Brody Law: The Bridge / The District / The Wharf / The Hill

They chatted a bit more about home until Ty’s pain meds kicked in and his eyelids began to droop and his words began to slur.

Elise tiptoed out of the room and practically ran into Sean coming around the corner at the nurses’ station.

Grabbing her shoulders to steady her, he said, “I was hoping to run into you.”

“And you did—literally.”

“You look washed out, although it could just be the lighting. Are you okay? Did Ty give you a hard time?”

“Not really. He started the conversation still believing there was a chance that I’d go back to Montana with him, but I think he’s getting the picture now.”

“He’s probably halfway in shock. That was a nasty business, and he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“You know the killer gave him your address?”

“The detective questioning him told me.”

“Do you think he knew your address before he tracked my car there?”

“Probably.” He tapped her head. “Don’t get it into this thick skull of yours that you led him to my place.”

“Was there any evidence with the bodies?”

He cupped her elbow. “Let’s get something to drink in the cafeteria. We can’t talk here, and I’m not even supposed to be hanging around Ty’s room. I’m off the case, remember?”

They took the elevator down to the lobby and crossed to the other side of the building to the hospital cafeteria. They both filled up sodas from a self-serve machine and snagged a table in the back of the noisy room filled with clattering plastic trays and hushed conversations.

“So, what do you know?”

Sean took a long sip from his straw. “Only what I got from Curtis. It’s a lot different when you’re not on the scene.”

“I can’t believe they’re keeping you away. You know more about this case than anyone.”

“If anything, they were justified in their actions today when Ray Lopez showed up and started wondering aloud why the lead detective wasn’t at the crime scene.”

“How did Lopez even know it was the work of the Alphabet Killer?”

“He didn’t. Just fishing.” He jiggled the ice in his cup and tilted it toward the soda machines. “I’m getting a refill. How about you?”

“Diet.”

He returned with the cups topped off.

“Sean, was that cop last night right? Did the victims both have names that started with the letter C?”

“Yes. They were a married couple.”

She bit down on her knuckle. “That’s awful. Wh-where are their fingers?”

“I’m not discussing this with you, Elise. You don’t need to know the details, and don’t get all in my face and tell me you have a right to know. I’m not falling for that.”

“I’m not going to play that card.” She folded her hands on the table in front of her. “But I would like to know what was in the note. That can’t be too gory, can it?”

“The note.” He plucked a napkin from the metal dispenser and lifted a pen from his pocket. He scribbled as he spoke. “Fifty-one plus fifty equals 187. Forty-two plus fifty-eight equals 187.”

Elise cocked her head. “Makes no sense at all.”

“He’s just yanking our chain.”

“Have you tried to decipher it yet?”

“Haven’t given it a lot of thought. It’s not my case, remember?”

“Even though he sent the note to you?”

“It’s not like I can run around and investigate the case on my own. I’m not like my brother Judd.”

“What does your brother Judd do?”

“He’s a P.I., a private investigator. He follows a different drummer. He could never report to anyone. He’s a rebel who distrusts authority.”

“Where does he come in the line of Brody brothers?”

“He’s my youngest brother.”

“That makes sense. He probably remembers your father the least and has the most flimsy connection to him. Sounds like he might have grown up distrusting authority.”

“Wow, are you picking up tips from Courtney or something?”

She stirred her ice with her straw. “Some things don’t take a degree in psychology. They’re just obvious.”

“Well, you’re probably right about Judd. He doesn’t see what the big deal is. He can almost accept that his father was a serial killer and move on.”

“But you can’t.”

“Never.”

“He didn’t know him like you did. How old was he when your father jumped?”

“He was six years old.”

“A baby, like my kids.”

“Yeah, he missed Dad and would cry himself to sleep when he was gone, but he didn’t really understand what was going on.”

“Reminds me a lot of my kids. So many of them come from broken homes or they never knew their fathers, and their moms are busy supporting the family. In many ways, it’s just best if they move on, find another father figure.”

“That’s what Judd did. He’s a carefree SOB. Wish I could be more like him.”