skip mentally to catch up to them.
I did not marry the Perfesser because he subconsciously reminded me of Sigmund.
On the East Coast, Sigmund was three hours ahead of me, but that was no guarantee of his calling anytime soon. He always said he subscribed to some ancient rule, Among mortals second thoughts are wisest. Sigmund would watch the video, and think, and watch, and think again before calling.
So I killed some time. I got a package of ground meat out of the fridge and mixed it with egg, bread crumbs, and chili sauce to give it a kick. Meatloaf was part of my rotating list of seven things I could make, including Shake’n Bake chicken, broiled fish, and baked pork chops with some barbecue sauce on them. I had been thinking of getting a grill.
I mashed and punched at the mixture while I thought of Floyd Lynch’s face. I shaped it into a little football and put it back in the fridge for later.
Sigmund still hadn’t called, so I fired up my computer and Skyped him.
“Bravely using the latest technology,” he said, leaning back from the computer in his office and taking his time giving me the once over. I didn’t try to stop him, didn’t know how, though I hoped my recently killing someone didn’t show. “I suppose you are not quite the Luddite I had taken you for, Stinger.”
“Because I didn’t sleep with a toaster when I was little the way you did?”
“Stinger is bantering. She always banters when she’s under stress.”
“Come on, the toaster crack is funny. You’ve just always been jealous because you can’t take a joke.”
“You hide behind your jokes.” He leaned forward again as if he could see more of me that way. “This business is taking a toll on you. Let me see your cuticles.”
I held up only the middle fingers of both hands, fingers that I hadn’t worked over lately. He leaned back again, looking superior. “So I watched the video you sent. What a surprise.” He didn’t look surprised.
“When Coleman asked him what he did with the ears, he paused, you know that pause?”
“Yes, I know that pause. It was long.”
“I timed it at three point five seconds. And then you saw him say he threw the ears away.”
“Only his facial expression wasn’t indicative of that. It didn’t match the carelessness of simply tossing the ears into the garbage. It was an expression of panic. He was suddenly afraid we’d know he didn’t do it. Either he doesn’t know where they are, or he’s afraid of telling us because whoever has them is the real killer. Quod erat demonstrandum,” Sigmund said, which is his shorthand for everything is apparent and speaking about it further bores me. “He’s not your man, of course.”
We both knew that no killer who goes to that much trouble to enact a murder, with a repeated elaborate ritual, and then takes something from the victim to relive the pleasure afterward would ever throw these souvenirs in the garbage, let alone forget where he threw them. Think Dahmer with his body parts in the fridge. Think the Crown Jewels in the Tower of London. Either Lynch doesn’t know where the treasured ears are, or he knows where they are but couldn’t tell because of who it would incriminate.
“Are you as certain as I am?” I asked.
“More so. He would never forget where the ears are, if he ever knew. You still need to find those ears, Stinger. The killer has them. And I think that scares Mr. Lynch more than the death penalty. But an expression isn’t enough, of course. You need evidence.”
That’s where I was stuck. “There’s no me about this. I can’t get near Lynch in any official capacity, and I wouldn’t want to ruin the case by doing so. It’s up to Coleman, and she’s running into resistance. Coleman tried to tell Hughes about her doubts but even his public defender is swept up in the circle-jerk thrill of catching the Route 66 killer.”
“Morrison’s pressure. He wants this case for his self-published memoirs after he retires. I’m coming back out there.”
“That’s okay. It would just cause Coleman more trouble.”
“You were the one who said I still have some clout.”
“Not yet. Let me handle it and I’ll let you know if I need help.”
“They need to start from the beginning. There will be bigger holes in Lynch’s confession than being afraid to tell you where the ears are. Who else is on the list?”
“There was no