I debated telling Willoughby about Jessica Jeben. For some reason, held back. Instead, “Again, I owe you.”
“Just admit it. I’m a ledge.”
“You are.” Unsure of Willoughby’s meaning.
“Anything else comes up, give us a bell.”
My mobile beeped an incoming call.
Ryan. Perfect.
I clicked over, the exhilaration making me so clumsy I almost dropped the phone.
“Good morning, detective.”Lentement.Slowly.
Ryan wasn’t fooled. “What’s up?”
“What?” Faux defensive.
“You sound like a junkie with an eight-ball.”
I shared what I’d just learned from Willoughby.
Ryan said nothing.
“I was right. The cases here are connected to those in Charleston.”
“Any word on the Jeben lead?”
“Vislosky asked for a rush. Even if they bump her request to the front of the line, results will still take a few days.
A moment, then, “We should celebrate.”
“It’s a little early to dig out the party hats.”
“True. But we can enjoy a nice dinner for no reason.”
“Tonight?”
“Why not.”
“Where?”
“I’ll surprise you. Be ready at seven.”
I sat a moment, talking myself down. Eyes on the landscape beyond the window by my desk.
Overnight, a gentler front had bullied out the Arctic cold, and twelve floors below, the melting snow was sending glistening black rivulets across the asphalt surface of the parking lot. In the distance, bloated clouds hung low over the Fleuve Saint-Laurent stretching dark and silent along the horizon.
When my pulse was again normal, I phoned Vislosky.
She answered right away. “Vislosky.”
While relaying Willoughby’s shocker, I could imagine that one cynical eyebrow lifting.
“Could be a major break,” I said after a long moment when Vislosky hadn’t responded.
“So now there are four.”