* * *
"I only accept gifts of alcohol at Christmas," Micklind said when they showed him what was in the bag.
Timmie wasn't in the mood for games. "If we're really lucky, we'll get at least a couple sets of prints off this. Especially if our murderer thought I wouldn't notice an extra bottle of bourbon in the house."
Micklind finally looked interested. "Anyone who'd ever spent time with your dad might make that mistake. I'll get 'em pulled. Anything else?"
Timmie sucked in a steadying breath. "Yeah. Sit down."
Twenty minutes later Micklind had all the information Timmie had, and Timmie learned that Alex hadn't been at the funeral because he'd been in interrogation, the cops had just searched Jason's motel room and come up with nothing of import but Timmie's phone number, and they were still waiting for phone records to see who else he might have called while he'd been in town. Timmie had also suggested they carry certain pictures to the motel and see if Jason had been seen in the company of any of the SSS. They'd been right. Jason's death had been no chance.
"And you're sure there wasn't any kind of history on the names I gave you?" she asked Micklind.
"Nothing more than traffic violations and the disorderly conduct we hit Dr. Adkins with when she tried to run over Vic's girlfriend once. One suspicious loitering, but that wasn't much."
"Suspicious loitering?" Timmie echoed. "Who, Cindy?"
"No. Ellen Mayfield."
"Ellen? Against who? Why the hell would Ellen loiter, suspiciously or otherwise?"
Micklind threw his hands up. "It didn't rate a big note in the file. I don't see it as practice for the big one, you know?"
"But you'll check."
"I'll check," he assured her. "Give us more time and we might be able to pull down work histories and stuff, but not tonight."
Murphy resettled in his chair, as antsy as Timmie. "Ms. Leary believes that whoever's doing this probably has a pattern already, or they wouldn't be this effective. Any way we could fire up VICAP or NCIC to see if there's a matching pattern anywhere?"
VICAP. Timmie almost leaped straight to her feet. "Oh, shit."
Micklind damn near reached for his gun. "Problem?"
But she was grinning. "You don't need to go through the computers. Conrad already did it for me."
Now both men were paying attention. "He did?" Murphy asked. "What did he come up with?"
"Nothing that made sense when I read through it before. But I have the printout at my house. We can look at it again."
A uniform tapped on Micklind's open door and leaned in. "Sarge, that nurse is in interrogation one for you."
Micklind scowled and climbed ponderously to his feet. "We only have one interrogation room, Bradley."
Bradley didn't smile. "Yes, Sarge."
"And here," he said, lifting the brown bag. "Have this bottle dusted ASAP. Carefully, Bradley."
"Yes, Sarge." He accepted the bag as if it held the grail and proceeded with it from the room.
Micklind shook his head at the young officer and then turned back to Timmie and Murphy, who were also on their feet. "We finally got the time to interview the unit nurses. Did you know the hospital already fired two of them?"
"Something I plan to help rectify," Timmie vowed.
Another uniform leaned in. "Those phone records are coming in."
Timmie almost sat back down. Micklind gave her one of his almost visible smiles. "You were going to check patterns you might recognize better than I would. I'll call if I find anything interesting here. All right?"
She glowered. "It'll have to be, won't it?"
Micklind pulled his jacket off his chair and slipped into it. "Oh, just for curiosity's sake, didn't you say that Chicago cop's name was John Dunn? I couldn't find a record of him anywhere. You sure he was a Chicago cop?"
Oh, good. Frustration and shame. "My mistake," Timmie admitted. "Evidently it wasn't Dunn. It was Skorcezy with a 'z'. Sergeant John Stanislaus Skorcezy, born in Chicago 1959, badge number 23548. He has a social security number, too, but I can't remember it. Cindy said he died in her arms."
Out of habit, Micklind jotted as Timmie talked. "You sure he was a sergeant?" he asked. "His badge number's wrong."
Timmie shrugged. "That's what Cindy gave me. But then Cindy also said she dated my fireman."
This time both of the men stared at her.
"Probably gave me his patrol badge," Micklind finally said. "Those are the only badges with five numbers."
Timmie raised her eyes. "Which meant he was probably a patrolman."
"I don't want to keep this nurse waiting. I may dig a little more later. Thanks for coming in."
"And you'll keep me apprised," Timmie said.
Micklind did smile this time. "Yes, ma'am, I will."
* * *
The last place Timmie wanted to return to tonight was her house. That was where she went, though, Murphy in tow. This time she didn't bother to turn on the lights. Only the fluorescent in the kitchen, which was plenty of light to find her mail. She couldn't believe she'd forgotten about the list of mercy killing cases Conrad had sent. She also wasn't all that sure it would help. But any port in a storm.
Besides, she hated having to wait for Micklind to chew his information before spitting it out. She was close; she could feel it. And trauma nurses were not paid for their patience. So she did one more thing.
Without bothering to ask Murphy, she grabbed the phone and dialed information for the number to the Red Roof Inn.
"Red Roof Inn, how may I direct your call?" the nasal, asthmatic operator asked in a rush.
"I'm sorry to bother you," Timmie said, greeting her in her best let's-both-solve-a-big-problem voice. "You had a guest there by the name of Jason Parker?"
Pause. "Maybe."
Timmie smiled. "I'm Mrs. Parker. His wife. I wanted to ask about his bill."
"Oh, ma'am... oh, I..."
"I know what happened," she said mournfully. "It's only been today that the police were finally able to tell me where he was staying. I... well, they gave me his effects, but I've been concerned about his bill. Jason simply never left a bill unpaid."
"Well, there was his credit card..."
"Which the company probably froze at his death. I thought if you didn't mind I'd just come by and settle it for you. For... Jason."
"Why, uh, thank you. We had to charge him till today, you know. And I'm sure... I don't mean to..."
"I'll be there in fifteen minutes," Timmie said.
"Those bills always list any phone number that's called and charged to the room," she explained to Murphy as she hung up the phone. When he didn't move, she frowned at him. "Somebody knew Jason was coming to my house. And Jason didn't know anybody in town but me. Don't you think that's a problem worth exploring?"
"The police are looking at the same information right now."
She stopped him with a look. "These are my friends. And once upon a time, Jason was my husband. I need to know."
Murphy just turned for the door. Grabbing the brown manila envelope that had been sitting beneath her toaster, Timmie followed. "I'll read this on the way over."
She tried her best to read by the overhead light, but Murphy's driving made her nauseated. Besides, Conrad's printer must have shared shelf space with the first Fortran computer. The information he'd sent her had been printed on what looked for all the world like disappearing ink.