of malicious pleasure. "With everything that happened last night, the

task force is looking exceptionally inept."

"We're doing everything we can," Moss said. "In fact, Sergeant Kovac asked me to have you stop by the station later today, Mr. Urskine, with a copy of your receipt for the inn you were staying at the weekend Lila White was murdered."

Toniurskine shot off the couch, her face flaming. "What! That's

outrageous! "

"It's a formality," Moss a.s.sured. "We're just crossing all our T's and dotting all our I's."

"It's hara.s.sment, that's what."

"A simple request. Of course, you're under no obligation to comply at

this time. Sergeant Kovac didn't see the need for a warrant, considering how strongly you both feel about the thoroughness of the investigation."

Gregg Urskine gave a nervous laugh, his attention on Toni. "It's okay,

honey. I'm sure I can find the receipt. It's not a problem."

"It's an outrage!" Toni snapped. "I'm calling our attorney. We've been nothing but conscientious citizens in all of this, and this is how we're treated! You can leave now, Ms. Moss. Mr. Marshall," she added, including Rob as an afterthought.

"I think what we have here is a simple communication problem," Rob saidwith the nervous grin. "If my office can in any way facilitate-"

"Get out."

Gregg Urskine reached out. "Now, Toni-"

"Get out!" she shrieked, batting his hand away without even looking.

"We're only trying to do the best job for the victims, Mrs. Urskine,"Moss said quietly. "I thought that was what you wanted. Or is that onlywhen the cameras are rolling?"

"HAVE YOU HAD a chance to talk to your friend in Milwaukee?"

Kate asked. "You faxed her the picture, right?"

"Yes, on the second. No, on the first," Susan Frye answered.

Kate thanked G.o.d she had chosen to call rather than walk to the woman's office. Her frustration and impatience would have shown, she knew.Stress had shredded the veneer of manners, leaving all the emotionalnerve endings exposed and raw. At this point, she thought, one wronganswer might drive her over the edge, and she'd wind up like the guywith the gun in the atrium.

"She's been tied up with a trial," Frye said. "I'll call and leave her a crp message.

"Today." Kate realized too late the word had come out as an order ratherthan as a question. "Please, Susan? I'm in a world of hurt with thiskid.

I don't know what Rob was thinking. He should have a.s.signed her tosomeone on your side of the fence. I don't do kids. I don't know how.

And now she's gone-"

"I heard she might be dead," Frye said bluntly.

"Don't they think she's the victim from last night?"

"We haven't heard for certain." Kate mouthed the word b.i.t.c.h after.

Some friend, swinging for the low blow. "Even if it's true, we have toknow who the kid is-was-so we can try to contact her family."

"I'll guarantee you right now, Kate: You won't find any who could give ad.a.m.n or she never would have ended up in this mess. Poor kid would havebeen better off aborted in the first trimester."

The callousness of that statement struck Kate hard as she thanked Susan Frye for her dubious a.s.sistance and hung up the phone. It made herwonder what exactly had brought Angie Dimarco into the world chance?fate? love?

the desire for a check from Aid to Families with Dependent Children? Hadher life gone wrong from conception, or had the mistakes come later,like tarnish slowly growing on silver that had been minted shiny and bright?

Her gaze went to the little picture of Emily in the pocket of heroverhead cupboard. A beautiful small life, luminous with the promise ofthe future. She wondered if Angie had ever looked that innocent, or ifher eyes had always held the weary bitterness of a bleak existence.

"Poor kid would have been better off aborted in the first trimester.

But Angie Dimarco was living out her sad life, while Emily's had beentaken.

Kate bolted out of her chair and began to pace the tiny s.p.a.ce that washer office. If she didn't lose her mind by the end of the day, it wasgoing to be a miracle.

She had fully expected a command to Sabin's office first thing, or, atthe very least, an order to Rob's office for a formal dressing-down forthe things she'd said in the parking lot the previous night. No suchcall had come .. . yet. And so she had tried to fend off thoughts ofAngie being dead by taking productive measures to find out about thegirl's life. But every time she so much as slowed down her thoughtprocess, she heard the screams from the tape.

And every time she tried to think of something else entirely, shethought of Quinn.

Not wanting Quinn in her mind, she sat down again, grabbed the telephonereceiver, and dialed another number. She had other clients to think of.

At least she did until Rob fired her.

She called David Willis and got a very long, overly detailed explanationof how to leave a message on his machine. She tried her rape victim athome with similar results, then tried her at work and was told by themanager of the adult bookstore that Melanie Hessler had been fired.

"As of when?" Kate demanded.

"As of today. She's had too many absences."

"She's suffering from post-traumatic stress," Kate pointed out.

"Because of a crime committed against her on your property, I mightadd."

"That wasn't our fault."

