Me, Myself and Why? (21 page)

The dogs were still dead on the front lawn. All had spines broken backward to the point where they made nearly comical U shapes in the crabgrass. Flies dotted their broken teeth.

“Bless it,” I breathed.

I had my hand on the porch door—darn it, I really had to stop doing that—when I heard the sound of smashing furniture. It was coming from inside.

Chapter Seventy-one

A bit surprised I was still there—usually Shiro would have jumped in at this point—I barged through the door and porch and, entering the living area, saw the shape of a large man bursting out the back door. I had no time to take in any features before I saw something worse: Jeremy Scherzo, our witness from South Dakota who had recently moved here, lying on the floor and bleeding profusely from the head.

I scrambled back to the porch and called out to Patrick to call 911 and tell them a federal agent was on the scene. Then I rushed back to Jeremy’s side. When I did, I was relieved.

“Dj-dj-is he still here?”

I gave a small smile at the sight of his eyes opening. A quick mental recall of local police and BOFFO notes reminded me that the man was easily excitable and had a slight stutter. “No. He left. I don’t think he’ll be back.”

“Yi-yi-he’s been calling me. Threatening me. I think it’s the same guy.”

“What do you remember about him?” I looked over his scalp. The wound appeared superficial but was still bleeding. I pulled off my windbreaker and used it to apply pressure.

“Big. Sh-sh-strong. He surprised me. Tried to t-t-choke me from behind.”

“What did he use?”

Jeremy shrugged. “Soft. My-my-maybe rope. I got my finger underneath and we-we-when I didn’t die, he tossed it and just sh-sh-started pummeling me.”

Seeing him point vaguely to a corner, I turned to look. He’d left evidence. Unintentional evidence! Then my heart froze.

Coiled randomly in the corner, like a snake with no fashion sense, was a piece of cloth featuring a pattern of pink and purple hippos laced with the bloody crimson marks of vivisection.

It was a necktie.

Chapter Seventy-two

“Michaela, you’ve got to lock down George!” I was outside Scherzo’s house; the paramedics were there; local officers (including Lynn and Jim) were taking my direction; and Patrick was suitably impressed at the moving parts I was controlling on the scene. All in all, pretty sexy.

You know, besides the guy bleeding from his head, and the dead U-dogs on the lawn.

And, um, the escaped serial killer.

But not for long. George’s days were numbered.

“This is impossible,” Michaela was trying to tell me, but I heard the doubt in her voice. “George has been through background checks and therapy—”

“You mean, the same background checks and therapy that tell us he’s a sociopath capable of extreme violence to satisfy his God complex?”

“He attacks only skinheads and bigots.”

“Well shucks, boss, maybe all the victims are bigots!” How could she be so obtuse? Wasn’t George a man? Didn’t he have a penis?
She should be on board with this.

“Next to you, he’s our most consistently performing agent. . . . Cadence, this could shut BOFFO down. We need to be careful. And preferably quiet.”

I almost drop-kicked the cell phone. “Fine—be careful. Be quiet. But LOCK HIM DOWN, BITTY-BIPSTER!”

Then I hung up.

Chapter Seventy-three

After asking Lynn to drive my car home, putting Jim and the other agents onto George (well, phooey on Michaela and her careful and her quiet!), and sending Patrick on his way, I rode in the ambulance with Jeremy.

I could tell after a quick check with the EMTs that his wounds were minor and he’d likely be released later that day. More than anything, he was upset about the dogs.

“She’s k-k-gonna be pissed,” was the sobbing reply when I asked about them.

“She?”

“They’re ln-ln-not mine. My sister’s. She’s in the area, but she’s been moving. I offered t-t-to watch them. They like me. Liked me, I mean.”

I almost cried. “I’ll bet they did. I’m so sorry about that. Did you see who killed them—was it the same man?”

He stared at me, and for a chilling moment I was sure he had seen the whole thing and was going to accuse my sister Adrienne. But then, he let loose with a ferocious sneeze, and then a coughing fit, and the EMT applied an oxygen mask.

“We should probably let him calm down,” she told me.

I agreed. Jeremy Scherzo had been through enough.

