By the time the man was finished and Bryson locked the door behind him, she’d counted over a dozen boxes.
He wheeled his chair up to her. “Feeling better?”
“Much. Although I’m not sure whether the cure is worse than the hangover.” She motioned toward his chair. “I see you ran out of tequila and traded in the cane.”
“My liver cried uncle for the day.”
“If you strip, I’d be happy to play Helga and massage your hip for you.” She rubbed her hands together in anticipation.
“Helga?”
“The masseuse from this morning. What I lack in professional training I’d more than make up for with enthusiasm.”
He coughed as if to cover a laugh. “Yes, well. I appreciate the offer but another massage isn’t going to do the trick at this point. The hip gives out once the muscles get overworked and won’t support me anymore.”
“Are you doing physical therapy?”
“Let me guess. You can help me with that too?”
“If I’d known I’d meet you one day, I would have changed majors in college so I could say yes.”
This time he laughed out loud. “Let me worry about the therapy, or lack thereof.” He waved toward the back hallway. “Go on. Ask me about the boxes. I can tell that your curiosity is eating you alive.”
She frowned. “Your earlier theory about your girlfriend dumping you because of your limp probably isn’t right. I think she left you because you’re always profiling people and reading their minds. Okay, yes, the curiosity is driving me batty. What’s in the boxes?”
“I don’t read minds. Profiling, or more accurately, Criminal Investigative Analysis, is science, not art. Although some might argue it’s both. And the answer to your question is that the boxes contain my research on the Kentucky Ripper. I was fresh out of polka-dot folders.”
“All you had to do was ask. I could have let you borrow some of mine.” She waved toward the cased opening where he’d directed the man with the hand truck. “Did the FBI send over copies of their research on the case?”
“The FBI doesn’t allow former agents access to their case files. Those are copies I made of everything that passed my desk back when I worked on the investigation. Well, more accurately, when I worked on the profile. Technically, I wasn’t an investigator. But the case consumed me and left me with more questions than answers, even after the killer was convicted. I religiously copied as much as I could and snuck it home every chance I got. From start to finish, the case took two years. Those copies added up.”
She put her hands on her hips. “I knew it. You don’t think the right guy was put away or you wouldn’t have risked your career taking that stuff home. Admit it. My theory holds water.”
“I admit nothing. But I’m willing to take a fresh look, which is why I had this stuff brought out of storage.” He motioned toward the doorway at the end of the room. “Come on. Might as well give you a tour of thismonstrosityand show you where those boxes went.”
“That monstrosity comment I made earlier was under duress. I didn’t mean it.”
“Yes, you did. And I don’t take offense. Itisa rather large house, too big for one person. But it met my requirements when I was house shopping.”
“Let me guess. Requirement number one, no carpet, for easier mobility with the cane and wheelchair?”
“Anyone could have guessed that.”
“Requirement number two,” she said. “It’s only one story. You’re not ready to tackle stairs just yet.”
“Again, too easy. What about the third requirement?”
She shook her head. “Stumped on that one.”
“The isolated location so people wouldn’t bother me.” He arched a brow at her.
She winced. “Ah, well. Two out of three isn’t bad. That’s sixty-six percent, still a passing grade, in high school at least.”
“Somehow I can’t imagine you ever being satisfied with anything less than an A. You were valedictorian, weren’t you?”
“Takes one to know one?”
He smiled. “Come on. You’ve already seen the kitchen, family room, and made yourself completely at home in my master bedroom and bathroom.” He waved toward two more doors on the far right wall. “Closet and half bath.”
