Page 111 of Reading Between the Lines
“I can’t get into those details. Mostly, I don’t have the details. It’s not my case, but I know the Port Hope police were hard-pressed to link the murders because they didn’t present with the same MO.”
Tallus slapped the table. “But thatisthe MO. You didn’t let me finish explaining. My god, it’s brilliant, isn’t it?”
I shushed my overeager boyfriend again. “We know the woman found in the marsh who was missing fingernails matches one of our plots. Even the location of her discovery is pretty spot on. Can you look into the others? At least see if we’re onto something. If we’re right, your case is gonna get a lot bigger.”
“How many books in the series?”
“Eight,” Tallus said.
“And this Ambrose Whitaker, who is he?”
“We don’t know.” I turned a book over, viewing the back and inside flaps again, even though we’d checked them thoroughly. “He has no online presence. No pictures in any of the books. No website. We can’t even find an author profile or bio anywhere. Seems to be a top secret pseudonym.”
Tallus’s eyes brightened. “Can we contact Publishaven? They would know.”
“You won’t get anywhere without a warrant,” Doyle said, taking the words out of my mouth.
“Can you get a warrant?” Tallus asked.
“Not without probable cause.”
Tallus huffed. “We’re giving you probable cause.”
“You’re giving me something to check out. If all the victims in Port Hope match your books, we have probable cause. I’ll get back to you.”
Doyle ended the call, and Tallus frowned. “We should contact Publishaven anyhow. I can sweet-talk my way into anything.”
I let him try, but he didn’t even succeed in convincing the reception clerk to put him through to a higher authority in the company.
28
Tallus
With nothing else to do, Diem suggested we visit Delaney Mandel to give her an update. A quick phone call confirmed she was at home and not sitting vigil at the hospital like she’d been doing since her son was admitted.
“Don’t reveal too many details,” Diem warned as he parked the rental Jeep out front of the mansion. Both Mandel’s cars were in the driveway. “Our goal is to reassure her we’re onto something, but we don’t want to compromise our case.”
“What are we going to do if Irvin kicks up a fuss? He hasn’t exactly been the friendliest person, and if that’s his car, he’s probably home.”
“Leave him to me. Delaney is paying us, so it’s none of his fucking business.”
“It’s his son.”
Diem shrugged and maneuvered stiffly from the vehicle. The prescription the doctor had given him seemed to be helping, buthe winced every now and then if he moved too fast or bent a certain way.
After expressing her horror over Diem’s condition, Delaney admitted us into the house, offering coffee, which we gratefully accepted. She guided us into the kitchen, where Irvin had set up a workspace at a granite-topped island, laptop and notebooks surrounding him.
The man eyed us irritably but said nothing, displeasure written all over his face.
The Mandel’s kitchen was immaculate. They owned all the latest gadgets and top-end appliances. Delaney’s means of making coffee involved an exquisite machine that easily cost more than my rent. I swooned.
“Regular coffee, espresso, latte, or cappuccino?” she asked, turning it on and pulling several bags of high-end beans from a nearby cupboard.
“Whatever’s easier,” Diem mumbled.
“Oh, latte, please.”
She let me choose a style of bean. They ranged from light roast to dark with every flavor note imaginable. I chose one and watched giddily as she filled the grinder and set up the machine for my latte.
