“Single, never married, probably lives alone. Security cameras everywhere. A respected judge who gets out enough to appear socially acceptable. Highly regarded by colleagues and lawyers. And voters. You’re the profiler, what else do you want?”
“I’m not a profiler. Again, that’s a different section.”
“Got it. So if you took the six murders and didn’t mention the suspect, and presented them to the top FBI profilers, what would they say?”
“I have no idea.”
“But could you ask someone, you know, sort of off the record?”
“Why bother? You already know the killer.”
* * *
—
Their favorite hotel was the Lonely Dunes, a quaint little boutique getaway with forty rooms, all facing the water and just inches from the sand. They checked in, left their bags unpacked in their room, and hurried to the pool where they found a shaded table and ordered lunch and a bottle of cold wine. A young couple cavorted at the far end of the pool; something was happening just under the surface. Beyond the patio the Gulf shimmered in a brilliant blue as the sun beat down upon it.
When their drinks were half gone, Allie’s cell phone vibrated on the table. Lacy said, “What’s that?”
“Sorry.”
“I thought we agreed no phones at lunch. I left mine in the room.”
Allie grabbed his and said, “It’s the guy I mentioned. He knows a couple of the profilers.”
“No. Let it ring. I’ve said too much and I don’t want to talk about the case.”
The phone eventually stopped vibrating. Allie put it in his pocket as if he would never touch it again. The crab salads were served and the waiter poured more wine. As if on cue, the clouds rolled in and the sun disappeared.
“Chance of scattered showers,” Allie said. “As I recall from my weather app, which is still on my phone, which is tucked away in my pocket and untouchable.”
“Ignore it. If it rains it rains. We’re not going anywhere. A question.”
“Sure.”
“It’s almost three on a Friday afternoon. Does your boss know where you are?”
“Not exactly, but he knows I’m off with my girlfriend for the weekend. And Cleopatra?”
“I don’t care. And she doesn’t either. She’ll be gone in a few months.”
“And you, Lacy? How much longer will you be there?”
“Oh, that’s the great question, isn’t it? I’ve stayed too long in a dead-end job and now it’s past time to leave. But where do I go?”
“It’s not a dead end. You enjoy your work and it’s important.”
“Perhaps. Maybe occasionally. But it’s not exactly heavy lifting anymore. I’m bored with it and I probably say that to you too often.”
“It’s just me here. You can tell me anything.”
“My deepest, darkest secrets?”
“Please. I’d love to hear them.”
“But you wouldn’t tell me, Allie. You’re not wired that way. You’re too much of an agent to drop your guard.”
“What do you want to know?”
She smiled at him and sipped her wine. “Okay. Where will you be one year from now?”
He frowned and looked away. “That’s a punch in the gut.” A sip of his own wine. “I don’t know, really. I’ve been with the Bureau for eight years and love it. I always figured I’d be a lifer, that I’d chase the bad guys until they put me in an office at the age of fifty and kicked me out the door at fifty-seven, the mandatory. But, I’m not so sure now. What I do is often thrilling and rarely boring, but it’s definitely a younger man’s job. I look at the guys who are pushing fifty and they’re burning out. Fifty is not that old, Lacy. I’m not sure I’ll be a career guy.”
“You’ve thought about leaving?”
“Yes.” It was tough to admit and she doubted he had ever said so before. He sniffed his wine, drank some, and said, “And, there’s something else. I’ve been in Tallahassee for five years and it’s time for a change. There are more and more hints of transfers. It’s part of the business, something we all expect.”
“You’re getting transferred?”
“I didn’t say that. But there might be some pressure over the next few months.”
Lacy was stunned and tried hard not to show it. After a moment she was surprised by how unsettling it was. The thought of not being with Allie was, well, inconceivable. She managed to ask, calmly, “Where would you go?”