"Yes, I heard he still denies his guilt," Bradley responded. "But I still would like to speak with him."

"Well, I guess if you want to waste your time, that's up to you. I'll talk with the warden when he gets in this afternoon. Once he approves it, I have to get the prisoner's permission for the interview," she said. "I can get back to you later this week."

"That would be great, thank you, Christa," he said. "Oh, and I'd like to bring a former Chicago police officer with me. She's working on the case too. Her name is Mary O'Reilly."

"Okay, I'll add that to the request," she said. "I'm sorry, Bradley, but I really don't think talking to the b.a.s.t.a.r.d is going to do you any good. "

"Well, I've got to try," he said. "Thanks again, Christa."

"You're welcome, Bradley. I'll call you back as soon as I have any information."

He hung up the phone and sat back in his chair. Everyone was so sure Emil killed those boys, could Timmy have been mistaken? Ian mentioned that ghosts could forget, had Timmy forgotten the sound of his killer's voice?

A knock on his office door interrupted his thoughts. "Yes?"

The door opened and Mary peeked inside. "Can I come in? Am I interrupting anything?"

Bradley smiled up at her, his heart filling with complete joy. He hoped he always felt this way when she entered a room. "Please, come in," he said, standing and walking towards her. "I haven't had my minimum daily requirement of Mary O'Reilly yet."

She met him halfway across the room. "Daily minimum requirement?" she asked.

He looped his arms around her waist and pulled her close. "I can't survive the day without it," he replied.

"And what would the minimum requirement be?"

"A smile, a phone call or the sound of your laughter," he said, meeting her eyes. "But those aren't the daily recommended requirement."

She laughed. "Oh, well, then what would the recommended requirement be?"

He kissed her gently on the lips. "At least one of those," he said, "and preferably more."

She sighed softly, reached up and kissed him back. "How many more?"

He returned her kiss, his lips lingering longer and increasing the heat. "Oh, well, that's the beauty of it," he whispered, adding still another kiss.

"What?" she asked quietly, threading her hands through his hair.

"There are no limits," he said, gazing into her eyes. "You just can't overdose on Mary O'Reilly."

She tugged his head down, "I'm so glad to hear that."

A few moments later the intercom buzzed and Bradley exhaled slowly. He gave Mary one more quick kiss on her lips and moved to the desk. He pressed the b.u.t.ton on his intercom. "Yes, Dorothy?"

"Sorry to interrupt, Chief," Dorothy said, amus.e.m.e.nt evident in her voice. "You have a call from the Lena Police Department. Chief Richards. Do you want me to put him through?"

Bradley walked around his desk and sat in his chair. "Well, isn't that interesting," he said. "Give me a minute and then transfer him in here. Thanks, Dorothy."

Straightening her hair, and working on getting her heart rate back to normal, Mary took a seat on the other side of the desk. "Why is a call from the Lena Police Department interesting?" she asked.

"Because I called Dixon this morning asking to see Emil Forrest," he said. "And I'm just guessing someone placed a call to Chief Richards."

"So, what are you going to tell him?" Mary asked.

Bradley shrugged. "Probably nothing at all," he said. "But it will be very interesting to see what he tells me."

Chapter Seventeen.

The doorbell rang and Ian looked up from his breakfast at the kitchen clock. Who in the world comes by a house at 8 a.m.? he wondered. He quickly walked over to the door and opened it. Maggie Brennan stood at the door, a large pamphlet clasped in one hand and a pen in the other. She was wearing a brown sash with brightly colored badges over her coat and a brown beanie on her head. Her mother was standing on the sidewalk, waiting for her.

"So, you've gone and joined the Army, have you?" Ian asked her, leaning against the door jamb.

"No, silly," she said. "I'm a Brownie."

"Ach, no you aren't," he replied. "I've seen brownies and they are the most mischievous fairies you'd want to meet, unless of course, some changeling has come and switched places with me Maggie."

Giggling, she shook her head. "No, I'm a Girl Scout Brownie," she said.

"Oh, well, now that's much better," he said. "And what can I do for you this fine morning, Miss Girl Scout Brownie."

She held up the sheet. "I'm selling cookies," she said. "Want to buy some?"

Ian squatted down and took the sheet in his hand. "Well, I've never had Girl Scout cookies before," he said, peering over the sheet at her. "Are they good?"

"They are the bestest cookies in the world," she replied.

"Better than Rosie's cookies?" he asked.

She bit her lower lip and pondered that for a moment. "Oh, well, the next bestest cookies in the world."

"Aye, well that's saying a lot for them," Ian said with a grin. "And how many do most people buy?"

