Sundays Are for Murder

“More than not.” He shifted in his seat as she peeled out. The woman had an Indianapolis 500 complex, but he was determined not to show her that her driving rattled him. “Besides, aren’t we operating under the assumption that the girl was murdered by the Sunday Killer?”

She glanced in her rearview mirror. Traffic was almost nonexistent. Just the way she liked it. She opened up a little more. “Just ruling out a copycat murder.”

“I thought the tiny cross on her forehead did that,” he reminded her.

For the most part, he was right. But she liked to cover all contingencies, just in case. “Just crossing my ts and dotting my is.”

He knew law-enforcement agents who needed only a hint before they ran with something. She was more meticulous than he would have thought.

“You always so thorough?”

“Always,” she answered with finality. “If you want a case that’ll stand up in court, you have to make sure you don’t leave anything for the other side to pick up on.”

“Makes sense,” Nick allowed. “So we’re back to looking for the Sunday Killer.”

“Yeah.” And she wanted the man so bad she could taste it. She realized that she was holding on to the wheel with enough strength that her knuckles were turning white. With effort, she forced herself to relax her grip. “Let’s hope forensics has come up with something for us. Fibers, hairs, something.”

The people in the crime-scene-investigation department had taken an incredible number of items from the scene. Undoubtedly, most would lead them to a dead end.

Nick glanced at her rigid profile. The case meant a lot to her. Considering her connection, he didn’t wonder. “You feeling lucky?”

Charley stared straight ahead as she drove. She hadn’t felt lucky in a long, long time. “No.”

“Me, neither.” He sank back in his seat, crossing his arms before him. He figured whatever luck he had was being used up right now, as he sat here, watching the scenery whiz by. So far, the woman hadn’t crashed them. “Let’s hope anyway.”

NATASHYA KOVAL WAS bent over her work when they entered the lab twenty minutes later. She glanced in their direction, then smiled.

“Found a hair.” She held up a hand, forestalling any comment from either of them. “Before you get all excited, it’s a cat hair.”

Nick thought back to their examination of the apartment. “The victim didn’t have any cats.”

Another piece of the puzzle, Charley thought, however minor. She was grateful. “Which means that the killer does.”

“Or has friends that do,” Nick said.

But Charley shook her head. “I don’t see this person as having friends.”

They had differing opinions on the profile, Nick surmised. “Maybe our boy’s not a weirdo twenty-four/seven,” he countered. “Ted Bundy was thought to be a friendly guy. And the guy who confessed to being the BTK killer had a prominent place in society. Was even the president of his church group. This guy doesn’t have to be the type to sit and talk to his wallpaper, working himself up until he’s ready to kill again. Besides, until just lately, it’s been a long time in between victims for him. In the meantime, the guy has had to earn a living in order to eat, has had to interact with people—”

“Just because he works with people doesn’t mean he has to be friends with them,” she pointed out. “And most people don’t bring their cats to work.”

Nick wasn’t ready to let the point drop. “Ever hear of transfer, Special Agent?”

She sighed. This wasn’t getting them anywhere; it was only serving to amuse the lab tech. “I’ll keep an open mind.”

“Nice to hear,” Nick commented.

They had begun to leave when Natashya called after him. “By the way, Special Agent Brannigan.” Nick turned around, waiting. “Hank wanted me to tell you something if I saw you.”

“I’ll just—”

Before he had a chance to cut her off and say he’d swing by Garcia’s station, Natashya gave him the message, in front of Charley. Exactly what he hadn’t wanted.

“He said the report on the rabbit is ready. And that you might be interested to know that the rabbit was pregnant.”

The enigmatic message caught Charley’s attention immediately. Just as he knew it would. She stopped and glared at her new partner. “You get a rabbit into trouble, Special Agent Brannigan?”

Instead of laughing her question off, he shrugged carelessly as he continued walking out the door. “In a manner of speaking, I guess I probably did.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

HE WAS STRIDING ahead of her. Charley quickened her pace, caught him by the arm and refused to let go until he turned to her.

“Okay, you’re not going anywhere until you explain that one,” Charley informed him tersely. Her question to him about the rabbit’s plight had been a joke. His response apparently hadn’t been.

Nick didn’t want to discuss it. He wished the technician had kept his mouth shut.

“Just something I need to look into.”

“Regarding the case?”

Nick stretched the truth. And credibility. “Possibly.”

“And possibly not,” Charley concluded. The way she said it let Nick know on which side of “not” she thought it stood.

He had too much on his mind to play games. “Look, Special Agent Dow, if you want to put me on report with A.D. Kelly—”

Charley stared at him, puzzled. “Why would I want to do that?”

Nick threw up his hands. Depending on policy enforcement here, she had the ammunition to get another partner. “For abusing the facilities.”

Her expression told him that she didn’t quite see it that way, nor did she want to play it like that.

“I just heard a ‘possibly,’” she informed him lightly. “That’s good enough for me—if you tell me just how a pregnant rabbit figures in your life.”

Not wanting the conversation to carry throughout the entire floor, Nick ducked into an alcove. Charley went right along with him. “That’s what I was trying to find out.”

The alcove, she realized, was just a fraction too small. And she was standing more than a fraction too close to Brannigan. She moved back as far as she could, creating a whisper of a space between them. She found the need for air urgent and immediate.

“I need a little more information than that,” she told him. “Did you find one on your doorstep?”

“Yes.”

Her eyes widened at the response. “I was just kidding.” Charley turned the situation over in her head. “You’re new to the neighborhood, aren’t you?”

“Yes.” He gave the answer guardedly, not knowing where she was headed with this.

“Maybe the rabbit was intended for someone else. The tenant who lived in the apartment before you,” Charley suggested. “Or maybe someone got their apartments mixed up.”