The minute Timmie said it she wanted to take it back. It was a small, ugly thing to say, and she knew better. Forget what Mattie or Walter would have said. Her father would have blistered her butt until she couldn't sit down. Especially since the name had rung a bell. She had heard of Skorcezy. She'd probably seen the human interest story with the picture of his young wife holding his bloody body in her arms on a downtown street. But somehow, she just couldn't admit it. So she ignored Mattie's stunned silence and Ellen's wide eyes and just walked out the door.
* * *
Murphy didn't show up for close to an hour. By that time Timmie had already been inside the house and retrieved her evidence. She sat with it in a paper bag on her front porch, shivering and watching the sky darken.
It had been where Mattie had said it would be, in the kitchen cabinet next to her sink, right where anybody not familiar with her house would expect it. A half-empty quart of C and G bourbon. Choke and Gag, her dad had always called it. The cheap stuff. Exactly the brand of bourbon she'd cleaned out of the house by the shopping cartful when she'd first moved in. And now it was back, and just in time for Jason to drink it in the final moments before being shot to death.
"You look like a kid wanting to run away from home," Murphy said to her in greeting when he stepped out of his car.
Timmie was shivering where she sat, the impulse of the original idea long since dead. It would have been wiser to wait inside with her find, but there was still an obscene Rorschach splotch on the living room wall, and Timmie didn't want to spend time with it.
"I need to take this to Micklind," she said. "Do you mind?"
He didn't move from where he leaned, with one elbow on his open door and the other on his roof. "Nope. He said he'd meet us there."
Timmie just nodded her head.
"We can go any time."
She looked over at him. "You still interested in that mindless sex, Murphy?"
Timmie would have thought he'd look more enthusiastic. "I'm always interested in mindless sex, Leary. You serious, or you just looking to warm up a little?"
She sighed. "I don't know."
"Well, while I highly recommend it, I suppose I should warn you that it does nothing to ease the guilt of turning a friend in to the police."
Oddly enough, that made her grin. "Romantic."
He really did look like an old beaten rug, especially in this light. But he didn't carry any baggage with him. At least none Timmie would have to help tote if she decided to just enjoy his wry smile and sly eyes for a while.
"Did you tell Micklind what I think?" she asked, climbing to her feet with all the grace and enthusiasm of a septuagenarian.
"Nope. Figured you could do that. I did have him run your friends for wants and warrants, though. He came up empty."
Timmie shook her head. "There's got to be some kind of record. Serial killers who are this adept at murder have had practice." Hefting the bag in her arms, she walked to Murphy's car. "There's a trail somewhere."
"You sure it's one of them?"
"Nope," she lied. "I just have a sinking feeling." They both climbed in, and Murphy started the engine. "Anybody could have killed those old people, but only somebody who knew about Jason could have killed him. And only the SSS knew about Jason."
"All of the SSS?"
"The way we share information, it wouldn't have taken long. Just look how fast that insurance news made the rounds."
"But you said there were only two names on the list that nurse gave you."
Timmie stared out at the houses on her block as Murphy backed the car out and headed down the hill. "I did, didn't I?"
"Well, if it's Ellen, why would she call the murders in?"
Timmie rubbed at her eyes. "How the hell do I know? How do we know she really did call? What if it really was Cindy?"
"I don't suppose you thought to ask each of them where they made their calls from."
"I thought of it. I couldn't quite motivate myself to do it."
"You're going to have to, Leary."
She gave a sour laugh. "They're my friends, for God's sake. I still can't believe they'd be capable of mercy killing, much less first-degree arson. Any of them."
"There's something else to consider," he said. "How did Jason end up at your house with a murderer while you were at work?"
Timmie clutched more tightly to the bottle in her arms. "I didn't arrange it, if that's what you mean." She paused, sighed. "At least I don't think I did. I don't really trust my judgment anymore."
"You still don't think it could have been gold... uh, Raymond? He's pretty close with your friends, and I can damn well bet he'd have plenty of reason to make you happy."
"He couldn't have killed Alice Hampton. The more I think about this, the more I see one mind. Passive, nonconfrontational, intelligent enough to plan it and get away with it for so long."
"Those mercy killings were so tough?"
"The nurses up there knew exactly what was going on. They just couldn't manage to stop it or catch who was doing it. Which reminds me, I have an expose article for you on the administration that's firing the nurses who tried to report a series of murders on their Alzheimer's unit."
Murphy scowled. "I'll give it to Sherilee. It's just the kind of shit she's looking for."
"You don't want it? It's a natural follow-up to a Pulitzer winner like this."
"I'm not sure I'll still be around. All this action's made me realize that I haven't escaped from anything here. So what's the point of staying?"
Timmie looked over, disappointed and relieved at the same time. The passing streetlights, flickering to life in the dusk, silhouetted Murphy's sharp features. His hair was still shaggy, his chin rough from inattention. His eyes were sharper than ever, capable of ferreting out truth from the most innocuous expression. Those eyes were the only real reminder Timmie still had of the life she'd lived until a few months ago.
"I'm going to miss you," she said, and found that she meant it.
Murphy gave her a fleeting look that bordered on wistful. "You could always come along."
Timmie felt even more ambivalent. Just as melancholy, as if they were already standing at the door. "Thanks for the offer, even though I know you wouldn't have made it if I could have gone."
Murphy laughed. "Actually," he said, sounding as surprised as she, "I think I would have."
Timmie couldn't even manage a pithy comeback.
"You really want to stay here?" Murphy asked.
Timmie smiled. "Believe it or not, yeah. I kind of do. It'll be good for Dad, good for Megs, and if I need action, St. Louis isn't so far away."
He took just long enough to pull into the police station parking lot before closing the conversation. "The invitation stays open," he said, turning her way.
Close, a handsbreadth away in this little sports car. Smiling as if he meant it. Timmie smiled back the same way. "Not without that meaningless sex, it doesn't. I'm going to get something out of this relationship besides computer access if it kills me."
He laughed. She laughed. He bent over his stick shift, wrapped a calloused hand around the back of her neck, and pulled her close for a kiss. Timmie tasted tobacco on him. She smelled soap and leather and cold air. She knew for sure that sex with Murphy would be hot and fun and frivolous, and that Murphy would end up being a good friend. She missed him even before he was gone.