Page 169 of Cold, Cold Bones
“Nice alliteration.”
“Eeh.”
“Why you?”
“Why not me?” Bristly.
“You’re CCU.”
“He and I was chewing the fat when the call came in. Figured I could sit here as well as anywhere, so I volunteered.”
Flash recollection.
“When I told you that Henry went to Asheville to investigate a credible terrorist threat, you sounded surprised.”
“Yeah. So?”
“Why?”
“Hadn’t heard any scuttlebutt.”
“Normally you would?”
“Word usually gets around. Not always.”
“Can you find out about that incident?” I scrolled through Notes. “She was up there on Tuesday, February 8.”
“You think I got nothing better to do than pester folks on account of your whims?”
“Did you tell Henry that Katy has gone incommunicado?”
“And have her sniffing around where she don’t belong? Fuck no.” Long suffering sigh. “I’ll call you when I can.”
He did. Within the hour.
“Henry was 10-10 that day.”
“Off duty.”
“Yeah.”
“Why would she lie to me?”
“Because she’s a douchebag.”
Mickey got back to me at seven. Her report was confusing at best.
Following our conversation, I phoned Slidell. Got voice mail.
I phoned Ryan. Got voice mail in French.
I made a grilled cheese sandwich and ate it with a Peach-Pear LaCroix sparkling water chaser. Birdie joined me. He likes the buttery crumbs.
After clearing the dishes, I phoned Slidell again. Paced. Cursed the weeny waver.
When the headache had throttled back a bit, I printed Herrin’s pic, got a magnifier from my briefcase, and resumed my efforts at deciphering, rotating the page and raising and lowering the lens.
Readability had not improved over the past two hours. Every edge was fuzzy and black streaks obscured most of the content. I guessed the original had been moved as the photocopy was still in process.
