Lacey Sherlock said, “I guess he drugs the women so they won’t be able to fight him, either.”
Lucy nodded. “The bartenders all said the guy looks like a stereotypical artist type, white as a vampire with the white face powder, and bone thin, which means he does indeed need the drugs to make sure he can handle his victims. He looks harmless as a puppy, softspoken, real polite, attentive, a good listener. Another thing—Alana Rafferty didn’t look dizzy or shaky on her feet when she left the bar, so he probably put the drug in her last—” Lucy looked down. “In her last Burning River Pale Ale.”
There were a few more questions and comments, and then Savich brought things to a close. “Okay, Coop and Lucy are the leads on this case. Any of your specific input should go through them. I’d like each of you to think about this guy, about what makes him tick, and give all your ideas in writing to Lucy and Coop. Steve in Behavioral Analysis will get us a profile shortly.
“This police sketch and the local TV coverage might make the guy cut his losses and head out of Cleveland, or maybe he’ll change his outfit and ditch the beret. We’ll see.
“No matter what, this case is top priority. Whoever the guy is, we want to stop him before anyone else dies.”
Lucy said, “This is really ugly, guys, and really sick. Dillon wonders if he’ll realize he’s a sitting duck and change his routine or his clothes—and that’s my biggest worry. If he does change his routine and ditch the black, we’ll lose any edge we have.”
Sherlock said, “Whatever he decides to wear, I’ve got the weirdest feeling he’s not afraid of the cops and he’s not going to stop. He’s arrogant.”
Lucy nodded slowly. She agreed with Sherlock.
As Lucy and Coop walked back to their workstations, talking quietly, Sherlock said to Savich, “Why’d you put Lucy and Coop together? They don’t care much for each other. You can tell that by their body language. Look at the distance between them.”
“That’s why I put them together,” Savich said matter-of-factly. “They need to learn to get along. They’re both excellent agents, and I wouldn’t want to lose either of them. They’ve got to learn to respect each other, protect each other, or else one of them will have to go.”
“I’d hate to lose either of them. I wonder why they don’t get along well? They’re the new guys in the unit; you’d think they’d have bonded simply because they’re the rookies.”
Savich said, “I asked Ruth what was going on between them, and she said she’d heard Lucy call Coop a dickhead—quote/unquote—because he dangles too many women on his string.”
“Hmm, I hadn’t heard that. Do you think it’s true? You think he’s some sort of idiot playboy?”
Savich shrugged, opened his office door, and ushered her in. “I’ve never seen anything in Coop’s behavior that’d make me think so. He’s got a good brain, he’s committed, a good team player, and I can usually kick his butt at the gym.” He grinned at her, flicked a finger over her cheek. “So, what’s not to like?”
Sherlock laughed, hugged him a moment. She leaned back in his arms, studied his face. “It’s only been two days since the shooting at Mr. Patil’s Shop ’n Go. Are you all right, Dillon?”
“Mr. Patil will make a full recovery, Dave Raditch and his kids are dealing okay with the shock, and yes, I’m fine as well. Look, Sherlock, I’m handling things, okay?”
Mr. Hardnose. She looked at him for a long time, and finally she nodded slowly. “Yes. All right, then.” She kissed him fast, then left his office to discuss with Ollie Hamish his bizarre case in Biloxi, Mississippi, where some shrimp fishermen seemed to be on a rampage, killing off their competition.
Lucy and Coop were studying the composite sketch of their murderer, tossing ideas back and forth, when Lucy’s cell phone rang. It was a Dr. Antonio Pellotti at Washington Memorial Hospital. Her father had suffered a massive heart attack and wasn’t expected to live.
CHAPTER 4
Washington Memorial Hospital
Thursday night
Lucy sat beside her father’s bed in the CCU and counted each breath. Dr. Pellotti had told her when they wheeled him out of the cath lab, honest grief in his voice, since he’d known her father for years, “They managed to open up his left coronary artery and found a large part of his heart was beating very poorly. We’re having to support his blood pressure with drugs. We’re not sure how much longer he’ll breathe on his own. We’ll discuss options when and if a respirator is necessary.” He’d taken her hands in his. “He may be in and out, Lucy, but I promise you he’s in no distress. He’s on morphine.”