“Those slugs. They were twenty-fives or twenty-twos?”

“ Twenty-twos,” I said.

“Figures. They had to be soft or they all would have gone through his skull. Were there any shell casings at the scene?”

“Not a one. Shooter probably used a revolver.”

“Or he used a semiautomatic, picked up those casings. That kind of guy was evidence-conscious. Thinking ahead.”

“So, okay, that’s a good point.” I turned Joe’s thought around in my mind. “So maybe it was premeditated, you’re saying?”

“It’s not hopeless, Linds. That soft lead could have striations. See what the lab says. Too bad you won’t be getting prints off the casings.”

“There might be some prints on that plastic baby.”

Joe nodded, but I could tell he didn’t agree.

“No?” I asked him.

“If the shooter picked up the casings, maybe he was a pro. A contract killer or a military guy. Or a cop. Or a con. If he was a pro -”

“Then there won’t be any prints on the crucifix either,” I said. “But why would a pro kill a street dweller so viciously?”

“It’s only day one, Linds. Give yourself some time.”

I told him, “Sure,” but Jacobi had already pulled the plug on this case. I put my head in my hands as Joe called the waiter over and ordered wine. Then he turned a big, unreadable smile on me.

I sat back and analyzed that smile, getting only that Joe looked like a kid with a secret.

I asked him what was going on, waited for him to sample the wine. Then, when he’d made me wait plenty long enough, he leaned across the table and took my hands in his.

“Well, Blondie, guess who got a call from the Pentagon today?”

Chapter 9

“OH MY GOD,” I blurted. “Don’t tell me.”

I couldn’t help myself. My first thought was that Joe was being recruited back to Washington – and I just couldn’t stand even the idea of that.