The detective answered almost immediately. “Hello?”
“It’s Zoe Bentley. I wanted to ask—you have some sort of database of local criminal activity, right?”
“Yeah,” O’Donnell replied. “The CLEAR system.”
“That’s right,” Zoe said, recalling the acronym. “Can I log into CLEAR?”
“You’ll need a username and password, but it’s no big deal; federal agents can get them. You need to submit a security form signed by your chief.”
“I hoped to log in today.” Zoe bit her lower lip. “Can you give me your username and password?”
“Forget it. I’m not giving you my user. I can’t even imagine the shit I’d go through if anyone found out I gave my user and password to someone unauthorized.”
Zoe expected as much. “Can you run a few searches for me yourself?”
“Listen, Bentley, it might surprise you, but I have my own leads to pursue.” She sounded edgy, exhausted. “If you want, you can drop by here. The office is almost empty—we’d practically have it for ourselves. I’ll let you use the system from my computer. How’s that?”
“Drop by the station?” Zoe asked.
“You’re in the FBI office, right? It’s just a ten-minute drive. Call me once you get here.”
Zoe had already put her coat on. “See you soon.”
O’Donnell wasn’t kidding when she’d said they’d have the office to themselves. Zoe found the silence almost eerie.
The Violent Crimes Section in the station was a large open space with three rows of L-shaped desks, each one with its own tidbit of personality. One had a bunch of potted flowers, the next was covered in Post-its with brisk unintelligible scrawls, a third lined with family photos. But they were all empty, their occupants long gone for the night. When Zoe had arrived, one other detective still worked in the corner of the room, but he hardly bothered glancing at Zoe as she followed O’Donnell to her desk. When the detective left, he grunted something that could have been good night, and O’Donnell answered in kind. And then it was just the two of them. The desk was just wide enough so they could sit side by side, their shoulders inches apart.
O’Donnell was going through a thick stack of printed papers—Catherine Lamb’s phone call activity—matching calls to contacts, marking numbers that appeared repeatedly. Zoe sat by her side in front of the computer, the CLEAR system open. She carefully went through murder cases or violent cases that involved bite marks, needles, or strange cuts. She made a note of any case that seemed worth investigating further, noting the location, the date, the detectives in charge. Zoe usually accompanied this kind of methodical work with music. But in the thunderous silence that encapsulated them, she suspected it would bother O’Donnell, even if she wore earphones.
The problem with her search was that needle marks appeared frequently in the case files when the crimes were drug related. That added a lot of noise to the results, making the search for patterns almost impossible. She wondered if she should ignore the cases that involved needles altogether. After all, the medical examiner had mentioned that the needle marks on Catherine’s arm indicated inexperience. Even if unsub beta had attacked someone before, it was more likely he’d bite them or cut them to drink their blood. On the other hand, she didn’t want to miss anything important. She bit her lip as she contemplated her dilemma.
“I need the computer for a sec,” O’Donnell muttered.
“Sure.” Zoe tried to move away, but she couldn’t back her chair more than a few inches without ramming into the desk behind her. She was about to stand up and do the shuffling dance—squeeze behind O’Donnell to let her through—when O’Donnell simply leaned over Zoe, grabbing the computer mouse. Zoe awkwardly pushed her chair to the corner to give O’Donnell access to the keyboard. The detective smelled of lavender. She wore a different shirt than she had that morning. She must have showered in the station. That made Zoe think of her own odor after a very long day.
O’Donnell was intent on the screen, a strand of blonde hair draped on her cheek. She had very long eyelashes. It was a weird thing to notice—Zoe never paid much attention to eyelashes.
“Just two more,” O’Donnell said. She was checking some names to see if they had a police record.
“Sure, no problem,” Zoe said.
Both names returned blank results. O’Donnell pulled away. “Thanks.”
“It’s your computer.”
O’Donnell nodded distractedly. She marked a line on the page. “Where’s Agent Gray?”