breath. “You saw those autopsy reports. Do you understand what they signify?”
“You think I’m too dense to grasp their significance?”
“I wasn’t implying that. I only meant—”
“You implied that you, Dr. Easton, are smarter than me.”
“Than I,” Drex said under his breath.
Rudkowski glared at him with malice. “You’re over and out. For good. When is that going to sink in? Maybe while you’re in jail. You’ll have plenty of time to reflect.”
“I’ll sign a confession, Bill. In blood.”
“I like that idea.”
“Tomorrow.”
Rudkowski scraped back his chair. “Stay here till someone comes to book you.”
“Wait. Please. Please,” Drex repeated and held out his hand as though to keep him in his seat.
Rudkowski hesitated, then resettled.
Drex tried another tactic. “I’m this close to him.” He made an inch with his thumb and index finger. “He’s close.”
“You know that?”
“I feel it.”
“Do you think that what you feel is going to fly with a prosecutor? You have no proof that such a person even exists. That business with the buttons? Circumstantial.”
“I realize that. But it’s more than I’ve had on prior cases. He thinks he’s outsmarted us. He hasn’t. We’re smarter. He’s tripped up and doesn’t even know it. This is our one chance to get him.”
“By him you mean Ford? His bloated body will drift ashore one of these days.”
“Could, but I don’t think so. Give me twenty-four hours, with a badge. If I don’t produce him, I’ve failed. You can lock me up and laugh your ass off. You can publicly ridicule me.”
He paused to let Rudkowski savor the appetizing thought of that. “But, if I succeed, and we nail the son of a bitch, it’s even better for you.”
“How do you figure?”
“You get all the credit.”
“What about you?”
“I take none.”
“You take none?”
“I’ll stipulate it in writing.”
“Nothing you write down will be worth the paper it’s written on.”
“I’ll email it. Emails are forever.”
“Not yours. You’ve got Mallory to rig them for you.” He shot Drex a smug smile. “Your friend Gif is temporarily safe from arrest, but the fat man is already being held at the sheriff’s office.”
“Thanks to you. But they’re not going to book him for a crime committed by a repeat offender out of state.”
“With a phone call from me, they’ll book him for obstruction in this state.”
Drex said, “Fine. Play hardball. Call now. Have Mike booked. You know what he’ll do? He’ll use his one phone call to speak to the SAC in Columbia. He’ll reiterate everything Locke has already told him. He’ll emphasize how crucial that coroner’s report in Florida is to these homicide cases here, and how you, for no other reason than to spite me, delayed our access to it. He’ll soon see that you’ve been more of an impediment to this investigation than Mike or I have been.
“At the very least, he’ll have the agents in the resident office here check you out, and you’d fare even worse. They would want to know why you’re not over there, lending assistance, instead of over here in the PD, distracting hardworking detectives from their two murder investigations.”
He paused. “Bill. Think. Wouldn’t you rather give me one more day of freedom than wind up looking bad? Stupid, spiteful, and bad?”
“You’re bluffing.”
“You think so?” Drex shrugged. “Then call my bluff.” He let the dare stand, then added, “The only reason I haven’t called that SAC myself is because I wanted to stay under the radar.”
“So you wouldn’t be jailed.”
“Well, that. I grudgingly admit it. But I wanted to keep a low profile because you know what these departments are like. When it comes to leaks, they’re sieves. I’ve been holding my breath, afraid word would leak to the media that we’ve tied these local cases to the one in Florida. If that got out, and Ford heard it, his ego would mushroom. He would—”
Drex stopped talking and looked hard at Rudkowski, whose complexion had taken on a rosier hue. “What?”
Rudkowski stayed stubbornly silent.
“What?” Drex stared him down, then lunged from his chair and leaned over the table. “Tell me you haven’t talked to the media.”
Rudkowski puffed up defensively. “I’ve agreed to grant an interview.”
“Oh, God no! When?”
“At noon.”
Drex swung around to look at the wall clock. “That’s only ten minutes from now.”
“Which is why we need to wrap this up. Anything else?”
“Bill, you can’t give that interview.”
“Why shouldn’t I?”
“Who did you talk to?”
“A reporter named Kelly Conroe. She contacted me,” Rudkowski said, boasting.
Drex recalled the reporter he’d seen that morning reporting on Sara Barker’s murder. Pretty, perky, articulate, earnest. She’d