“I thought you didn’t enjoy the opera.” Laurel picked up her speed. Nor did he often employ sarcasm, so apparently he was experiencing stress at the moment.
A slam of a hand on a stapler echoed through the line. “Why don’t they make bigger damn staplers?”
“I think they do, sir.” She slowed to turn a corner, appreciating the lack of traffic on the country road. The only movement around her involved clumps of snow periodically falling from the boughs of pine and fir trees. Why were they talking about operas and staplers?
“Tell me about your case.”
She relaxed into talk of murders and statistics, explaining that they knew nothing. “We should have the Tempest County Medical Examiner’s report tomorrow morning, and hopefully the ME can identify the victim in some manner. Her dental records are of no value because her teeth were fractured and scattered in the snow. It’s doubtful the techs could find many of them, but Dr. Ortega is very discerning.”
“Lovely,” McCromby said. “Good job on handling jurisdiction and getting everybody on board. Maybe Ishouldassign you permanently to lead the Pacific Northwest Violent Crimes Unit, since you have absolutely no ego about it.”
What did ego have to do with anything? “I just want to find the maniac that obliterated this woman’s face.” Laurel turned down the heat on her seat. “Have you made a decision on whether or not to sign the paperwork?”
“No. I’m awaiting reports from three other units across the country where you might be of more use, and I’m also waiting for you to make a request. Where do you want to be stationed?”
She usually made rapid decisions based on empirical data. “I don’t know,” she admitted.
His laugh was a short bark. “There’s nothing like family to screw with logic, right?”
An unfortunately true statement. She enjoyed being close to her mother and uncles, and she’d made friends already, which was difficult for her to do. But living near Abigail wasn’t appealing, and Laurel hadn’t yet discerned the best way to keep her family outside Abigail’s focus. The woman would have no problem harassing Laurel’s mother or uncles to gain attention. “I’ll make a request soon and hope that you and I reach the same conclusion. For now, I’m focusing on finding a killer.”
“Good. Before I forget, I assigned you a computer tech for the duration of this case. Guy’s name is Nester Lewis. He’s from your neck of the woods and is a fresh graduate of Quantico after earning degrees at the Tech school you have out there. The kid can pretty much write his own ticket, and he wants to go home, apparently.”
Excellent. She needed a computer guru. “When does he arrive?”
“He’s scheduled to start work tomorrow. I haven’t met him, but the guy seems a bit like you, which I figured would be good.”
“Like me?”
“Yeah. Frighteningly smart,” George said.
Laurel didn’t find her intelligence frightening, but it was intriguing that some people apparently did. “Does he need a ride from the airport?”
“No. He negotiated a month off before starting work, and I think he’s been home for the holiday season. His family lives somewhere outside of Everett, probably close to Genesis Valley.” A chair creaked loudly. “So, tell me. What’s the average height of the people to whom you’ve spoken directly during the last thirty days? And don’t give me a national average this time. It has to be people you’ve said real words to during the month.”
She sped up while traversing a straight part of the country road, even though it was icy. “The most accurate guess would be five foot nine.” Interesting. That was taller than the national average. “I surmise that people are tall around here.”
Ice clinked in a glass over the line. “How many of them wore pink shoes?”
“Do boots count?”
“Yes.”
A lot of children had pink boots, and she’d spoken to an entire elementary class right after their holiday break while she’d been in DC. “Nineteen.”
He snorted. “Did you talk to a bunch of kids?” “Affirmative.” She sped up the windshield wipers as the snow fell more quickly. “I counted fuchsia as a pink, by the way.”
“Fair enough. Did the kids’ eyes glaze over when you talked?”
She grimaced. “Yes, but then I showed them my badge and they reengaged. They asked questions and the situation improved greatly.”
“I can only imagine their questions. How many blondes did you see in the last week?”
“True blondes or does that include bottle blondes?” she asked absently, her mind returning to the recent murder. How in the world was the victim by the river connected to Abigail Caine? This killing felt too close to home.
“Both.”
She would have to interview Abigail again as soon as they had an identification of the victim. “Forty-seven if you count three women with blondish-gray hair. I haven’t attended any gatherings lately and remained close to my mother’s farm during the holidays.” She cleared her throat. “I require additional agents to work this case, and I’d prefer an agent with tracking experience.” Then she wouldn’t have to rely on Huck Rivers.
