THE BRIDGE by Carol Ericson Read Free Book Online

afternoon.”
    “Good idea. Follow me to the station, and you can park in the lot there.”
    He sat in his idling car until Elise’s garage door opened and her little hybrid rolled down the driveway. He kept an eye on his rearview mirror, stopping at every yellow light.
    He sure as hell hoped the killer’s fascination with Elise came to an end soon. He could bring it to an end sooner rather than later if he caught this guy. Then he could find out why he was sending him personal messages.
    He cruised into the station’s parking garage with Elise close on his tail. The morning shift had already gone out, depleting the ranks of patrol cars waiting in their slots.
    Sean swung into an empty space at the end of the row, and Elise parked next to him.
    “We’re really in the bowels of the police station here, aren’t we?”
    “Shh, don’t tell anyone we have all this parking down here.” He led her to the elevator, and after a short ride, the doors opened onto a corridor bustling with both cops in and out of uniform and civilians.
    He nodded at a few people on his way to homicide, trying not to read suspicion in their eyes. He’d have to lose this paranoia if he hoped to catch this guy and help Elise. Because he did want to help Elise.
    He pulled out a chair on the other side of his cluttered desk. “Have a seat. I’m taking your phone to the lab, and I’ll try to round up a sketch artist. We might have to call one in. Coffee? Water?”
    “I’m fine.” She folded her hands in her lap, her wide eyes taking in the activity of the room.
    Yanking a binder from his drawer, he said, “You can pass the time looking at mug shots.”
    He left Elise running her finger across the plastic inserts in the binder. He dropped off the phone with instructions to print, blow up and distribute the picture the killer had sent. He put the word out for a sketch artist, and then he stopped by the coffee machine.
    By the time he returned to his desk, Elise was halfway through the six-packs of mug shots in the binder he’d left with her.
    Flipping a page, she looked up at his approach.
    “Any luck?” He dropped into his chair and loosened his tie.
    “No.” She tapped the book. “Who are these guys, again?”
    “Killers, rapists, batterers.”
    She flinched and jerked her hand back from the page. “Why are they out on the streets?”
    “They did the crime and then did their time.” His hand tightened around his coffee cup. “I rounded up a sketch artist for you. Do you want to give it a try after you finish looking at those mug shots?”
    “Sure, although I don’t know how much help I’m going to be. It was dark, and he wore a disguise—I’m positive about that. I should’ve realized that much facial hair was concealing something.”
    Elise seemed determined to blame herself and her naïveté for the attack. He couldn’t sit back and allow her to browbeat herself.
    He pushed away his coffee, and it sloshed over the edge. “The majority of men who have beards and moustaches are not criminals or trying to hide anything. That’s not a clue that anyone would’ve picked up on.”
    Her face awash in pink, Elise smacked the book of six-packs closed. “None of these guys looks even vaguely familiar to me except one who’s the spitting image of my geometry teacher, and I’m probably just projecting because I hated geometry.”
    A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “I doubt your geometry teacher is moonlighting as a criminal in San Francisco from...wherever it is you’re from.”
    “Montana. Is it so obvious I’m not from the city?”
    It was to him. She lacked that brittle edge so many urbanites had. But far be it from him to stoke the image she had of herself as the country bumpkin in the big, bad city.
    He shrugged. “Not at all. I think you mentioned living here for just a year.”
    Nodding, she relaxed her shoulders and slumped against the back of the chair.
    Sean picked up the receiver of his phone and punched