when he got a phone call.
“What?” Downy asked. “No way.”
There was a long pause and then he said, “Why can’t she just leave to go get her own tampons?”
My mouth twitched as a smile threatened to break free.
“Fine.” He sighed. “I’ll give her a call and I’ll figure out what she wants. Love you, baby.”
I studiously looked away as he marched through the store as if he now had a purpose.
“Where are the tampons in this place?” he asked.
I shook my head.
Not only wasn’t I familiar with tampons, but I also wasn’t familiar with where they would be at in a store at all.
So I gestured to a woman that was stocking shelves.
“Ask her,” I suggested.
He did, and we found ourselves in a dark, damp corner of the store.
“It’s like they’re trying to hide this aisle from existence,” I muttered, not liking how isolated it was from the rest of the store.
“Agreed,” Downy muttered as he pulled out his phone.
Then I was entertained for the next five minutes as he talked to his daughter about what tampons she needed.
I couldn’t stop myself from chuckling.
And when we arrived at Downy’s house ten minutes later, it wasn’t amusement that I read on Ares’ face.
Her mouth practically fell open when she saw that it was me, and I had to admit that I really quite liked the expression.
And when her dad threw her the box and it hit her in the face? I almost lost it right then and there.
I did lose it when she nearly ran into the wall as she tried to look at me over her shoulder as she walked away.
“You’ll have to excuse her. She can barely walk without tripping over something,” Downy said as he gestured to the kitchen. “Let me put this beer in the fridge. What did you want to ask me about?”
I outlined what it was that I was looking for.
“The Highway to Haughton Killer,” I said. “There have been approximately ten female bodies, all within the age bracket of fourteen to seventeen, found drained of their blood and dumped between the mile markers delineating the city of Haughton on Interstate Twenty over the last eight years.”
Downy’s brows rose. “Okay. So what do you need from me?”
“My dad and I have worked on it for a couple of months now. And my dad and I believe that the person responsible for this is a cop.” I paused and held up my hands before he could freak out. “Or, at least, someone highly intelligent that’s been through enough police training to know what he should and shouldn’t be doing when it comes to murder.”
“A serial killer that could be a cop.” Downy’s lips thinned. “What makes you think it’s a cop?”
I leaned my hips against the bar as he opened up one of the beers. When he held one out to me, I shook my head. “No, thank you,” I said. “And to answer your question, I’m not going to pretend to know what all the psychology stuff means. That’s not my thing. But from what I do know, there are certain nuances that were followed that makes us believe that he’s well versed in police procedure.”
Downy nodded.
“Why do you want to know about our particular police department?” he asked.
“Not just yours,” I explained. “I’m looking at all current and past police department personnel. Crime scene techs and police officers alike. From about thirty stations. Men in their late thirties all the way to their early fifties. My father says that it’s likely to be someone retired.”
“Retired,” he said. “Why?”
I made a face.
“There’s an explanation,” I said. “One that I’m not sure that I quite understand, to be honest.”
Downy nodded.
“He worked with a criminal profiler friend of his to come up with the list,” I continued.
Downy flashed me a grin.
“Thirty to fifty. Retired.” Downy paused. “What else?”
We continued to talk about who and why.
“I have a list of retired officers,” he said. “And it’s a really stupid reason. Pretty much my wife adds them to a list as they retire. As a reminder of the fact that I could be retiring, too.”
My lips twitched.
“Almost all of them are older, though,” he continued as he jerked his chin in the direction of the hallway. “It’s in my