by Hadena James
over twenty years to catch him,” Gentry said. “And then it was because of his vanity.”
“True, but vanity is an interesting thing,” Lucas said. “Our killer is vain as well. He just isn’t ready to send us a floppy disk with all his information on it.”
“Speaking of vanity, is it possible that’s why he’s taunting the FBI?” I asked.
“Yes, quite likely. The women in the FBI are his type. They are usually no nonsense when on the job. There isn’t a lot of room for personality in the FBI,” Lucas answered. “Unlike the Marshals. There is more wiggle room for personality and expression of such. Using the two females in this room, we can see the difference in the way they dress, carry themselves, everything. Part of it is just because of Ace being herself, but the FBI wouldn’t allow her jeans and t-shirt. They would approve of the bun though.”
“That’s why I’m not an FBI agent,” I reminded him.
“There are a lot of reasons you aren’t an FBI agent, Ace,” Xavier gave a snicker.
“Or you,” I smiled at him. “How is vanity going to help us catch him?”
“I’d say all are sparked by the need to dominate a woman, but a few are also vanity kills. Women that personally slighted him, we find them, we find him,” Lucas said.
“We’ve talked about that and other than the teacher, we have no idea which ones are vanity kills,” I said.
“No, but if you and I go through all the crime scene photos...” Lucas was interrupted.
“That might have to wait,” Gabriel said. “They want us to talk to Norman.”
“Who’s Norman?” I asked.
“How did you forget the creepy guy who is stuffing his dead relatives that quickly?” Arons asked.
“He is a nonentity for me. He isn’t a serial killer. I don’t have to chase him down. I don’t need to wrestle victims from his clutches. Why remember?” I asked.
“You’re strange, Marshal Cain. I mean this in the best possible way, I think alligators are more socially oriented than you,” Arons said.
“They are,” I agreed. “You guys do that, I’ll stay here and stare at the whiteboards to see if I can find anything.”
Fourteen
Seven hours later, I was stiff; my head hurt from my vending machine lunch and my eyes were tired. The whiteboards were now covered in pink notes. I had even had portable whiteboards brought in.
Michael and I had taken all the photos and arranged them in chronological order. He had made a few notes in bright green. Together we had found something. It was a minor something, but it was still better than where we had been when everyone left us.
“What do you think, dinner and then the hotel?” Michael asked as he stretched.
“I thought hackers were supposed to be able to sit for long periods of time?” I teased him.
“They are. I’m losing my touch. Being a Marshal is making me soft,” he yawned and stretched again. “And I am getting over pneumonia.”
“Ok, real food and then we go back to the hotel and await our fearless leaders,” I agreed. Agent Gentry had been left with us. Most of the time, it didn’t bother me to have a handler. Sometimes, it felt like I was on a short leash with armed guards just in case I went crazy and started killing people. This was one of those leash moments.
She ferried us to a restaurant that was close by and proclaimed that it’s special of the day was something weird with lobster. I was sure the lobster was fine, but there was no way in hell I would order it from here.
We took a table near the back. The restaurant was decorated in 1950’s decor. There was a faux car front that worked as the counter. The floors were black and white checkered linoleum that had seen better days. The walls were white with black pin-striping. However, the white had yellowed with age and grease. It had been a while since someone had taken the time to clean them.
The tables were all done in a car theme. The booths looked like the bench seats out of Buicks. The tables were Formica and metal. Both showed wear and tear.
A waitress looking about as old as I felt most days, handed us menus and sloppily poured us glasses of water. She stood there; hand on her hip waiting for us to order. I glared at the menu.
The choices were limited. Most of it was seafood. My brain instantly turned to mercury poisoning. I didn’t really believe eating a piece of fish or shellfish would instantly cause me to fall to the ground with convulsions and begin hyper-salivating, but why take that chance? The cook could be a nutcase with an easy method of administering extra doses of mercury into the seafood.
This was not the kind of place that served low-calorie items other than diet sodas. Most of the items were fried or served with fried foods. Even the salads were heaped with ham or fried chicken or seafood. The dessert portion touted triple chocolate cake and pies of different varieties, all served with ice cream and if you wanted, fudge or caramel sauce.