Chapter Seventy-four

Part of what got Patrick to leave the scene in North Minneapolis so quickly was a whispered promise to go out with him later. Being the stand-up kind of girl I am, I decided to follow through—this time, without the canceling and the honking and the slapping and the lecturing but maybe the kissing but definitely NOT the slugging.

That said, I almost did cancel when I got the call at home from Michaela.

“We can’t find George.”

“Sugar on a shingle!”

“You should be careful. I’d like to send a couple of agents out to—”

“No!” Not Frick and Frack! “I’ll be fine. George probably knows I know, now. He’s not going to come after me. He’s running. If you have agent resources, put them there.” I bit my lip.
Don’t assign me tonight don’t assign me tonight don’t assign

“All right. You’ve had quite a day, Cadence. Why don’t you rest. Call in every couple of hours and let us know you’re okay.”

I paused. “You’re going to put a tail on me, aren’t you?”

“Of course.”

“Can I make a suggestion?”

Chapter Seventy-five

By the time Patrick showed up, our chaperones were ready.

“Patrick, I don’t believe I had time earlier today to introduce two of my colleagues from the Minneapolis Police Department. This is Jimmy Clapp, and Lynn Rivers.”

They were both off duty now and in dress casual clothes—the first time I’d ever seen either of them in dark jeans—and they both looked great. Lynn’s black pumps really made a statement: her gun was
not
the most dangerous thing about her.

“Condition of the date,” I hurriedly explained before Patrick could protest. “George Pinkman is still at large. My agency is worried about me, since I appear to be an . . . how do you say it, Jim?”

“Object of interest,” he reminded me. I could tell he wasn’t sure whether to sulk at the fact that I was going to have a date right in front of him, or take seriously the option of his fellow officer standing next to him, or shoot the only other male in the room and try to claim both women for himself. Ah, to be a testosterone-driven, hairy man. Decisions, decisions.

“Right. An object of interest to our suspect. Which I don’t get. I mean, Patrick, do
you
see anything here that could represent any object of interest to a guy?” It was an outrageous flirt, but I was wearing my favorite red blouse and black jeans with red pumps, and I knew I was working it. These clothes were perfect for me—the jeans would have been too tall for Shiro’s compact stature and the blouse too diaphanous for Adrienne’s muscular frame—but despite what I knew would be their protests, I decided that since
I
was the one doing all the work of showering and dressing and makeup for this date,
I
was the one that was going to choose the outfit.

See, I realized, the black dress from the first date was too universal! My sisters could look fat or ridiculous this time, if they wanted to pop up. And good luck to them.

“Anyway, Cadence called Jimmy and me, and we’re happy to help,” Lynn finished explaining. “So where to?”

“I’ve reserved a table at the Mahogany Stallion,” Patrick answered. “Er, the table was for two.”

“Don’t sweat it. If we have to, we’ll flash our badges. That’s good for a couple of extra chairs at most joints.”

My date’s nose wrinkled. “I don’t know if they’d consider themselves a
joint
.”

“Oh, stop being snooty. Jim and Lynn will be great company!” I truly believed this. I had been dying to spend time out of work with Lynn, and heck, I’d almost dated Jim! So how could this be bad?

Chapter Seventy-six

It was bad. Okay, it didn’t involve physical violence like the last time, but it was still bad.

First, the maître d’ at the Cherry Horse or Oak Duck or whatever the fig this restaurant called itself—well he did not take kindly to the doubling in size of our party. Apparently, the wineglasses and napkins and other bits of settings had already been “placed” for two, don’t you know. He wasn’t even impressed by the officers’ badges (or my hints at federal authority). Those settings—they’d been PLACED. So that cost Patrick fifty bucks to fix.

Second, the chief of the Minneapolis police was there, and he recognized Lynn and Jim. Fraternizing among police officers, even in those police departments that allowed it, was not encouraged at all. So they had a great morning to look forward to the next day.

Third, Patrick was a bit of an ass.

“This bread is hard,” he announced to the table shortly after we received our basket.

At first, I saw this as an opportunity to brag about him. “I don’t know if you two knew, but Patrick is a baker. More than a baker—he runs the—”

“That’s not my point. My point is, they’re serving us stale bread! The maître d’ must have talked to the kitchen.”

Lynn frowned. “Why would he bother talking to the kitchen about us?”

