll get the right people to do the right things, fast.”
I give him a list he jots down that includes the voluntary DNA samples we collected from guests at the Summer poetry event, forensics testing on the glasses collected from the Summer crime scene, the poetry books used at the event, and the actual notes left in the victims’ mouths.
“Do you understand what the poems mean? Do any of us?”
“I’m a bit of a poetry expert, actually. That’s why I need to see those poetry books rushed, to make sure there’s not something there that might tell us where Roberts is or who the next victim might be. Something only a poetry scholar will understand.”
“Scholar? You’re a scholar?”
“I’m pretty darn close,” I say, but I don’t explain. I don’t talk about my past or my life in general. I focus on my present reality and my job. “Let’s hope that knowledge helps us catch this monster.”
“I need three days for the testing.”
I push back. “It’s been that long, longer even, since Summer was murdered.”
“It’s been three minutes since I promised you to rush this. We’re buried in demand, but I’m going to move you to the front of the line. At least on these pieces of the puzzle. I’ll get what you need done, but it’s going to take three days.”
I stop pushing, but I do step into that little bit of trouble I knew I’d entertain when I came here tonight. The trouble I wanted Lang to avoid. I reach in my bag and hand him the sample I’d technically, illegally, taken from Newman’s tire. “I took that from the vehicle of the suspect in both cases this morning, which is relevant because the second murder was last night. No, I did not have a search warrant, but I did it anyway. This test will get thrown out in court, but if it places him at the scene of the crime, we’ll get him. He’s not easy to catch. He’s that good at hiding.”