Kay saw the others around the table nodding. Springer looked at her, one eyebrow raised.
“You disagree, Myer?”
“Myers. I don’t know what orange means.”
“In this instance it means that the level of security around the mayor and his family is raised immediately and maintained until after the arrangement ends. Same goes for the NRA leaders currently visiting the city. That sound okay to you, Myers?”
It wasn’t what he said, or the exaggerated stress he laid on the final “s” of her name that made her cheeks flush, it was that thin, ironic smile.
“By all means,” she said. “This is your field of competence, not ours.”
From the corner of her eye she noted the discreet nod of approval from Walker.
“Good,” said Springer. “Which of you two detectives has seniority status?”
Given that Hanson looked an obvious ten years older than Kay the question was superfluous. But Kay guessed that Springer needed an answer to legitimize the decision he had already made.
“That would be me,” Hanson said quickly.
“Okay, then you report to me—unless there are any objections from the Homicide Unit?”
“Fine by me,” Kay said before Walker could answer.
—
I’m stalking the memories.The words were still on repeat in Bob’s head as he parked the Volvo in front of a driveway next to Town Taxidermy, jumped out and tried the door. It was closed. He checked the time. Three thirty. There was no note on the door. He knocked on the window, shaped his palms into a diving mask and peered through the glass into the darkened interior. The door to the workshop was open, but there didn’t seem to be any light on in there. Bob sat down on the step and pulled out his phone. He was scrolling through the list of previous calls looking forMike’s number when the phone rang. A premonition that it was Mike, telepathically aware of what was happening, turned out to be mistaken and was instantly forgotten, the way we always forget premonitions that don’t work out. He sighed. He had deleted the number from his phone but not from his memory.
“Yes, Alice?”
“Hi. Got a moment?”
He took a deep breath. “Let me see…yes.”
“I saw the video on YouTube.”
“What d’you think? Regret dumping me now that I’m a celebrity?”
“Don’t joke, Bob.”
“Okay.”
“You probably think this isn’t the right time, but I feel I have to.”
“Have to what?”
“Urge you to seek professional help.”
“As in…a psychologist?”
“Yes.”
“I thought you might say that. For someone with a hammer every problem looks like a nail. Heard that one before?”
“Bob.”
“I’ve seen three psychologists, including you and that anger management specialist of yours. Look how much that helped.”
“Bob, I see all the signs that you’re on your way into psychosis. Are you taking your antidepressants?”
