“Maybe he’ll call back.”
“Maybe he will. But I’m not going to sit around and wait.”
“You can’t go into Mexico,” Lindstrom insisted. “What about the other victims? Surely there’s more work to be done there.”
The other victims didn’t offer the same opportunity. By the time they’d been found, their bodies were severely decomposed, too decomposed for a photograph to help with identification or anything else. Documents recovered from the bodies had identified some, relatives who’d contacted a foreign ministry field office in Mexico had identified others, but she still didn’t have information on three of them. And time was running out. Mayor Schilling had said so just this morning. He’d hinted that he was under a lot of pressure, that he didn’t know how long he could keep the city council and Bordertown’s most powerful citizens behind her. But he’d been hoping to replace her with someone “proven” from the beginning, even before they were dealing with a serial killer. To him, she’d always been a stopgap because of her age and now he was convincing others.
He didn’t spell out exactly how much time she had left, but she knew it wasn’t much. Soon she’d be fired. And then it wouldn’t matter that she’d ousted an officer who was as bad as the criminals he went after and had become the youngest chief of police in the state. She’d be publicly shamed and out of a job, single-handedly setting back the cause of women in police work here, in southern Arizona, by a decade or more.
“The Mexican consulate already posted on SIRLI whatever we could supply as far as physical descriptions and came up with nothing,” she said. SIRLI was the Spanish acronym for a computer system that allowed the Mexican consulate to upload information that could be viewed by staff at the Mexican foreign ministry offices—not only in Mexico but throughout the world. “Unless someone comes forward to say they’re missing a brother, a father, a friend, we have little hope of determining the identity of those earlier victims.”
“But we have the shell casings this time. That should provide at least some answers.”
“We also have a fresh kill. If we can retrace this young couple’s steps, we might finally be able to gain some traction in this case.”
“Maybe you have a point.” Grudgingly, she sank back into her seat. “But there’s no way my husband will let me go with you.”
Wouldn’t you know it? The one time Sophia wouldn’t have minded Lindstrom’s company—some company, anyway. “Then I’ll go alone.”
4
“You gonna let me in? Or are you gonna keep standing there, glaring at me?”
Reluctantly, Roderick stepped aside. He wasn’t sure he wanted to talk to Rachel right now. It was easy to be her friend when she needed to vent. But that didn’t mean he wanted to be the one doing the talking. Examining what he felt was like probing a bruise. There was no point.
“Can I get you a beer?” he asked.
“No, thanks.” She eyed the empty cans he’d thrown in the recycle bin. “Should I put on a pot of coffee?”
“Hell, no.” This was the best he’d felt all day, ever since he’d spoken to his father. Why ruin it?
“That call you got at the office…”
He frowned in irritation. “What about it?”
Helping herself to some chips he had out on the counter, she took her time answering. “You want to tell me why it has you so riled?”
“Isn’t your husband waiting for you to come home?”
She popped another Dorito into her mouth. “He knows I’m here.”
“Why didn’t he come with you?”
“Because he’s filling out a report. And I told him we needed time alone.”
“We don’t need time alone,” he said with a scowl. Although he and Rachel had once been close, they’d drifted apart since she’d married. Roderick didn’t mind. Her husband, Nate, was another operative at Department 6, one he respected, and Rod had never had romantic designs on her. But there were days he missed the camaraderie they used to share so consistently. This was one of those days. Too bad he couldn’t back up and change a relationship that had already shifted into something different from what it used to be.
She began rinsing off the dirty dishes he’d piled in the sink. “Tell me what’s going on.”
“Nothing’s going on.”
“It isn’t like you to sulk, Rod.”
“Quit doing my dishes,” he said. “And who the hell said I’m sulking?”
She glanced pointedly around the room. “The TV is off. The stereo is off. The blinds are down.”
When they weren’t talking, only the whir of the air conditioner filled the silence. He hadn’t wanted it to appear as if he was home, hadn’t wanted his busybody neighbor showing up asking if he could fix her leaky faucet. He’d been trying to give himself some downtime.
And Rachel was making that difficult.
“So?”
“So Milt said you refused to talk to him earlier.” She put the plate she’d just rinsed in the dishwasher. “He said you left the office without telling him when you’d be back.”
“Too bad for Milt.”
“He happens to be your boss.”
“I’ll check in with him later.”
“He’s worried about you.”
“Bullshit. Milt doesn’t worry about anybody but himself.” Rod finished off the beer sitting on the counter and crushed the can before tossing it into the recycle bin.
“Okay, let me rephrase that. He’s interested in protecting his investment. I’m the one who’s worried.”
“I’m thinking about taking a few days off, that’s all.” He lifted a shoulder to make the statement more nonchalant.
Silverware clinked as she dropped it into its plastic container. “A few days off.”
“Yeah.”
“To do what? Hang around here with the blinds down and drink yourself into oblivion?”
“No, smart-ass. To visit Arizona.”
She hesitated. “Anyone in particular you want to see?”
He imagined his father and Edna. “Not really.” Although there was Jorge…
“You must have some reason for wanting to go. You barely got home after being away for three months.”
He’d never given her any details about his childhood. He kept it vague with everyone, merely saying that he’d come from a hellhole in southern Arizona and was glad to be out of it. But Rachel clued in fast. Holding her dripping hands over the sink, she measured him with her eyes. “Does this have to do with your past?”