the grave for Patrick Delaney, one of the Raiders.”
Laredo glanced at Wallis. “Yeah, I got filled in on that group. So what’s the hunch?”
“Why lay him there when he had over ten thousand other choices?” said Pine, who had not once looked Laredo in the eye. She kept her gaze on Wallis and his open notebook.
“You think it symbolized something? You think there’s a connection between this Delaney guy and our killer?”
“If there is a connection, it’s an attenuated one. Delaney’s been dead since 1864.”
“So, symbolic then?” interjected Wallis.
“Maybe. This guy doesn’t strike me as random in his planning. Quite the opposite.”
“Meaning everything he’s done up to this point has been meticulous and meaningful,” noted Laredo.
“Yes.”
“But you could have waited until morning to go out there,” observed Laredo. “From what the locals tell me that cemetery can be unsafe in the middle of the night. Hell, any place like that could be unsafe at night.”
Pine decided not to let that one go. She looked up at Laredo, taking in every molecule of him before saying, “Well, it did turn out to be unsafe…for those two morons.”
Laredo shook his head. “You always took risks. Too many for some of us.”
She stared him down, until his gaze dropped to the linoleum.
Pine glanced at Wallis. “What else? Or are we done?”
“That’s it. These two idiots are known around here. Got a pretty long rap sheet. Mostly petty shit. But they’re going away for a while over this one.”
“It’ll be my word against theirs. They’ll say I assaulted them. Just like the guy’s been screaming about this whole time from his holding cell.”
“I don’t think we’ll have a problem getting them to cop a plea. Two men against a gal? No way a jury’s going to buy that one, least not in Georgia. And I’d be surprised if those dopes would have the balls to try it. I mean, what’s a little prison time if the alternative is admitting that a girl kicked your ass? They’d never be able to walk into a bar again.”
“Good to know how enlightened it’s become down here.”
“So what did your little late-night excursion really score us?” asked Laredo. “I’d like to hear how you see it.”
Pine gritted her teeth at this thinly veiled barb. “At the very least it got two asshole felons off the street for maybe five to ten years,” retorted Pine. “Because the next girl they’d run into wouldn’t be me, would she?”
“I don’t think there is another you.”
Wallis looked between them, his brows arching, and his expression confused. He said, “Okay, I guess we’re done here. You probably want to get some shut-eye.”
Pine checked her watch. “What I really need is some coffee and breakfast.” She shot Laredo a look. “Taking risks and kicking ass makes a girl hungry.”
“Good, I’m buying,” was Laredo’s surprising reply. “Come on, I’ll give you a ride.”
He turned and walked off before she could respond.
Wallis looked at her sympathetically. “I take it the situation is complicated?”
Pine, whose mouth had widened perhaps more than she had thought, snapped it shut, gave him a curt nod, and followed Laredo out.
Chapter 34
WHERE ARE YOU STAYING?” Pine asked.
She was riding shotgun in the black SUV Laredo was driving.
“Motel about two miles outside of Andersonville. You?”
“Place called the Cottage in town.”
He shrugged. “If it’s nicer than a dump it’s more than the Bureau per diem.”
“Tell me something I don’t know. This trip is on my dime.”
“I love all those TV shows where agents fly around on Gulfstreams, wear designer clothes, and stay at the Ritz. And forensics tests are never wrong. And they get ’em back in two seconds, and the perp tearfully cops a plea two more seconds after that because a hair fiber might match him. And then they all go out and celebrate with hundred-dollar bottles of champagne at this really cool cop bar.”
“You mean you hate all those shows.”
He smiled and nodded. “Right. Hate ’em.”
“Where are we headed?” asked Pine.
“Diner down the road a bit. Saw it on the way in.” He paused, his fingers tapping the steering wheel. “You must be bushed, no sleep last night.”
“How much sleep did you get last night?”
“Like a baby.”
“Tell me another lie.”
They reached the aptly named Hole in the Wall Diner, parked right next to the front door, and climbed out.
“You can tell class by how much plywood they use on the exterior walls,” said Pine, eyeing the place.
“Hey, you grew up here. I’m from Queens. Lived in a six-story walkup. I don’t