Hampton nodded again, still agreeing when she saw the chance. She was afraid she’d lost him, said the wrong thing by speaking the truth. “They think that at least some of the victims were innocent women from their neighborhoods. That E.R. nurse who was killed over the weekend, she was a friend of Cross and Detective John Sampson. Cross thinks a killer could be loose in Southeast, preying on women.”

“A serial killer in the ghetto? Give me a break. We’ve never had one there. They’re rare in any inner city. Why now? Why here? Because Cross wants to find one, that’s why.”

“Cross and the others would counter that by saying we’ve never seriously tried to catch this squirrel.”

Pittman’s small eyes suddenly burned into her skull. “Do you agree with that horseshit, Detective?”

“No, sir. I don’t necessarily agree or disagree. I know for a fact that the department doesn’t have enough resources anywhere in the city, with the possible exception of Capitol Hill. Now that’s political, and it’s an outrage.”

Pittman smiled at her answer. The chief knew she was playing him a little, but he liked her anyway. He liked just being in a room with Patsy Hampton. She was such a doll, such a cutie. “What do you know about Cross, Patsy?”

She sensed that the chief had vented enough. Now he wanted their talk to be more informal. She was certain that he liked her, had a crush on her, but he was too uptight to ever act on his desires, thank God.

“I know Cross has been on the force for just over eight years. He’s currently the liaison between the department and the FBI, works with the Violent Criminal Apprehension Program. He’s a profiler with a good reputation, from what I hear. Has a Ph.D. in psych from Johns Hopkins. Private practice for three years before he came to us. Widower, two kids, plays the blues on the piano at his house. That enough background? What more do you want to know? I’ve done my homework. You know me,” Hampton said, and finally smiled.

Pittman was smiling now, too. He had small teeth with spaces between them, and always made her think of Eastern European refugees, or maybe Russian gangsters.

Detective Hampton smiled, though. She knew he liked it when she played along with him — as long as he thought she respected him.

“Any other worthwhile observations at this point?” he asked.

You’re such a soft, flabby dick, Patsy Hampton wanted to say, but she just shook her head. “He has some charm. He’s well connected in political circles. I can see why you’re concerned about him.”

“You think Cross is charming?”