Page 98 of Never Flinch

“So many sharp objects.”

“Plus the toaster,” Izzy says. “She brained him with the toaster even though he was probably dead already and she was bleeding like a stuck pig.”

“Domestic bliss,” Tom says.

“Happily ever after.”

When they head back to the Murrow Building to file their reports, Tom says the only good thing about the Surrogate Juror case is that the State Police, with Lt. Ralph Ganzinger heading the posse, have pretty much taken it over, because only the murders of Mitborough and Epstein happened inside the Buckeye City limits.

Izzy doesn’t argue, but she’s not happy. To her, “pretty much taken it over” is the wrong phrase. To her, they have pretty muchhoggedthe case. When they get back to the cop shop, things don’t improve. Patti in Dispatch gives her a message to see Lew Warwick ASAP.

She finds her lieutenant in a familiar position, tilted back in the ergonomic chair Izzy lusts for, hands clasped on his middle, one foot on the corner of his desk. He straightens up and speaks the usual incantation: “Welcome to my lair.”

She’s in no mood for it after carefully tiptoeing her way around the Greer apartment on Pine Street, trying not to track in what seemed like gallons of spilled blood, which would both pollute the evidence and ruin her new (newish, anyway) Salvas sneakers. “What can I do for you, Lewis?”

“You can report to Dingley Park from three to five every day this week, wearing your new blue shorts and your new blue tee-shirt, which comes with the Guns logo on the breast. There you and I will enjoy the sunshine, eat a hotdog or two, and practice, practice, practice.”

“What?”Izzy drops into the far less comfortable chair on the other side of Warwick’s desk. “Are youkiddingme? With this guy Trig running around and killing people?”

“The Staties have taken over that case, and I understand the Feebs are also showing an interest.” But his eyes slip away from hers. “Andyou’re on regular duty the rest of the time. Until Friday, of course. Then you’ll be at Dingley until the game is over. As will I.”

“I’ll be there until I get my ass handed to me in front of a thousand people, you mean.” She puts her hands on her head, as if fearing it might explode. “I can’t believe we’re going to spend time getting ready for agamewhen there’s a serial on the loose. In case you forgot, I actuallytalkedto the guy!”

“You talked to someone whosaidhe was the guy.”

“He sent me a picture of Corinna Ashford’s name in the hand of a dead woman!”

“Youthinkshe was dead. No body has been found. It could have been a prank.”

“It wasn’t,” Izzy says flatly. “I know it wasn’t.”

Warwick runs his hands down his cheeks, pulling a long and lugubrious face. “These orders to practice for the game don’t come from me, Iz. I’m just passing them on. I’m captaining the Guns team, but I’m not the Chief. If you know what I mean.”

“Patmore?”

“She says it’s all about the charities. In point of fact, she’s still pissed about Crutchfield.”

“The motor patrol guy who got the broken arm.”

“Leg, actually. And thereisthe charity angle. Patmore can see herself in front of a roomful of media, handing a giant check to the Head of Pediatrics at Kiner. Cops helping kiddies! Great publicity for the department.”

“Also for her.” Izzy is still steaming, but also resigned. It is what it is, and it ain’tLaw & Order. Also, she’d be lying to herself if she didn’t admit she feels a small but bright gleam of competition.

“There’s also you and Pill,” Lewis says, as if reading her mind.

“The fireman asshole who called me little lady.”

“That’s the one. The newspaper is sticking with the charity stuff, but Buckeye Brandon is all over the grudge-match angle on his podcast. He’s calling you Beauty and Pill the Beast.”

Izzy rolls her eyes.

“I know, but it’s going to put butts on the bleachers, and Patmore likes that.” Lewis stands up on his side of the desk, Izzy on hers. “I’m just the messenger, Iz.”

“And the message has been received. I’ll be there for practice, blue shorts and all. You and I can play long toss. Now may I be excused to do some actual work?”

“Absolutely. What’s up with the Trig case?”

“Ask Ganzinger.”

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