Page 21 of Crossing Lines

As Sam turned to leave, Lucy trotted up beside him, looking hopeful. “Sorry, you’ll have to stay.”

The fur on her forehead creased in disappointment until Wyatt took a bag of treats out of his drawer. “Come on, buddy, you can sit over here with me.”

Lucy sniffed the air, took one final look at Sam, and then walked over to Wyatt.

As they got into the car, he noticed that Jo seemed more relaxed. He’d sensed a change when she’d made the comment about him helping. Things were going to be okay. He’d been irritated that his apology had been interrupted by Reese’s announcement about Holden being at the station, but maybe he didn’t even need to apologize now.

Chapter Fifteen

The prison that housed Menda was pretty much the same as any other penal facility. Plain manila walls, plain manila tile, unhappy stone-faced guards. Jo studied Sam out of the corner of her eye as they waited in the interrogation room for them to bring in Joseph Menda.

The ride over had been almost like old times, with none of the tension she’d sensed between them earlier. She could have sworn he’d been about to say something important to her before Reese’s call on the dispatch system had come through, but it must not have been too important. At least he wasn’t acting standoffish anymore.

The door opened, and Joseph Menda shuffled in. He was wearing an orange prison uniform, and his hands were cuffed. He had an air of arrogance about him as if he were a VIP guest being shown into the presidential suite at a swanky hotel.

He sat down and smiled at Jo, except when Menda smiled, it didn’t make you feel happy. It made you feel scared.

“Sergeant Harris, so nice to see you.” Menda’s voice dripped with double meaning as his eyes drifted to Jo’s chest. After a second, he looked at Sam. “Chief Mason. Glad you two could come.”

“What’s this about an email?” Sam got right to the point. He knew there was no sense in trying to engage people like the man in front of him in a normal conversation. There was nothing “normal” about Joseph Menda.

Menda leaned back in his chair, settling in. “First I want my extra exercise time.”

“You’ll get it if the letter turns out to be true.”

“How do I know you won’t just take the information and leave?”

“If I don’t get the information, I will leave, so you don’t have a choice. Show me what you have.”

Menda thought about this and then must have realized he wasn’t in a position to bargain. He twisted to reach into his pocket—awkward with his hands cuffed—and threw a piece of paper on the table. “I printed it for you.”

Sam read the paper, the crease in his brow deepening the more he read. “This looks like a pie recipe.”

Menda leaned back again and smiled. “Looks like. That’s the code. There’s hidden meanings.”

Sam slid the paper over to Jo as he addressed Menda. “Want to enlighten us?”

Menda looked smug. He liked having information he could lord over people. Jo wanted to punch him, but she stayed in her chair. The information could be important.

“Well, you see the part about trying to get all the right ingredients and going to different stores?”

“Yeah.”

“That means he’s choosy. He picks his victims very carefully.”

“Great. A choosy serial killer. How does that help us, exactly?” Jo asked.

Menda tilted his head back, giving the impression of looking down at her as if he were so much smarter. “He stalks them, so now you know he’s lurking around town. White Rock isn’t that big. Should be fairly easy to pick out someone acting that way, don’t you think?”

“Unless he only does it at night.” Sam thought of the lurker in the woods. “How long does he stalk for? A day? A week?”

“I’d say a few days or maybe weeks.” Menda looked up at the ceiling, his face turning dreamy. “He gets to know their habits, figures when to grab them. It’s all very exciting.”

“Yeah, exciting.” Jo tapped the paper. “It says all that here? Doesn’t look like it to me.”

“Well, not in so many words, but you have to read between the lines. Preheating to the exact temperature, rolling the dough out carefully.” Menda’s hands clenched and unclenched as if kneading dough… or maybe strangling someone.

“I don’t know. That’s not really much help unless you can tell us something specific. Like where he stalks them or what he’s looking for.” Sam got up to leave.

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