William Bernhardt - Dark Eye

It was two in the morning, and I suppose Patrick was tired of humoring me. “Did you think we would?”

No. Of course not. Catch a killer before he strikes when you haven’t got the who or what or where, only a deadly certainty that it will happen? Not likely. But I needed to try. If there was any chance of preventing a girl from experiencing what that man did to me, I had to try.

“We can pack it in,” I said, trying to be charitable. “If you want.”

“I can take it as long as you can,” he replied. “I’m a fed, you know. We’re invincible.”

“I’ve heard that. But I’ve never had a chance to prove it.”

“You came damn close the other night.”

Ouch. Me and my smart mouth.

I looked out the window again, searching for some basis-any basis-to change the subject. Barry Friedman, my favorite comic, was playing at the Excalibur. What a treat that would be. Put all this misery aside and just laugh for a while. But I knew that wasn’t an option. Didn’t matter where I sat-I wouldn’t be thinking about the jokes.

Patrick’s face was a study in chiaroscuro as the car oozed down the street, segueing from one bright light to the next. A handsome, strong face. One I’d never taken the time to sort out my feelings for. Oh, sure, I’d had sex with him. I think. I’d yelled at him, bossed him around, been rude as hell to him. But how did I actually feel about him? How did I feel about anything? Why didn’t I know? Had the booze deadened me? Or was I just dead and using the booze to hide the ugly truth from myself?

Hadn’t had a drink all day. Hadn’t had a drink since Edgar grabbed me. Another good thing about wasting the night trolling the streets of Vegas with Patrick. No opportunity. Of course, I felt hellish, but there were extenuating circumstances. Patrick had wanted me to check myself back into the hospital, and I have to admit that I was tempted. But I couldn’t let this manhunt go on without me. I was needed here.

On the left, just past Circus Circus, I saw the Transylvania, where the killer had dumped his first victim. Where he’d taken Fara Spencer. I was tempted to pull over and check the joint out. But why? Edgar was much too smart to go there again.

“Maybe it is time to call it quits,” I said.

“Want me to come back to your place?”

“Nah. I’m pooped.”

“I can sleep on the couch.”

“Not necessary. But thanks.” A nice guy. Which no doubt explained why I still felt ambiguous toward him. God forbid I should get hooked up with someone nice.

Except that David had been nice, hadn’t he? Once upon a time. Before the troubles started.

My God, David. Was that the real reason I was ditching Patrick tonight? Because I was still hung up on my dead husband? Or more accurately, because I still hadn’t forgiven my dead husband?

Funny how much clearer you can see things when you’re sober.

“Just drop me out front,” I told him. “They’ve got so many people watching my place now, Houdini couldn’t get in.” I leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “Night, Patrick.”

“Night.”

And I headed back to my boozeless, snoozeless, antiseptic hotel room, a yearning in my chest, my body complaining because I wouldn’t give it what it wanted, my heart aching because even if I didn’t know her name, I knew there was a girl out there dying tonight. One more person I had failed to save.

I pressed up against the door, eyes clenched shut. So this is what life is like sober? Wonnnnnnnnderful.

You’d think nothing on earth could be more innocent and stress-free than a stroll through the forensic lab. You don’t expect screaming and shouting-that happens upstairs, where we high-IQ detectives hang out. And you certainly don’t expect to see your toxicology expert getting into it with the boss’s son.

“Please please please please please please please please please please please,” Darcy said, over and over. He wasn’t exactly shouting. His voice was always loud. Near as I could tell, his theory was that if he didn’t give his opponent a chance to argue with him, then he won the argument. An approach I have to admit I’ve used once or twice myself.

“Listen to me!” Jennifer Fuentes (yes, now I knew her last name) was trying her best not to lose it. “There’s no poison!”

“Please please please please please please please please please please please.”

Jennifer was totally losing that cool detached scientist thing.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

“This guy is making me crazy!” Jennifer said. “The chief asked me to humor him. He didn’t say I had to take orders from him. Especially not stupid ones.”

Darcy looked at me, his face brightening. “Did you sleep well?”

“As a matter of fact, I did. Why do you ask?”

“Your breath.” And then he started right back up again. “Please please please please please please please please please please please.”

“Would you make him stop that?” Jennifer begged.

“Sorry. I work with him, but I don’t control him.”

“Try!”

I shrugged. “Darcy, lay off already. Before you get carpal tongue syndrome.”

He did. Instantly.

Wow. Feeling more powerful than a locomotive, I asked Jennifer, “What does he want?”

She rolled her eyes. “He’s got this crazy theory that Fara Spencer was poisoned.”

“Poisoned?” I winced. “Darcy, I think we all know how she died. You may have noticed that big hole in her chest?”

Darcy flapped his hands. “Did you know that one in five domestic murders are committed with poisons you can obtain without a prescription?”

No, and I was happier not knowing. “Any chance he’s right?” I asked Jennifer. “I mean about the poison.”

“None.”

“You did a tox screen?”

“Of course. Came up dry.”

“But as I recall, your previous tox screens didn’t detect the drug Edgar was using to paralyze his victims.”

“That was a totally different situation. We couldn’t miss the cause of death.”

You wouldn’t think. Still, Darcy had been right before…

“You know, Jen,” I said, slow and cautious, careful not to bruise any egos, “Fara Spencer was killed a good ten days before we found her. Any chance the poison might’ve broken down in the body? So it wouldn’t show through normal toxicology tests?”

“Yes, it’s possible, but we have no reason to believe that happened. Anyone can see how the woman died.”

“Would you mind testing a tissue sample?”

“For what reason?”

“To make me happy.” Seemed like a better answer than Because I said so.

“This is very irregular.”

“Story of my life.”

She fidgeted with her rubber gloves. “I suppose I could cut away a little something near the exposed chest…”

“Mouth,” Darcy said.

“Huh?” we replied in unison.

“Do you think that maybe you could take the tissue from her mouth? Because I think you should take tissue from her mouth.”

“Why?”

“Did you notice that there were no blowflies in her mouth? I bet blowflies don’t like poison. I don’t think I would like poison. Do you?”

The toxicologist and I exchanged a look.

“Jen, do the test. I want the report on my desk ASAP.”

He held the tip of the pendulum delicately between two fingers. He had honed the blade until it was razor-sharp, and he did not want to cut himself. He pulled it back to the height of its arc, then released it.

JJ screamed.

“I suppose you know how this works,” he said, reclining in a chair near her table. “Everyone does. Even those who have never read the story. Have you read the story, JJ?”

“N-N-No.”