Page 79 of The Morning After (Savannah 2)

“Me, I don’t know, but that’s the popular bet with the department.”

“Keep me posted if anything changes and Lassiter turns up.”

“Will do. And you’ll do the same?”

“You got it. Thanks. And say hi to Montoya.”

“I’d like to,” Bentz said, “but I haven’t seen him in a while. He’s taken a hiatus.”

“Is he coming back?”

“Don’t know, but I wouldn’t bet on it.”

“If you see him, tell him to give me a call,” Reed said.

“Will do.”

Reed clicked his pen as the conversation ended. He stared out the window as afternoon shadows darkened the city. Did someone kill Vince Lassiter? Was Bobbi Jean’s brother’s death connected to hers? Would he turn up in the next coffin, assuming, from the killer’s E-mail, that there would be more? Or had Lassiter disappeared on purpose? Was he somehow involved in the bizarre murders?

Adding information on Lassiter to his computer notes on the case, he felt, rather than heard, someone approach. He glanced over his shoulder and found Cliff Siebert standing in the door frame. Tall, fit, with close-cropped hair and a perpetual frown, Siebert was a young buck who knew his stuff but always seemed to be preoccupied. Reed never noticed Siebert joking with the rest of the detectives and thought the kid should learn to lighten up. Humor, even black humor, helped relieve the tension of an oftentimes grisly job.

“Somethin’ I can do for you?” Reed asked.

“I was hoping you could give me your notes on the Grave Robber case.”

“My notes?”

“I’ve been assigned to help with it. I’ll be Morrisette’s partner.”

“Is that so?” Reed felt a slow burn ride up the back of his neck.

“Yeah.” At least the kid seemed uncomfortable asking.

“Morrisette’s got everything I do.”

“But you made notes to yourself. She doesn’t have those.”

He felt the computer screen glowing with his own take on the killings.

“She’s got everything she needs. All the facts.”

“I’m talkin’ about your gut feelings. You know…your impressions.”

“You think I wrote those down?”

“Everyone does.”

“I’ll send ’em to Morrisette,” Reed said, not wanting to give the younger detective an inch. There was just something about Cliff Siebert that rubbed Reed the wrong way, nothing he could put his finger on; Siebert had an impeccable record, still, Reed didn’t trust him. He didn’t trust anyone with a clear record. “Via E-mail.”

Siebert looked about to argue, then, under Reed’s glare, thought better of it. Serious expression unreadable, he said, “I’ll get ’em from her.”

Like hell, Reed thought. He’d pass along all the pertinent facts, and his assessment of that data, but his gut impressions, conjectures and theories, he’d keep to himself. They wouldn’t do anyone else any good anyway. Quickly, he copied his notes to a disc, which he tucked into his briefcase. Then he edited the information on the hard drive and E-mailed it to Morrisette. When he was finished, he barely had time to meet Nikki, but he took a side journey to Katherine Okano’s office where Tonya Cassidy, Okano’s secretary, was cleaning up her desk for the day.

“I need to see Kathy.”

“She’s gone for the day.”

Reed’s jaw tensed; he sent Tonya a look guaranteed to paralyze. In his estimation, Tonya was forever on an authority trip. “When will she be back?”

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