Gene half-stumbled down the stairs, legs stiff from hours of sitting. Doug's face was green. He sighed when his feet touched the asphalt and he looked ready to kiss the ground.
They shook hands and introduced themselves. Mr. Tailored-Suit, an attaché to the mayor's office, was concerned about a potential killing in his city. Gene forgot his name the instant he'd heard it, then blew him off as diplomatically as possible to talk to the policemen.
Twenty minutes later, Gene found himself in a private suite reserved for airline executives. It had a fully stocked bar that no one was allowed to touch while on-duty. Marty sauntered over and poured himself a Glenlivet on the rocks, then got trapped in the role of bartender. Everyone but Gene and the mayoral suit ordered a stiff one.
Once comfortable, Gene got started. "Thanks, everybody, for coming down, but I'm sure Agent Greene has already briefed you." Sam chirped a "yup" into his earpiece. "The D Street Killer is going to kill someone in Missouri this week unless we stop him." He held up his hand to prevent the suit from interrupting. When the man closed his mouth, Gene continued. "What we don't know is who, or where in Missouri. Or why. Or by what method. Basically, all we know is that we're in the right state."
Robbie Barnhoorn let out a low whistle. "Y'all have your work cut out for you, that's for sure." He handed Gene a folder. "We're getting you set up with a full suite down at the Marriott. Computers, beds, doughnuts, coffee. The works. The place is booked up with the big tech conference this week, but we managed to squeeze you in." He inclined his head toward the sandy-haired gentleman. "The mayor's office is covering food and coffee as a gesture of good faith, as well as Mr. Gardner here, to help cut through any red tape. You tell him anything you need that I can't get you, he'll make sure to get it done."
Sam spoke in Gene's ear. "Tell them we need access to the hotel's security tapes for the past week and a direct feed ongoing while you're there. We can try to face-match anyone from the store camera back here. He knew where you were shopping, so he might know where you're staying."
Gene looked up to see the others staring at him. He smiled apologetically. "Sorry, that was Sam Greene on the COM. She wants security tapes from the hotel, dating back at least a week, and their video feed ongoing."
The mayoral attaché patted his briefcase. "I can pressure them to release the tapes and patch you in without letting them know why you're there. Hotels are pretty cooperative with open investigations."
Gene nodded, grateful for the assistance. Political appointees to investigations were usually more of a pain in the butt than a help. He opened his mouth to reply when his phone rang. The caller ID said D Street Killer. Unknown Number.
"It's him." The background chatter in the room came to an immediate halt. "He's spoofed caller ID, identified himself as the D Street Killer." He put his hand on the button and spoke into the air. "Sam?"
"Tracing," Sam said. "Keep him on as long as you can."
Gene hit "speaker." "Hello?"
The voice was the same, mechanical and without inflection or accent. "Did you have a nice trip, Agent Palomini? I've always hated those tiny little planes. They suck in this kind of weather. Is Agent Goldman keeping his supper down okay?" Everyone looked at Doug, who flushed with anger.
"I—" Gene began. D Street cut him off.
"I can't have you tracing this call past Singapore, so I'll keep this short. I'm feeling feisty and wanted to give you a bit of a head start. J.Z.B." The phone went dead.
Sam's voice spilled out of it. "DAMN IT! I had him in Singapore, where I hit one hell of a glitch. The trace went in eight directions at once. Not sure if it's hardware or what, but we'll see if it's physically there, then call their government. I bet I could have cracked it with a few more seconds."
Carl frowned. "This guy knows too much, Gene. Way too much."
Jerri pursed her lips, pensive. "What I don't get is, why is this one different? The call instead of the text, the two calls in one day. He’s even changed his M.O. on timing."
Marty looked annoyed. "Yup. Gave us the state, and now the initials. He didn't give us the city."
"I think he did," Doug said. "Maybe." He pointed at the TV, where a meteorologist droned on about the weather. A little dot of dark green surrounded by a larger wash of lighter green covered the St. Louis area. The rest of the Doppler screen showed nothing. "He said 'this weather.' He's in St. Louis, right under our noses." He sighed. "Maybe."
"Fuckin' A," Marty interjected. "Good catch."