held up his hand. “I’m on my way out.”
“Don’t let me scare you away.” She drew a circle around her face, which was caked with green paste. “When this comes off, I’m more beautiful than ever.”
Elise slipped her arm through his. “I’ll walk you out. Thanks for dinner.”
“My pleasure.” He brushed a loose strand of hair from her cheek. “I hope you’re feeling better after today’s events.”
“I feel fine, but it’ll be nice having the Oakland P.D. patrolling the school this week.”
“And your leg?”
“Stiff and sore, but it could be worse, right?”
“You’re tough, kid.”
“It’s like you said before. He’s going to make a mistake soon.”
He cupped her face with one hand and brushed his lips against hers. “I just don’t want you getting burned.”
As she watched him walk down the hallway to the elevator, she murmured, “Too late for that, Sean Brody. Too late for that.”
Sean hunched over the counter, studied Marie’s lined face and gave her his best smile. “I know where the boxes are, Marie.”
She tapped a pen on top of the log book. “You should. You’ve practically worn a path in the linoleum back there over the years.”
He plucked the pen from her fingers, the long red fingernails at odds with her age-spotted skin, and slid the log book toward him.
Marie snatched it away. “You don’t need to sign in, Sean.”
He lifted one eyebrow. “Since when?”
“Since the brass has been snooping through the books.”
His pulse jumped. “Looking for what?”
“Your guess is as good as mine.” She raised her plump shoulders. “I just don’t think they need to see your name written in ink checking out your dad’s case files again. Especially now.”
He leaned in closer, his breath fogging the glass in the window. “What are you hearing?”
“I’m hearing a killer has you on speed dial.”
“And?” He licked his lips.
“Just that.”
Sean dropped the pen. “Maybe I don’t need to look through the boxes again.”
“Be my guest. I won’t remember that you were here. My memory is notoriously bad on Tuesdays.”
“Even Tuesdays twenty years ago?”
“Mmm, back then I had trouble with Saturdays.” She put her finger on the side of her prominent nose. “What am I supposed to recall about twenty years in the past besides the fact that I had cleavage that could cause whiplash?”
“You still got it, Marie.”
“You Brody boys are all charmers.” She tapped on the glass with one of her long nails. “Tell me what you need.”
Sean folded his hands on top of the log book, pressing his thumbs together. “Who did the department use for therapy in those days? You know, for officer-involved shootings, alcoholism, the works.”
She laughed, a sharp bark that filled the small front office of the records room. “I thought you were going to test me, Brody.”
“You remember without even looking?”
“The department used only one guy in those days, and we had him for eighteen years. Dr. James Patrick. He retired just seven years ago. That’s who your dad would’ve seen.”
“Did he see him?”
Marie looked both ways. “I don’t know, but I do know they made the recommendation. Usually when the department makes the recommendation, you’d better follow through or it could be your job.”
“It wound up being his life.”
Marie reached through the space under the window and patted Sean’s arm. “He must’ve had a good reason to do that, Sean, leaving you and your brothers and Joanne. Someone or something drove him to it, and I don’t believe for one minute it was guilt over any murders.”
“I appreciate that, Marie.”
She coughed her smoker’s cough. “If you appreciate it so much, why don’t you send those good-looking brothers of yours over here to visit an old lady?”
“I’ll get right on it—after I solve this case.”
“Which case, Sean?”
He slapped the log book. “You’re a lifesaver, Marie.”
He jogged up two flights of stairs and paused at the fire door, pulling out his phone. He typed in a quick text to Elise, and she responded immediately that everything was fine.
Blowing out a long breath, he pulled open the door and crossed the hall to the homicide division. When he got to his desk, he shoved Curtis off the edge. “Go sit on your own desk.”
Curtis waved a piece of paper in the air. “You wouldn’t say that if you knew what I had in my hand.”
“A first-class ticket to paradise? ’Cuz that’s what I need about now.” Two first-class tickets to paradise.
“Almost as good.” He slapped the paper on Sean’s desk. “Patterson ran the numbers from the note through a few computer programs and came up with coordinates.”
“Coordinates for a location?”
“Exactly.”
“Don’t just stand there with that annoying grin on your face. Where’s the location?”
“Golden Gate Bridge.”
Sean swore and dropped into his chair. “Not possible. He’s not going to commit a murder at the bridge—too many cameras.”
“He dumped a body there.”
“He was obviously aware of the cameras.” Sean kicked his feet onto his desk and crossed his arms behind his head. “He kept out of their range. He’s not going to kill at the bridge.”
Curtis tugged on his ear. “Then why put down those coordinates in the message? If you’re right, he told us he was going to kill two people on today’s date. Makes sense he’d tell us where.”
“He’s toying with us. Don’t expect logic from him or any real clues to his actions.”