"Post-traumatic stress has been ruled a disability by the courts, andtherefore falls under the Americans with Disabilities Act." She sank her teeth into the sense of injustice, almost glad for the chance to tearinto someone. "If you discriminate against Melanie on the basis of thisdisability, she can sue you out ofof existence."

"Listen, lady," the manager said, "maybe you ought to talk to Melanieabout this before you go around threatening people, 'cause I don't thinkshe's all that bent out of shape about it. I haven't heard boo from herall week."

"I thought you said you fired her."

"I did. I left it on her machine."

"You fired her on her answering machine? What kind of rotten coward areyou?"

"The kind that's hanging up on you, b.i.t.c.h," he said, slamming down thereceiver.

Kate hung up absently, trying to think when she had last spoken toMelanie Hessler. A week ago at most, she thought. BC-before the Crematorcase. There hadn't been time to call her since. Angie had taken up allher time. It seemed too long now that she thought of it.

Melanie's calls had become more frequent as the trial drew closer andher nerves wound tighter and tighter.

"I haven't heard boo from her all week.

Kate supposed she might have gone out of town, but Melanie would havelet her know. She checked in as if Kate were her parole officer. Thisfelt wrong. The court, in its infinite wisdom, had seen fit to releaseMelanie's attackers on bail, but the cops had been good about keepingtabs on them, with the detective in charge of the case staying on top ofthe situation.

I'm Just spooked about everything because of Angie, Kate thought.

There was probably no cause for alarm. Still, she followed herinstincts, picked up the phone again, and dialed the detective in s.e.xcrimes.

He'd heard nothing from their victim either, but knew that one of herperps had been picked up over the weekend for a.s.saulting a formergirlfriend. Kate explained what she knew and asked him to drop byMelanie Hessler's house, just to check.

"I'll head over that way after lunch."

"Thanks, Bernie. You're a peach. I'm probably just being paranoid, but.. ."

"Just because you're paranoid doesn't mean life's not out to get you:@"True. And my luck isn't exactly on high tide here."

"Hang in there, Kate. Things can always get worse."

Cop humor. She couldn't quite appreciate it today.

She tried to turn her attention to a stack of paperwork, but turned awayfrom it and pulled Angie's file instead, hoping she might see somethingin it that would prompt an idea for some kind of action.

Sitting in this office, waiting, was going to make her brain explode.

The file was woefully thin. More questions than answers. Could the girlhave left the Phoenix herself? If so, where had the blood come from? Sheflashed on the scene in the bathroom: the b.l.o.o.d.y handprint on the tile,the diluted blood trickling down the tub drain, the b.l.o.o.d.y towels in thehamper. More blood than any reasonable explanation could account for.

But if Smokey Joe had come for her, how had he found her, and how was itRita Renner had heard nothing-no doors, no struggle, no nothing?

More questions than answers.

The phone rang, and Kate picked it up, half hoping, half dreading tohear Kovac on the other end of the line with news of the autopsy onvictim number four.

"Kate Conlan."

The polished voice of a secretary delivered unwelcome news of anothervariety. "Ms. Conlan? Mr. Sabin would like to see you in his officenow."

CHAPTER 24.

"SO, IS THIS SERGEANT KOVAC comingorwhat?"

Liska checked her watch as she walked back into the interview room. It was almost noon and the room was uncomfortably hot.

Vanlees had been waiting almost an hour, and he wasn't liking it.

"He's on his way. He should be here anytime now. I called him the minuteyou said you'd come talk, Gil. He really wants to get your take onthings regarding Jillian. But, you know, he's over at that autopsythewoman that got lit up last night. That's why he's running late. It won'tbe much longer."

She'd given him that line at least three times, and he was clearly tiredof hearing it.

"Yeah, well, you know I want to help, but I got other things to do," hesaid. He sat across the table from her wearing work clothes-navy pantsand shirt. Like a janitor might wear, Liska thought. Or like a copuniform with no embellishments. "I've got to work this afternoon-"

"Oh, you're squared with that." She waved off his concern. "I calledyour boss and cleared it. Didn't want you getting into trouble for beinga good citizen."

He looked as if he didn't like that idea much either. He shifted on his chair. His gaze went to the mirror on the wall behind Liska. "You knowwe have one of those at the Target Center, back in the offices.

Anybody on the other side?"

Liska blinked innocence. "Why would there be anybody on the other side?

It's not like you're under arrest. You're here to help us."

Vanlees stared at the gla.s.s.

Liska turned and stared at it too, wondering how she must look to Quinn.

Like some worn-out barfly in a smoky lounge, no doubt. If the bags underher eyes got any bigger, she was going to need a luggage cart to carrythem. The middle of a serial murder investigation was not the time to want to impress anyone with her fresh good looks.

"So you heard about the fourth victim," she said, turning back toVanlees. "That's some b.a.l.l.s this guy has, lighting her up in thatparking lot, huh?"

"Yeah, like he's trying to send a message or something."