And it wasn’t a meal I’d have cared to miss. Michael had gone all out, making reservations in the nearest city—Vancouver, Washington, just across the state border from Portland. He’d picked one of the best restaurants there. Upscale continental. The kind of place that made me really glad I’d packed the dress.

I ordered what I wanted. I never get the most expensive thing on the menu, but I don’t stress about the cost. Michael didn’t bat an eye, even suggested an appetizer. Added a very nice bottle of wine, too. I don’t know my wines, but it was good.

Michael kept my glass filled. Being a considerate guy, though, meant keeping his filled as well. Being nervous meant that he drank his a lot faster and didn’t seem to notice that I was barely on my second when he was starting his third. It hit him a lot harder, too, and by the middle of the entrée, the granite-jawed cop was gone and I was getting a very nice look at the guy underneath, the one who drove a modified BMW and blushed at being caught eyeing a pretty girl.

“—so at this point, the guy finally notices the video camera,” he was saying. “He stares at it for a minute. Just stares, like he’s never imagined such a thing in a liquor store. Then you see him mouth two words.”

“Oh, shit.”

“Exactly. He’s standing there, a hole in the ceiling behind him, broken bottles from his crash everywhere, blood dripping down his face. Then he sees the flashing lights. He could still run. But, no, he figures he can salvage this. Cops walk in two minutes later and find the guy leaving a twenty at the till with a note. Store was closed. Keep the change.”

“Big of him.”

“I thought so.”

He took another sip of wine. The server stopped by to ask about dessert. I took a menu, and Michael followed suit. As we read them, I could see him doing a mental “oh, shit” of his own, his fuzzy brain realizing the meal was almost over and he hadn’t gotten anything out of me.

We ordered. After the server left, he said, “Speaking of dumb criminals, how about that Cody Radu? Everyone in town is sure he at least killed the first two girls. Maybe Claire, too.”

“But no one can prove it, which doesn’t make him very dumb.”

“No, of course not.” It was cute, watching his brain skidding on the wine. “He’s the opposite of a dumb criminal. That’s what I meant.”

The coffee arrived. He took a big gulp, gasping as it burned his throat. I decided to help him out. If he wanted leads, I’d give him some ... just not real ones.