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The woman had an appointment, which was fortuitous because it made it far easier for him to learn her name. He scanned the list and found the name attached to her DOT ID picture.
“Gina Norris?” he called pleasantly.
The woman seemed a bit startled, and, as always, he felt a moment of gratitude that the queue was never displayed for the customers. The employees saw the queue, but nobody really paid attention to it, and picking and choosing customers based on appearance and estimates of the level of irritation involved in helping them was common.
Gina stepped up to his counter, and he got a closer look. Her ring finger was pale, but where the ring would be was nearly white. She had a wedding ring, and she wasn't wearing it. That fact sent a wave of both attraction and anger through him. She was either divorced or straying. In either case, her ring, which should have symbolized commitment, had to come off.
He smiled at her as she handed him her form. “How’s your day?” he asked.
She smiled tiredly, her whore-painted lips forming it automatically. It was standard when a woman left her husband. She painted herself like a whore and smiled even if she didn’t want to. He resisted the natural impulse to call her out on her promiscuity. Besides, there was always the possibility that her husband had strayed first, in which case, it was him and not Gina he would need to cull.
He read the information on the form, enjoying her tired but almost grateful voice saying, “Yes,” each time he asked if what he read was correct. He didn’t need to confirm anything to do his job, of course, but saying her name, address, hair color, eye color, and age out loud helped him commit it all to memory.
Yes, he’d call her out later.
Gina left, and he turned his attention to the next bored cow to step to his counter. A few hours later, he took his lunch, and as he always did, he walked a quarter mile to the sandwich shop near the DOT office. On the way, he pulled Elmore Holland’s ring from his pocket and tried it on.
It fit.
Not perfectly but well enough that he smiled broadly as he walked.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“Everyone’s pissed right now, boy,” she said. “They think Mommy’s gone off the deep end.”
Faith walked down the street, Turk trotting at her side. The big German shepherd seemed to understand the investigation wasn’t going well.
She chuckled at herself. Maybe they were right to think she was going off the deep end. She couldn’t recall a single time calling herself Mommy. She expected Turk to cast a quizzical glance this way, but he didn’t. He just panted his normal pant and swept his head from side to side as they walked, sniffing occasionally at the weeds and bushes they encountered. She smiled softly, thinking that if everything collapsed and her career and relationship ended, she and Turk could go somewhere off the grid and live just fine. It wouldn’t be the first time someone in law enforcement went off the deep end.
Her brow furrowed as she pondered the case, trying to make sense of the details. She couldn’t say for sure that there ought to be more progress now, thinking objectively. After all, they’d only been here a few days. Even more pertinently, literally every investigation was a series of failures that eventually led to success. You had to pursue every lead that fit the evidence, and most of those leads would lead to dead ends. This case was no different.
Emotionally, she sure as hell thought she needed more. People were dying fast. This killer was moving faster than any other serial killer she’d ever investigated. Three victims in two weeks almost put him past the definition of serial killer and well on the way to spree killer. Spree killers were easier to catch, but not because they were less dangerous. They were easier to catch because they killed more people faster than serial killers and left more evidence as a result. She’d much rather work with a methodical, slow-moving killer like Eric Malvern. She could work faster than they could. She couldn’t work faster than a killer who killed people almost twice a week.
“Pissed off,” she said again, this time patting his head. He paused for the pats, and when it became apparent that she didn’t intend to stop and make this a petting session, he started up again.
She smiled softly. At seven years old, Turk was nowhere near a puppy, but he acted like one. She felt a pang of jealousy that it could be so easy for him to overcome his own trauma while she still struggled with hers. He had been just as badly injured by the Donkey Killer as she was, maybe even worse, but he was as happy as any dog she’d ever seen.
Not that she blamed him for it. Besides, it was helpful to her to have a cheerful, empathetic companion she could vent to.
“Michael is pissed. The Boss is pissed. Tucson PD is pissed off at us, and the idiot detectives on the case made us scapegoats.”
She was rambling now. She often did while speaking to the dog or at the dog, rather. She imagined this was how she worked through things. Whatever his particular brand of attention was, she appreciated it. “Business as usual,” she said, “and business as usual means people die. I don’t know how to manage doing a whole lot of nothing right now, boy. I don’t know how to be okay with the fact that people are going to die, and my friends and colleagues are going to be pissed off.”
This time he reacted. A very low growl, almost a whine, formed in his throat, and he tightened his body in attention. She actually took two steps forward before realizing he was frozen to the spot. Faith scratched Turk's head, shaking her head. “What’s up with you?” she asked softly. The streets weren’t overly busy at the moment, but they weren’t quiet either. She could smell food from either a restaurant or, more likely, a hot dog vender a short distance ahead. She imagined there were countless distractions for Turk. “We need to focus now,” she said, her mind already turning back to the case. She started forward, and Turk, though still distracted, walked with her.
She walked silently for a few seconds. A disturbing thought filled her mind, one she didn’t want to entertain. “Maybe I’m thinking too much about the copycat killer,” she said.
She chuckled. “Great. Now I’m pissed at myself too.”
Trying to solve this case while wanting desperately to work on the copycat case made for divided attention, divided loyalties, and … everything was divided. She couldn’t deny the possibility that she really was off of her game regardless of how much she wanted to avoid the subject.
Suddenly, Turk barked and lunged forward, startling Faith out of her thoughts. She saw that he had spotted a man walking ahead of them and had growled in warning.
Faith looked up at the man and frowned. The man didn’t look like much of a threat. He was tall, but he was slender, almost gracile. He had soft features and big, expressive eyes that made him appear almost feminine.
At the moment, those eyes expressed fear. He stared at Turk, frozen in place, big eyes opened wide, his skin pale.
Turk barked loudly, angrily, and the urgent tone of his cries surprised Faith. He lunged forward again, this time, jerking Faith forward with him.
