Thistle’s new cubicle is a little bigger than her old one, and closer to the windows. It’s not a corner office, but it looks like a small promotion. Not too recent, though. She’s unpacked all her stuff. A photo of her Jack Russell terrier, a framed bravery medal, a curved ergonomic keyboard that doesn’t match the others in the building.

For the first time, I wonder why she was originally tasked with babysitting me while I was consulting. Not much of an assignment for a twelve-year veteran of the FBI. From what I saw, she was smart, hard-working and incorruptible—but she must have done something to piss off the old director. Maybe the new one likes her better.

She smooths down her skirt and sits at her desk, gestures to a swivel stool in the corner of her cubicle. I sit.

‘How you been, Reese?’ I ask.

She forces a smile. ‘Fine, thanks. How about you?’

‘Yeah, good.’ I’m an addict with a steady supply, so I’m not unhappy, but not exactly happy either. I’m numb, which is the next best thing to non-existent.

‘Glad to hear it,’ Thistle says. ‘Got a case I thought you might be able to help us with.’

‘Oh.’

‘I know you like the weird ones.’ She taps her keyboard and the computer screen lights up. She types in a password. I watch her fingers: DollyParton84.

‘Weird how?’ I ask.

‘Day before yesterday, a math professor at Braithwaite University leaves work,’ she says. ‘He calls his wife, tells her he’s running late. Then he makes a withdrawal from an ATM.’

I stiffen. If Thistle is investigating one of Warner’s victims, that’s bad news. Either she’ll solve the case and I’ll be out of a job, or Thistle’s shoes could show up on a beach somewhere. The latter is more likely. It wouldn’t be the first time Warner has killed a cop.

‘How much?’ I ask.

‘Huh?’

‘How much was the withdrawal?’

‘Two hundred and sixty bucks,’ Thistle says. ‘Why?’

‘Did he have more than that in his account?’

‘Yes. Don’t tell me you’ve solved the case already?’

Warner’s men would have withdrawn more. ‘No,’ I say. ‘Sorry—just wanted to know if it sounded like run-away money.’

‘Don’t think so, but it’s more than just day-to-day money, wouldn’t you agree?’

‘I would.’ Theories are already bubbling up in my brain. I push them away. It’s always tempting to come up with a solution too early.