I scrunched down into my seat. I wasn't sure I wanted to talk about this now. "Different things remind me of her. Especially Sundays. We'd sleep until noon sometimes, treat ourselves to a nice brunch. Or visit the duck pond near the river. St. Tony's. Long walks in Garfield Park. It's a sad, confusing thing, John that she died so young. It especially hurts that I could never solve her murder."

Sampson kept on hounding me with questions. He gets that way sometimes.

"You and Christine are doing all right?"

"No," I finally admitted. But I couldn't quite get out the whole truth. "She can't get over what happened with Geoffrey Shafer. I'm not even sure that the Weasel is dead. We finished here?"

Sampson grinned. "Food, or my cross-examination?"

"Let's go. Let's find Errol and Brianne Parker. Solve the bank robbery. Take the rest of the day off."

Chapter Ten

Around seven o'clock Sampson and I decided to take a dinner break. We figured we'd be working late, probably past midnight. It was that kind of case. I went home for supper with the kids and Nana Mama.

I ate, and complimented Nana on her cooking, but I didn't taste much of anything. I was keeping the Christine thing bottled up inside me. Not too bright on my part.

Sampson and I agreed to meet around ten to check out a few night crawlers who would be easier to find after darkness fell. At quarter past ten, we were trolling Southeast again in my car.

Sampson spotted a small-time drug hustler and snitch we knew. Darryl Snow was hanging out with his boys in front of a bar and grill that kept changing its name and now was called Used-To-Be's.

Sampson and I hopped out of the Porsche and came up fast on Snow. He had nowhere to run. As always, Darryl was a drug-hustler fashion-plate: Crimson nylon shorts over blue nylon pants, Polo T-shirt, Tommy Hilfiger windbreaker, Oakley shades.

"Hey there, Snowman," Sampson said in his deep voice. "You're melting away to nothing."

Even Snow's hustler friends laughed. Darryl was around five eleven, and I doubt he weighed a hundred and twenty pounds with his clothes on, designer labels and all.

"Walk and talk with me, Darryl," I told him. "This is not open to discussion."

His head shook like a dashboard doll's, but he reluctantly went along. "I don' wanna talk to you, Cross."

"Enrol and Brianne Parker," I said, once we were far enough away from the others.

He and I continued the floor-to-floor search. The building was damp and smelled of urine, feces, mildew. The stench was unbearable.

"I've seen better Holiday Inns," I said and Sampson finally laughed.

I shoved open another door, and knew by the putrescent odor that we'd found dead bodies. I waved the flashlight and saw Brianne and Errol. They no longer looked human. The building was warm and decomposition began faster. I calculated they'd been dead for at least a day, probably more.