“I told you, Al. I told you everything I know.”
“Goddamn it, you’re smarter than this, Louis.”
“I know that.”
Horton started to say something then stopped. He ran a hand over his hair and waved at the chair. “Sit down.”
Louis took the chair across from Horton. Horton went back behind his desk and sank into his chair.
“After Mr. Umber was done chewing my ass off, he started crying,” Horton said. “I mean, like bawling, and the mother was just sitting there like a zombie, not even looking at him. Then suddenly she talks, like for the first time since they came in.”
Horton shook his head. “She looks up at me and asks if I know who killed her daughter. I didn’t have an answer for her.” Horton looked at Louis. “You wanna go out there and try?”
Louis was silent.
Horton picked up a folder, pursed his lips then dropped it.
“Look, I don’t know what we’re dealing with here,” he said, his eyes still on the folder. “But this guy, whoever he is, is a real sadist. I don’t know if that old article about the other missing woman means anything. All I know is I have a real body over there in the morgue and real parents here in my station wanting to know who killed their kid.”
“Al, you know as well as I do that if he took one, there could be others, and this thing from 1953 could be part of it,” Louis said.
Horton was silent. “God, I don’t want to go through this again,” he murmured finally.
Neither did Louis. He had only dealt with one serial killer but he had learned that the wake they left behind was more than just a matter of body counts. It was the terror of having to descend into the blackest pit of human nature and hope you could climb back out when it was over.
Horton was staring at the file on his desk. He reached out and pushed it across the desk. “I’m going to do you a favor,” he said. “I’m going to let you redeem yourself.”
Louis could read the tag on the file. It said 87-23445 UMBER, S.
“I want you to work with Landeta on this,” Horton said.
Louis sat back. “Shit, Al...”
“I’ve got no one I can put on this right now. You’ve got experience with this kind of case and you’ve got a relationship with this guy’s daughter. If he makes contact, it’ll be with her, right?”
Louis was silent, his eyes on the file. He could hear the phone ringing outside, hear the sharp laugh of two men out in the hall somewhere.
“I don’t like Landeta, Al,” he said.
“I’m not asking you to. I’m asking you to help him find out who killed this girl.”
“He knows I’m going to be working this?”
“Yeah, he was as excited about it as you. I already told Mel he had no choice in this. But you do. So you wanna play cop again or not?”
Louis hesitated.
“I’m not hiring you officially,” Horton said. “I’m not going to pay you. But I want you to work with Mel on this.” He paused, his eyes steady on Louis’s. “Do you understand what I am saying?”
Louis understood exactly. Without a badge he had fewer legal restraints. He could go anywhere, talk to anyone, and get what he needed by whatever means it took. He could do everything Mel Landeta could not.
Louis picked up the Umber file. “Okay, now what?” he asked.
Horton rose and straightened his tie. “I’m going to talk to Mr. and Mrs. Umber again. And you’re going to go make nice with Mel.”
CHAPTER 15
Louis had been the one to suggest they go over to O’Sullivan’s for a drink. Landeta had just stared at him then started off in the direction of the bar. They had said nothing to each other on the short walk over. Inside, Landeta had taken a table near the door, slipping into the chair nearest the window. Louis was forced to squint into the sun at Landeta’s backlit face. He was sure Landeta had done it on purpose, a power-trip thing, and it pissed him off.
“You’re in the glare. You mind moving your chair?” Louis asked.
“In fact I do,” Landeta said. He reached into his breast pocket for a handkerchief. He slowly and carefully began to clean the yellow aviator glasses.
Louis sat back as the waitress brought their drinks, a beer for Louis and a Diet Coke with lemon for Landeta. Shelly Umber’s case file lay on the table between them.
Louis picked up his beer and took a quick drink. He spotted a couple of cops he knew sitting at the bar. They were staring at him and Landeta, whispering.
“I don’t like fuckups, Kincaid,” Landeta said.
“I don’t like assholes.”
“I didn’t lose a suspect.”