“The whole reason the best detective in my precinct is missing,” he finished.
“Ididn’t kidnap him,” I protested.
Quinn held up a hand as if to tell menow issonot the time to open your damn mouth. “Mr. Snow is an expert in his field, sir,” she tried again. “His knowledge has helped our department crack several cases in the past.”
“I know all about Mr. Snow,” Sarge said. “I read the reports, remember? He’s a smartass busybody. I never should have allowed you and Winter to take the call at his shop yesterday.”
Rossi had slinked beside the sergeant by then, keeping one step outside the volatile circle. I had a sickening feeling that this little beat-cop, wannabe detective was the reason Quinn’s boss, who I’d been told was a stern but good man, was having an intense, public blowup.
“That incident was directly related to John Doe at the museum,” Quinn argued. “As well as the disappearance of Frank Newell. It’sourcase. We had to respond.”
“And one misinterpretation of the evidence due to clouded judgment leaves us up one sleuth and down a decorated officer!” Sarge barked.
My fists were clenched so tight, the tips of my fingernails were digging holes into my flesh.
“All of the evidence pointed to a repeat of the Newell situation,” Quinn said. “The body parts, followed by similar messages, indicated that Mr. Snow would go missing in forty-eight hours. We had no way of knowing until an hour ago that the perp’s plan was to snatch Calvin!”
“Assigning police protection probably spooked our perp,” Rossi spoke, directing an accusing finger at me. “He had to change his usual MO—hence grabbing Winter instead.”
“Ourperp?” Quinn repeated with a laugh that made my soul shake. “You aren’t a damn detective, Rossi.”
“Lancaster!” Sarge butted in.
“The Collector was forced to make amendments to their original plan because of me,” I interjected. “Butnotbecause you were following me,” I added, looking at Rossi. Before Sarge was able to take a breath, I continued. “They know me—at least a little. Enough to know they needn’t bother offering money as a reward. I would have engaged for the history aspect and puzzle alone. The threat was merely incentive to do it… faster.”
“Then why didn’t you snoop?” Rossi retorted. “You’ve had no problem ‘helping’ the NYPD in the past.” He actually used air quotes when he said that.
“I told you, I’ve retired,” I stated. “I made a promise to Calvin, and I wasn’t going to let the Collector push me. They must have realized that….”
“This isn’t your case anymore,” Sarge said to Quinn. “I don’t give a damn about Spencerian script or dinosaur bones or angry paleontologists. Mr. Snow’s expertise is no longer required.”
“But sir—!” Quinn tried.
“You can’t ignore those details!” I objected.
“Getting Winter back is the priority now,” Sarge said over both of us. “The Chief of Detectives is already getting heat to involve the damn Feds.”
“You can’t let the FBI take over,” I pleaded, desperation in my tone going unchecked. “The Collector warned for the police to back off. Ithasto be me!”
“And if the chief finds out I’ve let Winter’s compromised andcivilianfiancé run amok, it’ll be my ass,” he concluded. He jutted a thumb over his shoulder. “Get out.”
THE HISTORY.
The clues.
The Collector gave me—gave Frank Newell—the tools necessary to figure out this puzzle. Each word written, each gruesome package mailed, were all deliberate hints in a word game that would bring Calvin back to me.
The Collector wanted me tothink.
This person was different from all of the others. Not an obsessive, delusional stalker like Duncan Andrews. Definitely not a vigilante like Brigg. And they didn’t seem to be a money-hungry thief like Pete White.
They were brutal. Methodical. Smarter. At least… they wanted me to view them as more intelligent. Better than all the rest. The pièce de résistance of my sleuthing career.
Declining official escort, I walked from the immediate vicinity and left the clusterfuck of traffic and police presence behind me. Anger toward the sergeant had gotten my blood pumping, and I was feeling particularly fiery. He was ignoring the most important facts of the case. I knew it was because he wanted to find his officer and felt he needed to look at a bigger picture, butthis—I looked over my shoulder at the mess of vehicles, flashing lights, and law enforcement running this way and that—this wasn’t how we’d find Calvin.
No one in the NYPD wanted a dead cop. No one wanted to give a press conference about how their golden goose detective was kidnapped andmurdered.
I understood that.
