“By seven p.m. today, Cassie and I will be on a plane to Miami,” I said.
It was 6:20 a.m. on Friday, and we had regrouped in the main conference room at Shilo Police Department.
“What for?” Richie asked.
“ATF is preparing to join us on our gun case down in Hambis,” I said. “So we’ll be splitting up the team. Cassie and I will work together today. Then roll off. Back to the gun case down South, which we’ll hopefully have a new C.I. on, right?”
“Right,” everyone said.
“In the meantime, Richie, you’ll team up with Shooter and stay here.”
“Boss?” Shooter squinted at me.
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” I said to her. “And I realize you might have been a better choice, given your background with ATF.”
“Then again, there’s her background with ATF,” Cassie said, smirking.
Shooter tipped an imaginary hat at her, appreciating the dig.Then she turned back to me. “Obviously Poulton’s making this call,” she said. “But does he realize we have six dead women here?”
“He does,” I said. “Our other choice was to give up one of the cases. But if we walk away from this one, who thinks it’s gonna get solved?”
Nobody said anything.
After a moment, Richie cleared his throat. “So what’s our plan today?”
I picked two thin files off the table next to me. “We start by splitting up the new IDs.” I handed one of the folders to Richie. “You and Shooter take Araceli Alvarez. Cassie and I will take Melanie Nelson.”
“And me?” a voice said. It was Detective Quinones, standing in the doorway.
“You’re home base,” I said. “Any leads that come in from our IDs will need to be checked out. You’ll also coordinate with our ME and forensic artist. The artist will be ready for the first skull at eight a.m. Decide who goes first.”
Quinones nodded. “Can do.”
I grabbed one of the sketches from my satchel and held it up for Quinones. “This sketch artist,” I said, “I want to talk to him. Can you find him for me?”
“I can try.”
Five minutes later, Cassie and I were in her rental car, and I was looking through what little we had on the body identified as Melanie Nelson.
“So,” she said. “Your mom… that’s great, right?”
I had been thinking about my mother all night. Had woken up twice, restless, staring at the hotel ceiling.
“Yeah,” I answered. One word only.
Cassie made eye contact. “Gardner,” she said. “You’re gonna have to talk about this with somebody at some point—you know that, right?”
I hesitated, and Cassie let me be. She got off the interstate and headed east.
“Her doctor,” I said finally. “He wanted to break out the champagne.”
Cassie looked over, her forehead creased with lines.
“Can you imagine that?” I said. “Me? Celebrating? Meanwhile, you could put your hand around my mother’s wrist.”
Cassie took this in. She knew me well. “He’s wanting to make a toast,” she said. “And meanwhile, you’re calculating how many months of PT your mom will need. How far her weight has dropped.”
“Eighteen and a half pounds,” I said.
