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“Lieutenant. Lieutenant Dallas.”
He took the hand she extended in one with a rough, hard palm. “I sure do appreciate you meeting with me, Lieutenant.”
“You’re a long way from home, Deputy Banner.”
“That’s the God’s truth. Farthest I’ve ever been.”
“Where’s Silby’s Pond?”
“We’re in the Ozarks, ma’am, not —”
“Lieutenant. Sir if you want. Dallas will do.”
“Sorry. Y’all do things different here. We’re in the north of Arkansas, Lieutenant, not far from the Missouri border. Prettiest country you could ask for.”
His voice was caught somewhere between drawl and twang – leaning toward the drawl.
“What brings you here?”
“I’m hunting the same two you are. The same who killed this Dorian Kuper. He’s their latest. You did a search last night through IRCCA on missings and homicides in my area.”
“How do you know that?”
“I get alerted whenever there’s another victim, whenever there’s an official search through for more.” Though he shifted his feet his eyes stayed steady on hers. “Lieutenant Dallas, I understand you’re working with the feds, and they’ve given you their profiles and data and whatnot, but they don’t have all of it.”
“And you do?”
“If I did, your victim would likely still be playing his cello. But I believe – I know I have more. If you could just spare me fifteen minutes. I understand you’re busy, and you’re on an active investigation, but I’m asking you for fifteen minutes. I’ve come a hell of a long way.”
“Let’s take it in my office.”
She could all but see relief slide through him before he bent down for his duffel. “I’m grateful.”
“We don’t usually shove fellow law enforcement out the door.”
“You do hear things about New York City.”
“I bet. When did you get in?”
“That’s a story.”
She imagined that easy, heading toward lazy, drawl worked well on stories.
“I didn’t get the alert about your victim until into the afternoon. I talked to Special Agent Zweck, like I did with the one right before, and before that. They’ve been working their way to you, Lieutenant, for months now. It seemed to me with the search you started last night you’re leaning that way.”
“It’s an angle.”
“It’s the right angle, and because I saw how it seemed you might be leaning, and – I hope you’ll understand – after I did some research on you – I figured you might be open to a face-to-face with me.”
He paused just inside the bull pen, looked around. “You sure are busy around here. Back home, there’s the chief, me and two other deputies and our dispatcher.”
“How many people in Silby’s Pond?”
“Right about thirty-two hundred.”
“There’s more than that in this sector of this building.”
She gestured him toward her office. He stopped again inside it, studied her board as she shrugged out of her coat.
