LITMIR.BIZ

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helpless look at Vanessa, she asked, “Do you, uh, work out, Agent Maguire?”

      “Rick. I prefer to run.” He took the envelope from Vanessa, turned it over.

      “Vanessa runs.” Geri settled a hip on the desk. “I bounce. Trampoline. It’s easier. I started when my husband and I split up six months ago. Thankfully, I’m almost divorced.”

      Rick’s smile was distracted. “Like two-thirds of the North American population.”

      “What stat sheets do you read?” However, when his arms came around her neck, the next words died in Vanessa’s throat. Even Geri looked somewhat disconcerted. “Uh, Rick…?”

      “Where did this come from?”

      “What come from?” All Vanessa could see was a white blur. She clamped her hands onto his wrists. “Stop shaking the paper, and I might be able to answer you.”

      Geri leaned in. “What is it?”

      Rick held the sheet steady. When Vanessa’s eyes focused, the bold, black words leaped out at her.

      

      NO DEATH CAN BE UNDONE.

      NOT THE ONE THAT MATTERS,

      AND NOT YOURS.

      Chapter Four

      “No death can be undone. Not the one that matters. And not yours—mine.”

      Vanessa spun the words through her head. Obviously someone who’d mattered to the murderer was dead. Had she killed that person? Had he?

      She spent the next two hours being grilled by Captain Palmer. Fortunately, once the initial furor had died down, he allowed her to leave.

      “I did shoot a guy once,” Vanessa told Rick when they reached the police parking lot. “He burst out of a house where he’d been barricaded for three hours carrying two handheld weapons. He winged a cop. I managed to get him in the leg. He dropped one weapon but kept shooting with the other. A patrolman put a bullet in his hip.”

      Rick rested a forearm on the roof of his car. “And then?”

      “The guy turned the remaining gun on himself. Held it up to his temple and squeezed the trigger. He survived the shot, but died two days later. The only relative we found called him an explosive freak and refused to arrange a funeral. Still, it’s possible we missed someone who cared about him, and that person blames me for his death.”

      “What about the other officer who fired?”

      “He had a coronary ten months later and left the force. Thirty days after that, he had a fatal attack.”

      “You’ve never shot anyone else?”

      “Well, yes, but never anyone who died either directly or indirectly from my bullet.” She pressed on her temples. “I loved riddles as a kid. I’m starting to hate them now. Maybe the message was intended to tell me there’s only one relevant murder here.”

      “Kill many to cover one?”

      “It does happen, Rick. The point is, I’ve been threatened before. You work in homicide, people tend to dislike you.”

      They were driving now. To where, Vanessa didn’t know and didn’t care, just so there was motion involved.

      Angling his car away from the hills, Rick asked, “Who has access to your desk?”

      “Lots of people, cop and civilian. Messengers, the guy who delivers sandwiches, the cleaning staff last night, a visitor this morning.”

      “We’ll test the seal for DNA and prints.”

      “Well, gee, I’d never have thought of that.” She pushed a little harder on her temples. “You didn’t have to bring Captain Palmer in on this. He was having a bad enough day as it was.”

      “He worries about you.”

      “He worries about everyone. One of our best detectives had a death threat painted on the side of his car in February. Palmer put him on desk duty for two weeks afterward.”

      “Palmer knew where that threat came from. The guy who wrote it liked to blow things up. The guy who sent yours…”

      “Probably packs a .32 and looks like Steve McQueen. I don’t want to sit behind a desk, Rick. Not for two weeks, not even for two days. A man I arrested for murder last year was sentenced to twenty-one years in prison. His shrink says the guy blames my testimony for the verdict and I should watch my back, because he has a number of scary but loyal relatives.”

      Rick glanced in the mirror. “Give me names. I’ll have the scum checked out.”

      “Palmer’s way ahead of you.” She slanted him an accusing stare. “You’ll worry him into high blood pressure, you know, and stress-related HBP can lead directly to a stroke.”

      “Palmer’s a big boy, Vanessa.”

      The pain in her head was seeping down her neck. “Your high-handed attitude is really irritating. I didn’t get to be a cop because Captain Palmer and my father were best buddies.”

      “Really?”

      “You didn’t know?”

      “I knew they were friends. I didn’t know about the best buddies thing.”

      She rocked her head from side to side. “They met in grade school, grew up together, were each other’s best man. They even got divorced around the same time.” She fought a moment of sadness by adding a vexing, “I worked my butt off at the academy. I climbed the ladder because I got results.”

      “You don’t have to tell me how good you are, Vanessa. Your record speaks for itself.”

      For reasons she didn’t fully understand, Vanessa wanted him to understand. “Palmer was in the delivery room when I was born.”

      “Why?”

      “Because my father was in Chicago and Uncle Terence—Palmer—wasn’t.”

      “So your parents were already having problems.”

      “You could say. They divorced before my second birthday. No big deal. They shared custody. Palmer taught me how to play baseball at a police picnic when I was seven.” She wasn’t sure why she’d added that, but since she had, she shrugged and went the distance. “I think he was in love with my mother.”

      At a red light, Rick ran a contemplative finger under his lower lip and studied her in profile. “Were you okay with that?”

      “It didn’t bother me. I knew my parents would never get back together. They were totally into their work. A bullet killed my father. Stress killed my mom. Given a choice, I prefer the bullet.”

      “Makes two of us.”

      His easy understanding surprised her. The path he was weaving through the city, now that just baffled. “Rick, where are we going?”

      “Mission District.”

      “And we’re doing that because…?”

      “I thought you might like to meet a friend of mine.”

      The laugh that rose felt good. “A friend?”

      He glanced over, his expression vaguely humorous. “Are you surprised I have friends or that I’m taking you to meet one?”

      The laughter settled into a smile. “Maybe it’s that I’m not sure what kind of friends you’ll have. Is this particular pal the famous Billy Joe Ruby?”

      “You know him?”

      “No, but I can do background checks, too. Social workers praise his efforts. They say he’s kept a number of kids out of juvie.”

      “He kept me out.”

      The

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