Page 9 of So Lethal

The group left the studio and took Ferris’s cruiser to the breakfast place, leaving Faith and Michael’s rental at the studio. Ferris invited Cooper to come with, but the uniformed officer declined and went home to have breakfast with his kids before school instead.

Turk looked subdued as they drove, and Faith reached over to scratch him behind the ear. “Never gets any easier, does it buddy?”

“What’s that?” Ferris asked.

“Oh, I’m talking to my K9,” Faith replied. “He gets a little down sometimes after looking at a crime scene.”

“I get that,” Ferris replied. “Dogs are empathetic creatures. My sister had a golden retriever once that used to cry during sad movies.”

Ferris was apparently one of those cops who needed to talk all the time. Faith didn’t mind that as long as they didn’t expect her to keep up with them. When she was on a case, she only talked when she was working through a problem.

She wondered who might have wanted to murder Monica. The connection between her and James Porter was their mutual deafness, but why would someone want to murder deaf people? It seemed an odd group to fixate on.

But then, she had seen many killers fixate on people for reasons that made no sense to a healthy brain. It was even possible that their deaths had nothing to do with their hearing but were due to some as yet unknown commonality. Or nothing at all. The worst killers were those like West, who picked their victims at random, not caring who they kill but just reveling in the vicious joy of murder.

And somewhere in the back of her mind and the streets of her city, another vicious killer lurked, perhaps waiting for the chance to send Faith another message.

CHAPTER FOUR

“What’d I tell you?” Ferris said, grinning proudly at Michael’s look of approval.

“Damned good sandwich,” Michael agreed.

“Best in San Jose. What about you, Bold? You digging the sausage biscuit?”

The sausage and egg biscuit that Faith was now halfway through was indeed delicious. The biscuit was buttery and soft with a perfect golden brown crust, and the sausage was seasoned generously without being overly salty. The true piece de resistance was the egg, which was fluffy, light, and fresh.

Faith gave Ferris a brief summary of this description in the form of the words, “Yeah, it’s good.” The detective looked even prouder. Maybe his brother owned the shop or something.

To be honest, Faith barely even tasted the food. She was playing Monica’s last moments over and over in her head. The more she thought about it, the more the killing became harder and harder to believe. The studio’s backyard was visible from Monica’s office through the open door, but the desk was out of sight of the yard. Even if Monica just happened to be in a position to see it, would she have really gone to investigate the presence of a stranger?

Maybe. It wasn’t impossible. But it seemed odd to her.

So what else could have brought her outside? Lights, perhaps? If the killer had police lights on his vehicle, then she might have gone outside to see what was going on. But then again, the presence of police activity would probably have interested a liquor store far more. At the very least, they’d want to know if there was a safety issue they should be aware of.

Faith took a bite of her sandwich and tried to focus on the flavor to give her mind a chance to reset. Having two deaf victims cast an interesting layer over the case. She’d never considered how much she took her hearing for granted before now.

That thought brought a reminder of the tinnitus she’d experienced outside of Dr. Keraya’s office. She felt a flash of fear and took another bite of her sandwich.

“Neighbor’s back,” Ferris said. “Just called the department to ask about the tape in front of the building and if it was safe for him to go into his apartment. Dispatch told him yes.”

“Perfect timing,” Michael said, polishing off the last of his croissant.

The group left the restaurant and drove back to the studio. The city was waking up, and traffic, though still light, was beginning to show the first signs of the gridlock that would choke it in another hour. Faith was used to traffic in Philadelphia, but something about the mindless movement of the masses unknowing and uncaring about the one of their own who was just plucked out of existence in an instant disturbed her. It was a feeling she got every now and then when working a case. People cared only about their own problems and their own lives. That worked until they were the victims.

They parked in front of the studio and climbed the narrow staircase to the neighbor’s apartment door. Ferris lifted an eyebrow when he saw Turk trot up the stairs. “Wow. He’s good with stairs, huh?”

“He’s good everywhere,” Faith replied. “He’s saved my life and solved cases for me more than once.”

“Damn,” Ferris replied reverently. “We oughta to get one of those for homicide.”

“You don’t have K9s?”

“Not for homicide. Vice has a bunch and traffic has one or two, but the brass figures that CSI can handle the forensic side of homicide.”

They were at the door already, so Faith didn’t have time to answer. Michael knocked on the door, firmly but not too aggressively. A moment later, the door opened to reveal a rotund man who could believably have been any age between fifty and seventy. He wore a pair of beach shorts and an open bathrobe and blinked filmy blue-gray eyes at the four of them. “Hello. You’re here about what happened below.”

“We are,” Faith confirmed. “Any idea what might have happened?”

---