it for a month, and I don't think it does shit."
"Have you tried yoga?" she asked.
He let out a derisive snort. "You've gotta be kidding."
"I know agents who swear by it."
"FBI agents?" he asked in disbelief.
She nodded.
"You try it?"
"Me? No, but I've cut down on caffeine and quit smoking."
"If I cut down on caffeine, I wouldn't be able to function. Okay, I gotta go. Have another meeting to get to with Chief of Homicide. I'll get a copy of all pertinent information to Agent Senatra by this afternoon, and I'll be calling a meeting with all the departments when we get everything organized."
Mary gathered up the photos and papers and added them to the ones already in her briefcase. "I'll put together an unofficial profile in order to prioritize the suspects. That should give you enough to work with until I hear back from Headquarters." She stood and extended her hand.
He took it. "The governor personally asked for you," he said. "Not because you're a hometown girl, but because he knew you were one of the best. Here in Minnesota, we're proud of the work you've done."
"Thank you."
He was looking at her as if he had no doubt about her ability to solve the case given enough time. She had a decent track record—he was right about that. But then the FBI didn't advertise unsolved cases.
Chapter 5
Before concentrating on the profile, Mary had to talk to Gavin Hitchcock. She'd never been one to allow herself to jump to conclusions, always waiting for the evidence to point the way. Now she needed to know if there was any basis for suspecting him of these new murders—or were her emotions skewing her judgment?
The automobile repair shop where Hitchcock worked was on University Avenue in an area of St. Paul known as Midway.
She soon spotted a hand-painted sign that said ABE'S REPAIR. Parking spaces on University Avenue were at a premium, so Mary pulled her rental car into the alley behind the shop. To the left of an open door was a lot with weeds poking between broken-down cars that had been towed and abandoned years ago. Those carcasses were sprinkled with washing machines and mowers, stacks of tires, gas cans, broken beer bottles, and bed frames.
Mary inched the car to the side of the alley, trying to avoid the broken glass while leaving room for another vehicle to squeeze past if necessary. She got out, locking up with the remote. Up four bowed, rotten steps, she hesitated and checked to feel the reassurance of her gun beneath her jacket, irritated and slightly alarmed by the way her hand shook and her heart hammered.
This would be the first time she'd come face-to-face with Hitchcock since the murder trial during which she'd recounted finding her friend's dead body. All the while she was on the witness stand, Hitchcock, dressed in an orange jumpsuit, leg shackles, and handcuffs, had stared emotionlessly at her from his seat next to the state-appointed defense attorney.
Despite that, she was able to speak clearly and effectively, describing her years of close friendship with Fiona, describing exactly how the young girl had looked when she'd tripped over her body that day in the woods. The way the flies had gathered at the corners of her sightless eyes, the way bees buzzed around her mouth and crawled out her nose.
Mary hadn't called the repair shop first. She wanted her visit to take Hitchcock by surprise so he wouldn't have a mental script prepared.
Inside the door stood an L-shaped counter. Along one wall was a row of chairs where two people waited, flipping mindlessly through greasy magazines while a fluorescent light hummed and flickered above them.
"Can I help you?" the man behind the counter asked in a heavily accented voice. His crisply ironed blue shirt said JESUS MONTOYA, MANAGER under a motor oil logo. When she told him she needed to speak to Gavin Hitchcock, he opened the office door and stepped out on a wooden landing that overlooked the work bay, yelling to a man under a raised Cadillac.
"Have you tried yoga?" she asked.
He let out a derisive snort. "You've gotta be kidding."
"I know agents who swear by it."
"FBI agents?" he asked in disbelief.
She nodded.
"You try it?"
"Me? No, but I've cut down on caffeine and quit smoking."
"If I cut down on caffeine, I wouldn't be able to function. Okay, I gotta go. Have another meeting to get to with Chief of Homicide. I'll get a copy of all pertinent information to Agent Senatra by this afternoon, and I'll be calling a meeting with all the departments when we get everything organized."
Mary gathered up the photos and papers and added them to the ones already in her briefcase. "I'll put together an unofficial profile in order to prioritize the suspects. That should give you enough to work with until I hear back from Headquarters." She stood and extended her hand.
He took it. "The governor personally asked for you," he said. "Not because you're a hometown girl, but because he knew you were one of the best. Here in Minnesota, we're proud of the work you've done."
"Thank you."
He was looking at her as if he had no doubt about her ability to solve the case given enough time. She had a decent track record—he was right about that. But then the FBI didn't advertise unsolved cases.
Chapter 5
Before concentrating on the profile, Mary had to talk to Gavin Hitchcock. She'd never been one to allow herself to jump to conclusions, always waiting for the evidence to point the way. Now she needed to know if there was any basis for suspecting him of these new murders—or were her emotions skewing her judgment?
The automobile repair shop where Hitchcock worked was on University Avenue in an area of St. Paul known as Midway.
She soon spotted a hand-painted sign that said ABE'S REPAIR. Parking spaces on University Avenue were at a premium, so Mary pulled her rental car into the alley behind the shop. To the left of an open door was a lot with weeds poking between broken-down cars that had been towed and abandoned years ago. Those carcasses were sprinkled with washing machines and mowers, stacks of tires, gas cans, broken beer bottles, and bed frames.
Mary inched the car to the side of the alley, trying to avoid the broken glass while leaving room for another vehicle to squeeze past if necessary. She got out, locking up with the remote. Up four bowed, rotten steps, she hesitated and checked to feel the reassurance of her gun beneath her jacket, irritated and slightly alarmed by the way her hand shook and her heart hammered.
This would be the first time she'd come face-to-face with Hitchcock since the murder trial during which she'd recounted finding her friend's dead body. All the while she was on the witness stand, Hitchcock, dressed in an orange jumpsuit, leg shackles, and handcuffs, had stared emotionlessly at her from his seat next to the state-appointed defense attorney.
Despite that, she was able to speak clearly and effectively, describing her years of close friendship with Fiona, describing exactly how the young girl had looked when she'd tripped over her body that day in the woods. The way the flies had gathered at the corners of her sightless eyes, the way bees buzzed around her mouth and crawled out her nose.
Mary hadn't called the repair shop first. She wanted her visit to take Hitchcock by surprise so he wouldn't have a mental script prepared.
Inside the door stood an L-shaped counter. Along one wall was a row of chairs where two people waited, flipping mindlessly through greasy magazines while a fluorescent light hummed and flickered above them.
"Can I help you?" the man behind the counter asked in a heavily accented voice. His crisply ironed blue shirt said JESUS MONTOYA, MANAGER under a motor oil logo. When she told him she needed to speak to Gavin Hitchcock, he opened the office door and stepped out on a wooden landing that overlooked the work bay, yelling to a man under a raised Cadillac.
Similar Books
Story of the Phantom
Lee Falk
Warrior Untamed
Melissa Mayhue
Words With Fiends
Ali Brandon
Runaway Mum
Deborah George
Goes down easy: Roped into romance
Alison Kent
Taken by You (Taken by You Book One)
M.L. Young
Fury and the Power
John Farris
Hard Knocks: An Ultimate Novella
Lori Foster
Boot Camp
Eric Walters