"Have you heard from Olivia?" Gabriel asked as Lydia handed him the envelope--data for another case.
"If I had, I'd tell you. I know you're waiting."
"I am not--"
She gave him a look that stopped him mid-sentence.
"I have something for her case, so yes, I am waiting."
"You could..." She pointed to his cell phone.
He grumbled under his breath as she withdrew. Then he picked up his phone and sent a text.
Will you be much longer?
She replied in seconds. Do you need me there?
Not actually a response to what he asked, but it implied she wasn't exactly on her way, and while he wanted the personal satisfaction of presenting the gift, he shouldn't withhold valuable information.
He called. It connected, the tunnel acoustics telling him she had it on the external Bluetooth in her Maserati.
"We really need to see about getting a connection retrofitted for that," he said, by way of greeting.
"Or I could just get a new car."
"Because your Maserati doesn't come with Bluetooth? That would be ridiculous."
She laughed a little too long, making him feel as if he'd missed a joke.
"So I'm guessing the answer is yes, you need me at the office," she said.
"No, I just had information for you. On the Johnson case. You may wish to investigate the hit-and-run that killed his wife."
He waited for her to ask what hit-and-run. When she didn't, he deflated. So much for pulling a rabbit out of a hat.
"You know his wife died in an unsolved hit-and-run, I presume," he said. "That may be a motivation for Johnson. I have the police report here. Johnson said he saw what looked like a small, dark SUV. They were both going around a curve on a paved country road. The other driver lost control. The weather was fine, so it appears to have been careless driving, likely at a high speed. Johnson saw a woman start to get out of the vehicle, but the driver--a man--pulled her back inside, and then they sped off. The descriptions are far from compelling--it was night on a dark road and Johnson had just been hit, his wife in distress. Yet the Nansens did own a black Land Rover, and they purchased a new one a few days later."
Silence. Then, "How long did it take you to get all that?"
"I had a late lunch and ate in."
"So, about an hour. Without leaving your desk." She swore. "I hate you."
"No, I do believe you've said you love me. On multiple occasions. I even have it in writing."
"In writing?"
"Yes, on a note you left me once. I saved it for exactly such an occasion--in case you ever attempt to alter your stance on the matter, I have proof."
She chuckled. "I don't think it works like that."
"Of course it does. Having established that you do not, in fact, hate me, dare I ask what prompted that response?"
"The fact that I've spent all afternoon chasing answers and learned less than you did while eating lunch. Explain to me again why you need an investigator?"
"I don't. But I'm rather fond of you, and you seem to like the job."
Another laugh. "Fair enough. Well, I didn't find out about the hit-and-run until I untangled a vision I got from Johnson. When I brought up Alan Nansen's death, Johnson remembered the Hunt and an accident. Which helps link that accident to Nansen's murder. I learned about the new vehicle through licensing, which they are still paying on the old one, but I also called Heather and spun some bullshit excuse for needing to confirm they only have one car."