Page 137 of Cold, Cold Bones
“I guess that answers your question about Henry’s failure to pursue the locket lead.”
I looked a question at him. Invisible in the dark.
“Her butt’s been lassoed.”
“Good point.” Maybe. She’d had two full days to follow up on the thing.
Crossing from the car to the annex, Ryan and I both waved toward the patrol unit in the circle drive. The silhouette at the wheel may or may not have waved back. The headlights created two sparkling shafts piercing the rain.
Birdie greeted Ryan with a sequence of warm ankle rubs. Ignored me.
Ryan made me tea, grabbed a Fat Tire for himself. We settled on the sofa in the study.
My mood had nose-dived with Slidell’s call. I’d worked too many missing-child cases. So often, the outcome was tragic.
And the pesky id voice was back.
What was its bloody point now?
I couldn’t sit still.
Ryan suggested a movie. Birdie was all in. I let them choose. They pickedLegally Blonde.
Throughout, I chewed a cuticle on one thumb. Ryan repeatedly, but gently, lowered my hand from my mouth.
When the closing credits began rolling, I suggested we contact Slidell to see if the child had been found. Ryan shrugged. Whatever. As before, I switched to speakerphone.
“Yo.” Slidell picked up with his usual greeting.
“Yo,” I said.
“Yo,” Ryan said.
“That you,monsieur?” Slidell pronounced it “miss your.”
“It is,” Ryan said.
“How was the canvas?” I asked.
“These morons couldn’t find their own assholes without a diagram.” Dishes clattered in the background. Utensils. “They’re teaching our kids?”
“You hate kids.”
Slidell either missed or chose to ignore that.
“If anybody ever needs a talking dildo on legs, I know just the guy. This twerp principal.”
“What did you learn?”
“Jackshit.”
A woman queried Skinny on coffee. He answered in the affirmative.
“Brief me on the case,” I said.
Heavy sigh, then pages flipped in a spiral.
“The kid’s name is Olivia Lakin. White female, age eleven, with freckles, and carrot-red hair, braided.”