She quickly glanced over her shoulder to gage how far away her mother was standing. "Well, most people only buy a few boxes, but the one who sells the most boxes gets a special patch and a prize," she said, with a little sigh. "But none of the girls try for the prize because Mary Margaret Kelly always sells the most."

He smiled and nodded. "And how many does it take to sell the most," he whispered conspiratorially to her.

"Mary Margaret Kelly has lots of cousins and aunts and uncles," she whispered back. "And she sold eighty-eight boxes of cookies last year."

"Well, eighty-eight boxes, that is indeed a great amount of cookies," he said. "Do you have a moment for me to send out a text?"

She smiled and nodded.

Our dear Maggie needs to sell more Girl Scout Cookies than Mary Margaret Kelly, her arch nemesis. MMK sold nearly 90 boxes last year. How many are you willing to buy? he typed into his phone, copying Mary, Bradley, Rosie, Stanley and Sean.

"Well, I'm thinking I need at least 40 boxes meself," he said. "Perhaps we could pick out an a.s.sortment while we wait for the others to answer."

"You need 40 boxes?" she asked, her face breaking into a huge smile.

"Aye, I'm a big fan," he said. "And what would you recommend?"

"Oh, you have to have Thin Mints and Samoas," she said. "And the Do-si-dos are peanut b.u.t.ter and the shortbread ones are Mom's favorites."

"Well, how many different kinds do you have?" he asked.

"My troop is selling eight kinds this year."

"Perfect, I'll take five of each."

"Really?" she asked, her eyes sparkling with delight.

He reached over and ruffled her hair. "Aye, really," he said.

His phone vibrated, he looked down, read it and laughed. "And Police Chief Alden will be buying 80 boxes of cookies," he said with a chuckle.

"Eighty boxes?" Maggie asked, her eyes wide. "That's like a hundred."

Ian laughed. "Aye, it nearly is," he said, looking down at his phone. "And Mary will be buying another 40, Rosie will have 20 and Stanley wants 4 boxes of Samoas. Ah, wait a moment, Rosie just texted Stanley. Stanley will now have 20 boxes of Samoas."

Maggie shook her head. "How many is that?"

"That would be 200 boxes of cookies," he said. "Oh, wait a moment."

He looked down at his phone. "Well, it seems there must be a shortage of Girl Scouts in Chicago," he said. "Mary's brother, Sean, needs 40 boxes of cookies too."

Maggie jumped up and threw her arms around Ian's neck. "Thank you."

Ian hugged her back. "Well, you're welcome, little darling," he said. "Now how about I take your order sheet and fill it out for you. You can pick it up after school. Will that work?"

"Sure, I'll let Mary Margaret ask the teacher if she wants cookies," Maggie said. "That way she won't be too sad."

"That's sporting of you," Ian said. "Now off you go to school and I'll be seeing you this afternoon."

" *Kay! Bye Ian," she said, as she skipped down the stairs to her mother.

"Bye, darling," he called.

He watched as Maggie told her mother about the sale and Katie turned to Ian, her mouth open in astonishment.

"Don't say a word, Katie," he called to her. "We are all powerful cookie eaters here. She's doing us a favor."

Katie laughed and shook her head. "Thank you," she said.

"Our pleasure," Ian replied.

He closed the door and texted Mary as he returned to the table. Mary, darling, what the h.e.l.l is a Samoa?

Chapter Eighteen.

"This is Chuck Richards. Police Chief Chuck Richards. This Chief Alden?" the deep voice boomed through the speaker phone.

"Yes, this is Alden," Bradley replied. "How can I help you?"

"Well, actually, son, I was hoping I could help you. I understand you're interested in the Forrest killings back in the 90s."

"Yes, I am, as a matter of fact," Bradley replied.

"Well, not meaning to tell you your business, son, but you might not realize you're venturing into a land mine."

"How so?" Bradley asked, lifting an eyebrow at Mary.

"Lotta folks related to them boys," he said. "And they don't like to be reminded about their loss. And, most importantly, they don't like folks messing into something that's already been decided."

"Well, I can a.s.sure you, I'm not planning on messing into anything," Bradley replied, shaking his head.

"I heard you wanted to talk to Forrest."

"Yes, I do."

"If there was any justice, that man would be dead already," Richards said. "d.a.m.n shame the governor put that moratorium on the death penalty."

"Well, he just did it because some innocent men were accused of crimes they didn't commit," Bradley said.

"You saying you don't think Forrest killed those boys?"

Mary grinned and rolled her eyes.

"No, I'm not saying that at all," Bradley responded calmly. "I merely want to interrogate a man about a similar crime during the time he was convicted for killing those five boys."

Mary nodded her approval.

There was a long pause on the other end of the line. "You saying you discovered another body?"

"I'm saying I would like to speak with Emil Forrest because I have information about a similar crime during that time period," Bradley repeated.