The Lesson of Her Death

a Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup. “I’m sorry, Bill.”
    Corde sipped the coffee. It tasted salty. The machine’s spigot dispensed both coffee and chicken bouillon.
    “This’s real bushwah. I don’t know what’s going on. What’d Ribbon say?”
    “I’m off the case. He’s going to fight the inquest. But I hardly believe him. He didn’t fight worth diddly to keep me from getting the boot.”
    “The burnt letters?”
    “Yup.”
    “Did anybody
see
you take them? They have a witness? Any fingerprints? What’s their probable cause?”
    Corde said, “We’re at the witch-hunt stage now, T.T. The due process comes later—
after
my name’s been drug through the dirt.”
    After they find out about St. Louis. When it’ll be too late
.
    When Ebbans spoke again, after a pause, the flinch in his voice was unmistakable. “Hammerback ordered me to look into every escape and recent release from the hospital at Gunderson.”
    “I’ve heard this before.” Corde shook his head.
    Ebbans continued, “Yep and then talk to school counselors and psychiatrists in town here and see if they had any patients with, you know, dangerous tendencies.”
    “They won’t say anything. It’s all privileged. Hammerback oughta know that.”
    “There was some mention of it in a book that Ribbon keeps loaning to people.”
    Corde pointed in the general direction of Blackfoot Pond. “Well, Emily was Jennie’s
roommate
. It’s pretty damn odd for a cult killer to pick her for the second victim, wouldn’t you say?”
    “I just tell what I been told.”
    “I know that, T.T.”
    Ebbans took a long time staring at the copy of the
Register
sitting in the lunchroom. The front page had a headline:
Terror Continues with Stapleton Girl Cult Threat
.
    “What’s that?” he asked, pointing to the story.
    “Turned out to be the boyfriend she dumped. But the paper had to, you know, put it in terms of the Moon Killer. Damn. Good God damn.… Well, the case’s yours now, T.T. I told you what I found most recent, about Jennie having that girlfriend and a fight with somebody who wasn’t too happy about it. And about them maybe being killed because they were gay. Oh, anddon’t forget Gilchrist. He could tell us some good stuff about Jennie.”
    “I don’t know. Word is we gotta concentrate a hundred percent on the cult thing. Forget the university connection, forget her personal life. Those’re orders.”
    Corde closed his eyes for a moment, rubbed them. “Son of a gun, this’s great. First I lose the investigation. Then it’s forget the school. Then they don’t want to hear that the victim might’ve had a girlfriend.… I don’t know what’s going on, T.T. The biggest problem in this case isn’t the
killer
, it’s us. It’s the good guys.”
    “Seems that way.”
    Corde poured the coffee out then said, “You know, I was thinking. You’re in a tough spot.”
    “How’s that?”
    “Let’s say it’s what you and me think, that it’s not a psycho. That’ll mean a lot of wasted time and a lot of panic and news stories about the departments’ going in the wrong direction. You’re walking point on this whole case.”
    “Well that’s true, Bill. I hope you won’t be offended if I tell you that if it turns out right—”
    “You’ll be in the catbird’s seat, and more power to you. But with Ellison and Ribbon right beside you especially come November.”
    “I hear what you’re saying. But I just want to get that guy, whoever he is. That’s all I care about. I’m no good at this politics stuff. It’s like people’re using those girls’ deaths for themselves. They’re twisting things around. Makes me sick.”
    Ebbans finished his candy and rolled the wrapper into a tiny wad, pitched it out. He looked around and said in a low voice, “I know you’re off the case and everything and you’ll be doing a bang-up job keeping the roads free of gin-drunk felons but since you’re giving me all your notes and leads it’s only fair I give you something in return.”
    “What’s that?”
    “I told you somebody put the kibosh on the schoolside of the case? The order came from Ribbon and Hammerback. But you know where
they
got the word?”
    “Sure, yeah, I know.” Corde grimaced. “Dean Larraby.”
    “Nope,” Ebbans said. “It was a friend of yours. Randy Sayles.”
    Corde considered this. “Well, well, well. That’s nice to know.… But you didn’t hear me say that.”
    Ebbans touched his ear. “Deaf as a