you, Jacob?” I’d pinched my face into a tight smile. I thought I might be developing a twitch.
“I’d have thought you’d be expecting me. I did say I’d like your notes and any other information that might be in your possession relevant to the Wishbone case.” He removed his suit coat and draped it tenderly over the back of Neil’s desk chair.
Rauser threw up his hands. “You got anything in your fridge? I’m starved.”
Dobbs followed Rauser to the kitchen. “Good idea, actually. I’m famished.” He rolled his shirtsleeves up while Rauser and I rummaged through the refrigerator. “It’s this business of the letter being sent to you,” he continued. “I don’t like the idea of you being pulled back in.”
I bet you don’t.
“And I’d like to know,” Dobbs went on with a wafer-thin smile, “why this offender attempted to communicate with you. Is it merely that you are accessible and involved in the investigation and therefore fair game? Or did you offer some encouragement? You must have felt … disregarded after you were fired.” He paused, then added, “Again.”
“Encouragement?”
“You’ve had no other communication with this murderer? No letters before this email you allegedly received from him?”
“That’s ridiculous and you know it.” My temper spiked. I slapped cheese and lettuce on bread, squeezed on mustard, and dropped it unceremoniously on a plate in front of Dobbs.
“He sent roses to the hospital,” Rauser added, and described the card.
“Florist?” Jacob asked.
Rauser nodded. “Florist found an envelope with written instructions and a cash payment when they opened yesterday morning. So they delivered the roses. We got the envelope, but it’s clean.”
Dobbs turned his attention back to me. “Roses too? An email, a tire adjustment, and now roses. Fascinating. Anything else you’d like to tell us? You wouldn’t actually obstruct, would you?”
“Now wait just a goddamn minute.” Rauser pulled a chair out and sat down across from Dobbs. “Keye’s not obstructing. She didn’t ask for this. She’s the victim here.”
Dobbs’s smile thinned even further.
I hit my palm against the tabletop. Dobbs’s sandwich jumped on the plate. Rauser looked at me as if I’d slapped him. “I am not a victim.”
“Well, well, look at that. Lovers’ quarrel?” Dobbs’s eyes had the happy sparkle of confrontation and they held me in a way that made me uncomfortable, had always made me uncomfortable. His eyes, his words, his stories, his hands. I’d spent a lot of time at the Bureau dodging them all.
Rauser was on his feet. “Just what are you trying to say, Dobbs?” His right fist was clenched.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” I held up my hands. “Just calm down. Rauser, sit, please. Let’s just take a minute, okay?”
Rauser grabbed his sandwich off the counter and sank back into his chair, scowling.
I looked at Dobbs. “I would never intentionally engage in any communication with a suspect outside an investigation. Never. That would be improper, unethical, unprofessional, stupid, and extremely dangerous.” And then, in an effort to keep the peace, I told him I understood that he was the man on the case. In fact, he’d earned it, deserved it, he was just about the most deserving gosh-darn guy in the whole world. I stopped just short of slobbering all over him. Rauser groaned a little, stuffed some stale Pringles into his mouth. I went to the refrigerator, peeled the plastic wrap off a plate of brownies, and pushed them in front of Jacob Dobbs like a peace offering.
Dobbs eyed me skeptically for a moment before his sharp features softened. Then, palms together, chin rested lightly on his fingertips, something calculated to show depth of thought, the self-serving little bastard said, “Let’s lay our weapons down, then, shall we? What do you say?” He picked up a brownie, took a bite. “You’ll give me your notes and we can do some brainstorming?”
I knew his MO. Dobbs would grab the credit for anything I handed him, and, of course, I would have to give him anything and everything I could to benefit the case, Rauser, the victims, potential victims.
“Absolutely,” I agreed, and set another brownie on his plate next to his sandwich.
Rauser had a sour expression on his face and we ate in silence. Eventually, Dobbs finished his sandwich and four brownies, stood and politely excused himself to the restroom while I struggled to unravel Neil’s espresso machine.
Then the three of us, Rauser, Dobbs, and I, moved into the main area with coffee. Dobbs yawned and propped his feet on a cube.
“Anger excitation,” he said, and made one of those