Whiplash

it fell right out of my mind. Then Monday morning I heard about the break-in at the pharmaceutical company on the news, and that someone was murdered in the park Sunday night. That shook me, I'll tell you, I mean, I saw the woman who was the thief. My wife Linda said I had to call you guys right away."
    Savich spoke for the first time. "You're sure she was alone, Mr. Tallman? No one was there in Van Wie Park, waiting for her?"
    "No one I saw. I'm always glad I don't see anyone when I run because it's dark and it's late and someone else might not want to just wish me a good evening, you know?"
    They repeated the same questions, giving them a slightly different slant, but Eric Tallman didn't know any more.
    Bowie rose about the same time as a baby's loud cry came over the monitor. He smiled. "You've given this lots of thought, we really appreciate your calling. Have fun with Luke."
    Tallman rose to shake their hands. "This woman who broke in, do you think she also murdered that man?"
    "We'll see," Bowie said.
    Luke yelled again from the bowels of the house.
    Tallman said, "The little champ's better than an alarm clock. It's ten on the button, and Luke is ready to suck down formula, burp, and gnaw on his stuffed dog's ears."
    "What's his dog's name?" Savich asked him.
    "Maynard the Brave. He's getting so tatty I'm afraid he's going to fall apart every time I wash him."
    Savich smiled. "My little boy has a one-eared rabbit named Goober. We never found the other ear. As for the tail, we've reattached it a good dozen times."
    As they were walking to their cars, Bowie said, "Georgie's all-time favorite stuffed animal is a crocodile named Rufus, not that she pays him all that much attention anymore since she's discovered the glorious world of dolls. Do you guys know there have got to be a thousand different Barbies and all of them have cars and planes and a thousand pairs of shoes?"
    Ten minutes later, at Luther's Big Bite, they were drinking coffee, Savich tea. After Bowie took a grateful sip he said, "I'll check the photo IDs of all the female Schiffer Hartwin employees. If any of them look promising-tall, slender, brown hair-I'll show Mr. Tallman some photos. I don't think a police artist could get anything useful out of him."
    Sherlock said as she sipped her coffee, not bad for a diner, but not nearly as good as Dillon's, the prince of the coffee bean, "What struck me was a guy, who's a runner himself, saying the woman ran gracefully, fluidly, even though he said she looked scared. Interesting description."
    They thought about this.
    Bowie sipped his coffee. "Maybe she's used to moving gracefully-maybe at one time our girl was a model? Or a dancer?"
    "Possible," Savich said.
    Bowie said, "My agents in New Haven found out Blauvelt's air ticket was paid for on his personal account, not a company card. The Schiffer Hartwin travel staff told the BND, who told us they didn't even know he was coming to America. He rented a car at JFK, a dark blue Ford Taurus, license RWI 4749. Still no sign of it. As for where he was staying, no luck yet with that either, but he probably used an alias, paid cash."
    "It would have to be a motel off the highway," Savich said, "a lodging that wouldn't care who or what he was. On the other hand, maybe he was staying with his murderer."
    Bowie said, "Agents have checked the residences of all upper management Schiffer Hartwin employees, looking for the blue Taurus, speaking to neighbors. Nothing yet. Oh, yes, I meant to tell you the most important news this morning: our local police chief, Clifford Amos, has agreed to let us use his conference room for interviews, though he'd just as soon kick all our federal butts to Alaska. I asked Caskie Royal to come down at eleven."
    Sherlock saluted him with her cup. "That's good, Bowie, take him out of his comfort zone."
    Savich said, "Being close to a jail cell just might make him reevaluate his talking points." He smiled. He couldn't wait to have Royal on cop turf.
    Sherlock said, "He knows exactly what the woman copied, he's afraid of it getting out, and so he's not cooperating, murder or no murder. The file or files she copied, that's got to be the key. And there were enough pages zipped into her jacket that she looked a bit bulky, Mr. Tallman said.
    "Whatever she took, I'll bet my sneakers it shows something Schiffer Hartwin very much wants to keep quiet. I'll bet whatever it is, it's pretty big. I wonder what she's planning on doing with the