“Ace?” Michael said my name.
“Sorry, I was thinking about mercury poisoning,” my eyes unglazed, I looked at the menu again. They had chicken salad. Chicken and tuna salad were some of the fastest ways to get food poisoning. I frowned.
“Just order something that isn’t likely to be toxic,” Michael chided after a minute more.
“What cuts of meat are on the Philly?” I asked our waitress.
“Brisket,” she answered. I marked it off the list of possible food options.
“Ok, well just give me a roast beef sandwich.”
“Do you want fries, waffle fries, seasoned fries or a baked potato?”
“Um, do you have onion rings?” I countered.
“For a buck more, I can give you onion rings,” she walked off.
“What was that about?” Gentry asked.
“Ace is very careful about the food she puts in her body,” Michael snickered.
“I have migraines and a track record with serial killers, paranoia and concern are just standard operating procedure at this point,” I commented dryly.
Dr. Ericson walked into the diner. Gentry waved to him. He joined us at our table.
“We just ordered,” Gentry told him.
Dr. Ericson waved his arm and brought the waitress back to our table. He ordered the special and water. She frowned at me as she walked away.
“Marshal Cain, you have a headache,” Dr. Ericson said.
“I know,” I told him. “Too many hours in a room with fluorescent lighting. Hence the dinner break.”
“Ok, back to the ‘it took ten minutes for her to order food’ thing,” Gentry pressed.
“It isn’t that exciting,” I told her.
“Marshal Cain has migraines, food can trigger them,” Dr. Ericson said in my defense. “As a result, I imagine it is very hard for her to eat out.”
“How is the cut throat world of doctoring?” I asked him.
“Boring. How’s the case coming along?” He countered.
“Slowly. But we did find a guy who pulled a Norman Bates on us. The police found dozens of taxidermied corpses in a storage unit. Xavier is doing something with the bodies, Lucas and Gabriel are talking to the guy,” I answered.
“No doubt that headache isn’t helping your thought processes either,” Dr. Ericson pulled out a script pad. “Take this.”
He scribbled something illegible on the pad and then handed it to me. I read the words and raised my eyebrows.
“Well, I’m guessing you have migraine medicine with you,” Dr. Ericson said.
“I do, I’m waiting on food to take it,” I admitted.
“Take this if it doesn’t work. I know those lights can be a real bitch. Tomorrow try to bring in lamps and work under those,” Dr. Ericson answered.
As I was folding it up, Michael took it from me and handed it to Gentry, “know any all-night pharmacies?”
“Yeah, I’ll drop it off and pick it up for you,” she sighed as she said it.
“Thank you,” Dr. Ericson and I said
in unison.
“So what brings you out tonight, Doc?” Gentry asked.
“Nothing much, my daughter is at a volleyball game. My wife is at work, so I thought I’d stop in for a bite to eat. The lobster here is always good and I had a craving for it,” Dr. Ericson said.
Our food was brought to us and we finished the meal with light conversation. Michael tossed out a credit card and paid for everyone. We had per diems, but we rarely adhered to them. Add the fact that we discussed the case for about three seconds and suddenly, it had become a business dinner on the US Marshals.
If anyone ever questioned our expenses, they did it to Gabriel. And whatever Gabriel said, kept them from coming to us with more questions. He probably included phrases like “whack jobs” and “nutcases”.
We said good-bye to Dr. Ericson. He still wasn’t growing on me, but it would be more surprising if he did. Gentry started the car and we headed to a pharmacy.
We all unloaded and went inside. The store was brightly lit, making my eyes hurt even more. I handed the prescription to the pharmacist who made a face. Gentry pulled out her badge and showed it to him. Then she dug around my coat pockets, found my badge and laid it up on the counter. The prescription was filled in record time.
As we made our way to the exit, Michael was standing in a check-out line. He had gobs of stuff that the poor night teller was scanning. I smiled.
“Good grief, is he going to eat all that?” Gentry asked.
“The others will help him,” I assured her.
“What about you?”
“I don’t really snack much,” I shrugged. “Every now and then, I’ll steal a bite of something they are
