Goddamn it. She’d recognized him. And now she was coming over to tell him what a horrible job he was doing, and someone had to catch this criminal and, in her day, by God, they would have nabbed him after the first murder, if not before—

The woman dropped something onto the table. The garrote wire. He looked up at her, his mouth open, but nothing coming out. She took the seat opposite his and shrugged out of her coat.

He looked down at the wire.

“It’s clean,” he said, because he couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“Yes, the boys wanted to leave the blood on it for you, but if you get blood in a silk pocket, it just never comes out.” She met his gaze. “You didn’t really think we’d leave our girl’s DNA all over it, did you?”

“Your girl?”

“Your witness?”

She was looking at him like he was an idiot. A twenty-year veteran, and he was gaping at a source like a rookie. He slapped down his mug hard enough to slosh coffee over the edge.

“Where’s my contact? If this is someone’s idea of a joke—”

“It’s someone’s idea of covering your ass, Dubois. You’re a public figure, in a public place…talking to a nice old lady. Probably calming her fears about this big bad killer. Even your boy in the corner is still busy watching the door for whomever you’re supposed to be meeting.”

He shifted in his seat. He had to take the upper hand—or at least find it.

“So who do you represent? I need to know who I’m—”

“A group of publicly minded individuals who’ve been chasing this madman for you. Protecting their…business interests.”

“What kind of business—?”

“What kind of business do you think your boy is in?”

“Who knows? Bunch of experts swear he’s—” Dubois stopped. “A professional kil—”

“Smart experts. And if he was a member of said profession, there would likely be other members of said profession more than a little annoyed with the heat he’s bringing down.” She looked at him. “Who better to stop a killer?”

“So who the hell are you?”

She smiled. “Their fairy godmother…and I just might be yours, too. Let me order a coffee and run a little business proposition past you.”

“So that’s it,” she said as she finished.

“And I somehow do all this without involving my team or my supervisors? This is the FBI, lady. I can’t wipe my ass without filling out a triplicate requisition for new toilet paper.”

She shrugged. “If it can’t be done, then we’ll find another way. Lure him in ourselves, take him down and notify the papers, telling them where to find the body—”

“Let me think about it.”