He nodded, looking toward an old woman who was pulling a grocery cart loaded with bags filled with old clothes, cardboard, empty cola bottles. "It's Old Sal. I'll introduce you, then we need to get back."
Old Sal just looked her over with very worldly, bloodshot eyes. She could have been any age from fifty to ninety.
"Get your check, Sal?"
"Yeah, Dillon, I got it. You feed my little birdies?"
"No, Sherlock here wanted to, but I wouldn't let her."
The old eyes turned to her. "You Sherlock?"
"Yes, ma'am. Nice to meet you."
"You be good to my boy here, you get me, young lady?"
"I'm not a young lady, ma'am, I'm an FBI agent."
Savich laughed. "She's right, Sal. I rather think I'll be the one taking care of her."
"You get your problems solved, dear, then you can play with my boy here. He's a good lad."
"I will, ma'am."
"I don't like this ma'am stuff."
"It's okay, Sal. She calls me sir, right to my face, as if I were her father or something even worse."
"How old are you, Sherlock?"
"I'm twenty-seven."
"That's a good age. Dillon is thirty-four. Just turned thirty-four three and a half weeks ago. We had a little party for him here. Me and my birdies. Is Sherlock your first or last name?"
"It's my last name, Sal. My first name's Lacey."
"Huh. I like Sherlock better. It gives you distinction."
"I agree."
"You need anything, Sal?"
"No, Dillon. I just want to sit in this lovely sun, rest my bones, and feed my birdies. I got them a pound of unsalted peanuts. I don't want to harden their little arteries."
Lacey was still smiling when they went back into the Hoover Building.
She wasn't smiling ten minutes later.
11
SO HE'S GOING TO TAKE you to Boston. How'd you manage that, Sherlock?"
Hannah Paisley was leaning over her, her voice low and furious in her ear.
"You shouldn't be going. You're new, you don't know anything. You don't deserve to go. It's because you're sleeping with him, isn't it?"
Lacey slowly turned in her chair, looking up. "No, Hannah. Stop this. This is all business, nothing else. Why don't you believe me?''
"You're lying, damn you. I've seen women look at him. They all want him."
"Ollie told me that Savich doesn't believe in becoming involved with anyone in his unit. That includes all of us, Hannah. If you want him, then I suggest you transfer out. Listen, I just want to catch this monster in Boston. Actually I did lie. I do want Savich's brain and his expertise. Does that count? Is that brain lust?"
Finally Hannah had left.
Now Lacey leaned her head back against her new sofa and grabbed one of the fat pillows to hug. She closed her eyes and thought of the woman who had just about everything and wanted more. She was sorry if Hannah loved Savich, but there was nothing either of them could do about it. Hannah had to get a grip. Lacey was the last woman on earth who was a threat to her. No matter now. She wouldn't worry about it anymore. It was Savich's problem. She leaned over and stared at the phone. She picked up the receiver, stared at it some more, then took a deep breath. She dialed the number very slowly.
It rang once, twice, then "Hello, Judge Sherlock here."
"Hello, Dad."
"Lacey?"
"Yes, Dad."
"This is a surprise. You usually only write. Is something wrong?"
"No. I just didn't have time to write. How are you? How is Mom?"
"Your mother is the same as ever, as am I. So Douglas tells me you're in this special unit in the FBI and then I read about you and this genius guy catching that murderer in Chicago. You happy now?"
She ignored the sarcasm in his voice, but it was difficult. She'd always hated that awful cutting tone of his that used to annihilate her when she was growing up. In letters, she usually missed it, which was one reason why she only wrote him letters. But there was no time for a letter now. "Dad, he's struck again."
"What? Who's struck whom?"
"The monster who murdered Belinda. He's struck again in Boston. He killed a woman exactly the same way he killed the seven women in San Francisco. It's been exactly seven years since he stopped. It's a cycle. He's on a seven-year cycle."
There was no sound, no breathing, nothing.