Four months on suspension. I wonder if that's some kind of a record. Or even legal. "It's not right, boss," Moudie complained to me today at Girard's. He told me to call my union rep. I suppose I should, but I dunno...I'm starting to get used to being off the grid. It's nice to be free of the relentless eyes of the brass—and to spend time with my kid.
But Moudie's impatient for my return. "We need you," he said. "The longer the killer waits to do the next one, the worse we look." I know what he means. We have all this time to track the killer, to stop him from killing again, but we got nothing. The press, our bosses, the citizens will all wonder what the hell we've been doing all this time. They'll cry failure when number four shows up. Maybe that's another reason I'm happy to be out of it officially. Although I can't let my team bear the brunt of it alone.
Moudie and I were about to order another round of drinks to mope in, when he perked up, suddenly. He pointed out that the killer's time-out coincided with my suspension. "What if he's waiting for you to get your badge back before he does another?"
That does give one pause. Is the killer playing a game of cat and mouse? It's common for serial killers to attach themselves to the lead detective in the case. Usually, he reaches out with a phone call or a note. This one might be doing it with silence.
