absolutely cold-blooded about things, but she manages to do so without the abrasive edge that has earned most attorneys the reputations they so assiduously cultivate. She has a heart, and I get access to it. So I have given her mine.
“Are there specific labs you have to go to for this stuff, or does every jurisdiction have a specialist of their own?” It pays to have someone close to home who knows the ins and outs of criminal investigations, particularly when you’re supposed to be conducting one, and you don’t know your ass from a garbage disposal.
“Actually, most of it gets farmed out to a few labs. I can look it up for you. . .” In my earpiece, I heard the rustling of papers and the opening of drawers, and eventually Abigail came back on the line. “The one they’d probably use is the same one the FBI uses, in Arlington, Virginia. It’s called HRT Forensic Laboratory.” She gave me the phone number.
“Thanks, you sex machine,” I said.
“I like to think I do better than a machine would,” she said demurely. “Aaron, did you talk to. . .”
“If you look out your window and see a cop car, it’s because Barry Dutton told them to put it there,” I told her. “There’ll be one near our house most of the time, too.”
“Thanks. I don’t like being afraid.”
“Few people do. Makes you wonder why they keep making those Friday the 13th movies.” I didn’t know how to make her feel better and stay serious at the same time. If anything ever happened to Abby—that is, something I didn’t want to happen to her—I would be absolutely adrift in the world. It’s selfish, but I need her to be alive and well.
“You saw the letter. What did you think?” she asked.
“Tell you the truth, honey, I could go either way with it. I think it’s best to be concerned, but I don’t know that we have to panic. He might not have meant anything by it at all.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“Don’t worry,” I told her. “You have a big strong man to protect you.”
“Really? Is Mahoney coming over?”
“I love you, too,” I said, and hung up.
Chapter
Twenty-Two
I called HRT Forensic, and sure enough, was immediately told that any ongoing investigations were none of my business, that their activities were not a matter of public record, and that my voice sounded sexy. But I told the guy I wasn’t interested.
Barry Dutton called just before the kids normally get home from school. “I’ve done some asking around about your Preston Burke,” he said.
“He’s not my Preston Burke,” I told him. “As far as I know, I don’t have a Preston Burke.”
“Nevertheless. The State Police, the local police, no matter who you talk to, this was the one time the idiot actually got involved in anything violent. There’s no question he shot his girlfriend, but he hasn’t hurt anybody, neither before nor since.” This may be the spot to observe that few police chiefs in New Jersey, if not the nation, would have added that “n” before the “or.” Barry Dutton: criminologist, administrator, linguist.
“Does that mean I shouldn’t be worried about the rock through my front window?” I asked.
“No, it means that you can breathe a little easier, knowing this guy isn’t a repeat offender with deadly weapons. He’s out on bail, conducting his daily life.”
“Anybody know where he was at 1:30 this morning?”
“He says he was home asleep. Strangely, since the whole shooting thing, he’s had problems finding somebody to sleep with him, so he can’t give us an alibi.” Barry grunted a little, letting me know he wasn’t happy with the way this was playing out, either.
“Where does he live?” I asked.
“Teaneck,” said Barry. “Hell of a long way to come and throw a rock through somebody’s window.”
“No wonder he got here so late. Barry, explain to me why I don’t want to go talk to Preston Burke.”
“Because it might be the stupidest thing you’ve ever suggested to me, and you know that’s saying something,” he said immediately. “If it was Burke who threw the rock, and he is threatening Abby, you don’t want to get him mad. If it wasn’t Burke. . .”
“I don’t want to give him any ideas,” I finished his sentence for him.
“Exactly.”
“Suppose I was cagey, and didn’t tell him who I was or why I was there.” He could probably hear the wheels spinning in my head through the phone.
“Suppose I were from Krypton and could see through