“Because he’s ticked that I showed up with twice as many people as I made the reservation for.”

I reached for his hand. “I’m sure that’s not it at—”

“Places like this get off on screwing with high-maintenance customers!” He moved his hand away. “Cadence, I know these things. I run in these circles. I don’t expect you or your friends to understand.”

That lowered the Curtain of Uncomfortable Silence upon us all for a good ten seconds.

Then, chewing my tongue, I offered: “Well, golly, Patrick. I’m sorry I don’t understand your circle. Would you like me to try to find you a date who does?”

Jim cast a nervous glance over his shoulder at the chief’s table. “I think he’s with a woman who’s not his wife.”

Lynn shrugged. “Does that help us or hurt us?”

“I think it fucks us royally. Do you think they have any openings over in SPPD?”

“I don’t know if I could do St. Paul. I hear the mayor there—”

“Guys, please don’t worry.” I gave them my best puppy eyes. “I’ll talk to Michaela. She’ll call your chief. She’ll make sure he understands. I—”

“Where is our waiter?”

“I don’t know, Patrick, but I’m sure he wasn’t going to show up
before the end of my sentence
.”

“I gave that maître d’ fifty bucks, and he fucked me.”

“Yeah, well, he’s the only one who’s going to.”

Finally, I’d got his attention. Unfortunately, I was met with a sneer. “Be serious. You were never going to, anyway. I’d have to get one of your sisters—”

“Waiter!” I called out desperately. Chiclets and Toblerone, I realized Patrick didn’t know that Lynn and Jim didn’t know my secret! How was I going to get him to shut up?

“I mean honestly, if you can just put yourself in one of those trances, you—”

“Jim and Lynn could you please go see if you can hunt down that super waiter I think I saw him at that table in the far corner thank you very much that’s an awesome thing you’re doin’ there thanks.”

Once they had gone, I grabbed his chin and looked deep into his eyes for mercy. “Okay. They don’t know. You can’t tell them.”

He was momentarily confused, but caught on after a few seconds. “All right. What’s it in for me?”

“I won’t think you’re a dirty skunk.”

“Too late! You already think that. I want action.”

“I’m not going to give myself up—”

“Nothing that serious.” He considered. “Go down on me tonight.”

I almost slapped him, but then remembered my promise to myself. “What, here?”

“No! Back at your apartment.”

I shook my head. “I’ll give you a really good kiss.”

“You’ve already given me—”

“Without knocking you unconscious afterward.”

“Hand job.”

This wasn’t happening to me. “I’ll let you put your hand up my blouse.”

He squinted.

I sighed. “And then I’ll let you see me naked.” Apparently I had been wrong; it was definitely happening to me.

“For a full minute.”

“Ten seconds.”

“Thirty.”

“Twenty, and I’ll lick a mirror.” Where had I come up with that? Not to worry; it was too silly to be sexy. Patrick would never—

“Done.”

“You are one twisted onion,” I hissed at him as Jim and Lynn warily approached us with a waiter in tow.

Patrick kissed my wrist and winked. “
You’re
the one that’s going to strip and French yourself after I pinch your nipple.”

“Good gravy, I can’t believe I’m letting you touch me.”

“Find a happy place. Pretend you’re someone else.”

“Hilarious.”

Chapter Seventy-seven

It honestly wasn’t that awful or embarrassing. Well okay, it was frightfully embarrassing. But he’s the only one who saw it, and I think he’ll keep his mouth shut.

I put honey on the mirror so it tasted nice, and Patrick was obviously turned on, and yet he was still gentleman enough to pick up his things to go when I ordered him out. So I gave him one more kiss on his way out the door. He grabbed my naked butt and threatened to pull me out into the apartment hallway, but I squealed and pulled away.

Giggling at his look of lust, I slammed the door in his face.

Still a virgin! Woo-hoo!

Chapter Seventy-eight

George was still at large the following morning when I got to work. I quickly briefed Michaela on the need to call the Minneapolis police chief (and perhaps congratulate him on his fine taste in streetwalkers), and then got down to business.

“Hey!” I shouted out to my electronic appointment book, where Pam had made some thoughtful additions. “I’ve got interviews with Jeremy and Tracy today!”