“While my people play mall cop, I’m going to do some real police work. You want to meet Craig Bogan?”

I did.

Gamble’s cranial fragments wouldn’t be ready for analysis for twenty-four hours. I had no other cases.

Hawkins would disapprove. Ditto Slidell.

Screw Hawkins and Slidell.

“I’m at the MCME,” I said. “Where shall I meet you?”

“Right outside. I’ll be there in thirty.”

I disconnected and dialed again.

This time the anger was pointed at me.

“What the hell are you thinking?”

“Good morning, Detective. Going to be another hot one out there.”

“Cotton Galimore is a slime-spewing, amoral, bastard of a scumbag.”

I had to give Slidell credit. His prose was creative.

“Don’t hold back,” I said.

“You’ve got no business breathing air with that freak show. He’ll use you, then ditch you like a snotty tissue.”

“Perhaps I’m using him.”

“Galimore’s a booger that you can’t flick off.”

“That was good. The way you expanded the metaphor.”

“What?”

“Why did you call?”

“The impending gang war turned out to be a cheating ex taking revenge on the love of his life. Killed her and the boyfriend, put the lady’s brother in the ICU.”

It is one of the most common causes of violence against women. The man threatens. The woman asks for protection, maybe gets a restraining order. Big help. The cops finally step in when Mr. Tough Guy actually batters or kills her. Every time I hear of a case like that, I feel the same outrage and frustration.

“If I can’t have you, no one can,” I said, voice coated with disgust.

“Yeah. Noble. Anyways, I’ve got a little downtime now, so I plan to check out the car Gamble and Lovette drove off in the night they disappeared.”

“The ’sixty-five Mustang described by Grady Winge.”

“Yeah. I’m thinking there couldn’t have been many of those. Wish I had the original damn file. I’m probably reinventing the wheel.”

“Are DMV registration records kept that long?”

“I’ll let you know.”

“Any mention of the car in Eddie’s notes?”

“That’s where I plan to start.”

I told Slidell about Larabee’s autopsy results. And about the abrin found in Wayne Gamble’s coffee.

“What the hell’s abrin?”

I provided a quick overview. Slidell saw the connection right away. “Like the shit what killed the landfill John Doe.”

“We don’t know if the man died of ricin poisoning. He’d also suffered head trauma.”

“Guess you could say that about Gamble.”

“But it’s not just the abrin,” I said.

I told Slidell about Gamble’s calls to me, about his anxiety, and about his decision to confront the person tailing him.

“So the FBI’s thinking Wayne Gamble got iced. Why?”

“I don’t know. But there’s more.”

I relayed what Williams had shared concerning Ted Raines.

“The feebs are fingering Raines?”