Before eating, Scott pulled out his cell phone but didn’t dial.
Eric chewed some of his chilli burger. ‘Why don’t you just call her?’
‘What? Who?’
‘You don’t look innocent, Scott. You can’t do innocent.’
Scott took a deep breath, stretched his arms over his head, arched his back, twisted his torso, and exhaled.
Eric looked at him. ‘I’m trying to eat here and you’re acting like it’s the warm up for the long jump.’
Scott re-holstered his phone and took a deliberately large bite of his meal.
Eric wasn’t finished. ‘What are you worried about – with Jayne, I mean?’
Scott shrugged, then swallowed. ‘I’m not worried. I just don’t want to start something while we’re working together.’
‘That didn’t stop you with Mindy.’
‘Yeah and look how that turned out.’
‘And Jayne isn’t married to the Bureau anyway, so I don’t buy that excuse on any level. Nor does it explain what you’ve been doing for the past five years.’ Eric took the time to chew. ‘You want me to find out if she’s dating someone? I’ll ask her. I’ll ask Steelie.’
Scott was fierce: ‘Don’t.’
‘Jesus. I won’t but Jayne’s not . . .’
Scott looked at him. ‘Not what? My type? I know that already.’
‘No, that’s not what I’m getting at. I’m saying I don’t think she’s necessarily easy to read.’
‘I know.’ Scott took a bite of food and then talked through the mouthful. ‘I can’t believe I’m taking advice from a guy who was married and divorced before he was thirty.’
‘I just got married too young. Now, in your case, that definitely won’t be an issue.’
Jayne turned on her phone as she and Gene strolled slowly back to her truck in the manner of people who’d eaten well and to satisfaction. She looked at the phone even though it hadn’t chirped to signify new voicemail. She wasn’t sure why she imagined she would have missed a call from Scott. He was on her mind as she thought about how soon they might have an evening like this. They’d had dinner together on the phone often enough. Scott eating at his desk in Atlanta, having stayed late on a case, while Jayne was at home, feeling giddy whenever his calls came after she’d showered so she’d be at her table in just a nightshirt. He’d only ever asked her once what she was wearing but it wasn’t one of those nights and she was too honest for her own good, thereby missing, she had always felt, the chance to go down a different path with him. But she’d never forgotten that he’d asked.
Gene broke into her silence as they got into the truck. ‘If you’re not too tired, I wouldn’t mind seeing this place of yours.’
Her mind hadn’t shifted gears yet. ‘My apartment?’
‘Sure . . . that too.’
‘Oh!’
He laughed and Jayne pulled out from the curb, telling herself to pay attention. ‘Sorry, I—’
‘Don’t apologize. Seriously, I wouldn’t mind seeing your office and your apartment. I’d like to see these places that are giving you so much therapy.’
Jayne suddenly turned right on Main Street. ‘All right,’ she said brightly. ‘We’ll swing by the office, then have coffee on my deck.’
Gene nodded and settled back on the seat, his elbow resting on the open windowsill, the night air brushing his hair off his forehead.
They passed Olvera Street, catching snippets of mariachi music and laughter from around the massive magnolia tree that marked the entrance to the enchantingly historic, if touristy, birthplace of LA. Jayne made the dog-leg turn to follow Hill Street through Chinatown, hitting every green light and bypassing the busses disgorging passengers in front of the alleys full of market stalls selling everything from suitcases to cell phone covers under a canopy of paper-mâché lanterns. She accelerated on to the 110 Freeway near Dodger Stadium and the LA Police Academy and crested the hill, passing through the short tunnels to emerge with a view of the transmission tower lights twinkling atop the San Gabriel Mountains on the other side of the valley.
She exited at Figueroa, navigated to San Fernando Road and drove fast along the four lanes, past the small trailer park, the old baseball diamond, and the tire repair shop. On the other side of the road, the rail lines and the LA River paralleled her route. The trough cut by the river made the air even cooler here. Eventually, she slowed to turn into the Agency parking lot. The light above the front door was on and the security lights on the corner of the building were illuminating the front and side.
‘So, this is it?’ Gene asked, getting out of the truck and stretching his long legs.
Jayne unlocked the front door and entered to disable the alarm using the security code on the nearby panel. She turned on the lights as she let him in. He looked around appreciatively.
‘Nice.’ He walked over to the reception counter and picked up one of the Agency brochures. ‘Can I have one of these?’
‘Sure. Wanna see the rest of it?’ She went into the next room and turned on the desk lamp. ‘This is my office. I do the interviews with families and friends of the mispers in here.’
‘Thus the sofas and tissues.’
‘Are you being flippant?’
‘That came out wrong. You do the interviews and then, what, you do the profile off of them?’
‘In part, and in part off any documentation we can get our hands on.’
Jayne walked down the hall, then realized Gene hadn’t followed her. She turned back to find him. He was looking at the filing cabinets behind her desk.
‘Are these all your cases?’
‘Yes.’
‘How many do you have?’
‘About a hundred.’
‘And how many have you matched up to bodies?’
‘Seven so far.’
‘Not very many.’
‘Yeah, but if one of those seven was, say, your father, would that matter? Those seven count for a lot.’
‘True. Sorry, I keep applying the business models we use at my company and I guess they don’t really apply. So where do you keep the closed files?’
She pointed at the top drawer of one of the cabinets and then watched as Gene walked over as though to open it.
‘We keep them locked for obvious reasons,’ she said.
‘I was just interested. Must look kinda empty. You got any plans to fill it up faster?’
‘Well, if you’d follow me, Mr Enthusiasm.’
This time he did follow her, past the kitchen to turn into the lab across from the bathroom.
‘This is where Steelie does the odontograms and the biometrics and we digitize relevant photos. It’s basically an anthro report done off of antemortem instead of the body.’
Gene was turning round, looking at different items on the counters and walls.
‘And this,’ Jayne said, pointing at a computer terminal at one end of the counter, ‘is where Steelie runs the All Coroners Bulletin, which is one of our best tools to speed up the rate with which we close cases and fill that file drawer.’
He looked curious. ‘How does that work?’
‘Basically, if we come across particularly identifiable characteristics that weren’t included on the original missing person report, we get to notify coroners with unidentified bodies through this dedicated network.’
He whistled. ‘That’s pretty good.’
He looked preoccupied for a moment then asked quickly, ‘You made any ID’s through it yet?’
‘No, but before you spread any more of your good cheer, I’m calling the glass half full on this one.’
‘Yeah, you might be right about that.’ He looked at the computer and lapsed into silence.
Jayne said, ‘I’ll just go to the ladies’ and then we’ll head over to my place.’
When she came out, she looked into the lab but there was no sign of Gene. She shut off the lights there and moved forward to her office. She found him sitting at her desk, revolving slowly in her chair.