On Thursday, Savich said, “I don’t want you to flab out on me, Sherlock. You don’t live more than a mile from me. My gym is right in between. I’ll see you there at six o’clock.”
“Flab out? I’ve only been out of the Academy for two weeks. And I’ve walked every square inch of Georgetown since Monday, shopping until I dropped, just as you ordered me to do. Flab out?”
“Yeah, you haven’t been lying around, but your deltoids are losing tone. I’m an expert. I can tell these things. Six o’clock.”
He strolled away, singing, “Like a rock, I was strong as I could be. Like a rock, nothin’ ever got to me …” He walked into his glass-enclosed office. That wasn’t country-and-western, that was a commercial. Was it Chevrolet? She couldn’t remember. She watched him sit down at his desk and turn immediately to his laptop.
Flabby deltoids, ha. She grinned toward his office. He was just being a good boss; that was it. She was new in town, and he didn’t want her to get lonesome. She shook her head and went back to work. She jumped a good six inches when a woman’s voice said from behind her, “Don’t even consider going after him.”
Lacey blinked up at Hannah Paisley, an agent who’d started with the Unit some six months before. She’d been in the Bureau five years. She was very tall, beautifully shaped, and was very smart. Lacey had seen her do her dumb blonde act on a witness at the Academy, on video. She’d made the guy feel like the stud of the universe. Then he’d spilled his guts. She was very good, which was why she was loaned out on sting operations. She also seemed to have a sixth sense about killers, which was why she’d joined this unit. Lacey envied her this ability.
Hannah wanted Dillon Savich? She was jealous because Savich thought Lacey was flabby? What was all this about? “I wasn’t going after him, Hannah. Actually, I was just thinking that he was a jerk, criticizing my deltoids.”
“I know. I was joking. Are you doing work on the Radnich case?”
Lacey nodded. Was Hannah joking? She didn’t think so. She didn’t need this. Hannah gave her a small salute and went back to her desk and computer.
Lacey was working with Ollie Hamish on the Radnich case. It had flummoxed everyone, including Savich. It wasn’t the “who” of it that was driving everybody nuts; it was the “how.” Lacey was feeding in more data they’d just gotten from the various local police reports and the autopsies and the forensic evidence, and in the back of her mind, she was also trying to figure out how this weirdo guy could have gotten into four nursing homes-the count as of today-and strangled old women with no one seeing a single thing. The first nursing home was in Richmond, Virginia, eight months ago. Then four months ago, it happened again in northern Florida, home of the nonagenarian. Norma Radnich was the old woman strangled at the South Banyon Nursing Home in St. Petersburg, Florida. They’d been called in by the SPPD only after this last murder. To date there were no leads, no clues, no guesses that were helpful. The Profilers were working on it now as well. Ollie was committed to this one. He was the lead agent on it, and Lacey wanted it that way.
She wanted to go digging. She’d figured out how to access everything sne needed. Perhaps tonight after Dillon let her leave the gym she would come back here and work. If he didn’t kill all her body parts, if she’d still be able to walk once he was through with her.
No one would know. She’d be very careful, do her work for the unit during the day and search at night. She felt her heart speed up at the thought. She’d get him. She had to get him. But he’d lain low for nearly seven years. It would be seven years in three days. An anniversary. Just as the past six years had each been an anniversary. Had he died? Had he simply stopped? She didn’t think so. He was a classic psychopath. He would never stop until he was dead or locked away. Cycles, she’d thought many times. He was into cycles and so far it hadn’t triggered yet for whatever reason.