The chief looked ready to spit. “Don Quixote and Sancho Panza … so, being a psychologist, Doc, you figure a crafty way to gain entry would be to hitch a ride with one of the peasants who services the castle, once you’re inside, you just mosey around at random in the hope of stumbling across definitive evidence?”

“I was hoping to catch Moon, Rader, or any of the kids leaving. But when I saw the volume of traffic, it occurred to me there might be an opening.”

“If Moon or Rader had left, you figured to tail them.”

“Discreetly.”

His face darkened. “Dr. Do-A-Lot. You talk to animals, as well?”

“If I’ve overstepped, I’m sorry.”

“Overstepped?” He laughed. “More like you’ve invented new dance moves. What day does the garbage get taken out at that place?”

Milo said, “I’ll find out.” He walked to the dining room doorway, talked on his cell.

The chief returned to his ribs, tried some pepper steak. Pincer-grasped a plump little pink shrimp out of the fried rice. “Not hungry, Doc?”

“Actually, I am.” I tried a rib. Greasy and delicious.

“Just like you,” said the chief.

“Pardon?”

“You’re like the damn ribs. Unhealthy but satisfying. Congratulations, Sturgis plodded along but you’re the one who learned something.”

“He—”

“No need to defend him, I know what he is, he’s good at what he does, as good as I’m gonna get. You, on the other hand, are a different animal. You piss me off without trying. You also make me wonder what the department would be like if everyone was super-smart and psychotically driven. Don’t tell Sturgis I said that, you’ll hurt his feelings.”

He and I ate in silence until Milo returned.

“Garbage collection’s in two days, sir.”

“Be there before the trucks arrive, Sturgis. Wear comfortable clothes and bring enough empty barrels to haul away every bit of trash. Don’t be noticed. Separate anything with DNA potential and run a match to the baby bones. Maybe this Qeesha character is still alive and shedding cells, we find an eyebrow pencil, a tampon, whatever, that links her to the bones, we’re a step forward. We also get an accurate victim count, two not three, and think of her as a homicidal bitch who killed her own kid.”

Milo said, “DNA analysis could take a while.”

“I’ll speed it through to the max.”

“Until then—”

“Until then you and your geniuses try to do what the doctor, an allegedly untrained civilian, was apparently able to accomplish: Watch the goddamn place without being seen. Prema or Donny or Qeesha appear, they get tailed. With finesse. Seduction, not rape, Sturgis.”

“Got it, sir.” Milo started to rise.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“Getting back to work.”

“This is work, Sturgis. Amusing the boss. Now don’t let me down, I want to see some calorie consumption.”

CHAPTER
45