"Maybe I should call her up and ask her if we got any leads," Roth went on. "You want to come on in?" I asked. "Look at the board. We could use the help." Roth just stood there, chewing on his puffy lower lip. He was about to close the door behind him, but he turned back. "Lindsay be in my office at a quarter of nine tomorrow. We need to lay this thing out carefully. For now, it's yours." Then he shut the door. I sat down on the table. A heavy weight seemed to be pressing on me. The whole day had passed. I hadn't found a single moment to deal with my own news. "You okay?" Jacobi asked. I looked at him, on the verge of letting it all out, or maybe crying again. "That was a tough crime scene," he said at the door. "You should go home, take a bath or something." I smiled at him, grateful for a sudden, out-of-character sensitivity. After he left, I faced the mostly blank columns of the board. I felt so weak and empty I could barely push myself up. Slowly, the events of the day, my visit to Orenthaler's, wove their way back into my mind. My head spun with his warning: Fatal, Lindsay. Then I was hit with the crushing realization. It was going on eight o'clock. I had never called Orenthaler's specialist.

Chapter 11

THAT NIGHT when I got home, I did sort of take Jacobi's advice. First, I walked my dog, Sweet Martha. Two of my neighbors take care of Martha during the day, but she's always ready for our nightly romp. After the walk, I kicked off my Aerosole pumps, tossed my gun and clothes on the bed, and took a long, hot shower, bringing in a Killian's with me. The image of David and Melanie Brandt washed away for the night; they could sleep. But there was still Orenthaler, and Negli's. And the call to the specialist I had dreaded the whole day and never made. No matter how many times I lifted my face into the hot spray, I could not rinse the long day away. My life had changed. I was no longer just fighting murderers on the street.