Page 41 of So Bleak

“You ruin everything,” Faith agreed. “But no, I’m just…” sick of West dominating my thoughts. She didn’t want to talk about that, so she focused on her other immediate frustration instead. “Sick of running into walls. I know this happens every case, and I know we eventually break through the wall, but God. Why is it that the answer is never what it's supposed to be? I mean, it wasn't always like this, was it? There was a time when killers acted the way we were taught in the Academy, and evidence pointed where it looked like it was pointing, wasn't there? A time when things made sense?”

“Not sure about the last question, but the first two, yeah. For sure. It feels like Jethro Trammell showed up, and all of a sudden, killers became these horror movie caricatures and evidence could only be understood when it was viewed through their own warped lenses.”

“Yeah.” She pushed around at her food, but her stomach growled, and she eventually lifted a forkful of egg into her mouth. “What lens is this guy viewing things through?”

Michael sighed. “All of the victims have been food critics, so it has to be someone connected to that industry. Another food critic, a chef, a restaurant employee, something. These victims aren’t random. In fact, they’re the most homogenous group of victims we’ve had in a while.”

“So we should look for industry connections instead of personal connections.”

“Yes. And we shouldn’t look just for people who have received bad reviews. We need to cast a wider net. Anyone who’s interacted with all three of our victims.”

“Tanya was caught with a wider net,” Faith pointed out.

“Yes, but she really was poisoning them. Not to the point of murder, but she was giving them drugs. That supports my point.”

She smiled slightly. “I don’t think it does, but I still like the idea of a wider net. We’ve been focused narrowly on people who had a reason to hurt them. We should focus instead on who had the opportunity to hurt them.”

“Exactly.”

“Okay.”

She took another bite of her eggs. She was feeling a little better now that they had a direction. The media circus surrounding West still bothered her, but at least she had something to do other than fixate on him.

Her phone rang from the bedroom. “That’s probably David. Hang on a second.”

She headed back to the room and picked up the phone. Her smile faded when she saw the Boss’s number instead of David.

Special Agent-in-Charge Grant Monroe was affectionately called the Boss by his subordinates because of his militant, no-nonsense demeanor and his refusal to brook any attitude or insubordination from his agents. Only a very few, notably Michael, could goof off around him and get away with it.

Faith was not one of those few, and while the Boss had made it clear that he respected and even admired Faith, she had endured his wrath more than once in the past when she had stepped outside of protocol in her efforts to solve a case.

Such as when she had broken into Jacob Greenwood’s home and when Turk had accosted the South African suspect in the Twin Cities Terminal.

She steeled herself for the conversation and answered the phone. “Yes, sir?”

“Bold, we’re in the shit right now. The media decided to drag you into the West circus, and now upper management wants you held accountable for the shit you did back when you were off the rails.”

Faith sighed. “Yes, sir, I was expecting that.”

“Long story short, you’re going to be put on desk duty when Turk retires next month.”

Faith’s eyes widened. “Desk duty? For how long?”

The Boss sighed. That wasn’t a good sign, nor was the tiredness in his voice when he spoke again. “I don’t know. There’s been a lot of talk. The term ‘permanently reassigned’ has been batted around.”

“Permanently? Boss, that’s bullshit!”

“Yes, it is. And I have threatened a lot of people to get them to let you have the next four weeks. I will continue to go to bat for you, but… at the moment, it doesn’t look good.”

All of the anger Faith had fought through bubbled to the surface again. “Why are you telling me this? Why am I hearing this now when there’s nothing we can do about it?”

“Because there is something we can do about it. Word’s gotten out that you’re the one assigned to the poisoner case.”

“It has? How?”

“Some kids leaked video of you at the most recent one at the café in Midtown. The media’s running with it, and a lot of dipshits are waiting for you to do something crazy or stupid so they can play out the narrative that you’re broken and a liability. This is your chance to show them they’re wrong. Solve this case quickly, preferably before anyone else dies. Bring this asshole to justice, and we’ll stage a very public press conference where you can talk about how you bravely caught the killer before he could kill anyone else.”

“Boss, you know I hate press conferences.”

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