Cerulean Sins   ::   Гамильтон Лорел

55

Bradley was with the Special Research Section; it was a new division set up to handle preternatural crime. We'd last worked together on some very gruesome murders in New Mexico.

I took his firm handshake and gave one of my own. He smiled, and I think we were both actually glad to see each other. But his gaze swept the room until he found Zerbrowski. "Sergeant Zerbrowski, you must be living right."

Zerbrowski moved towards us. "What do you mean, Agent Bradford?"

He held up a slender manila folder. "There's a store across the street from the club where the two women went to last night. The store got robbed last year and put in a very nice surveillance system."

All the joking was gone; Zerbrowski was very serious all of a sudden. "And?"

"They caught a picture of a man matching the neighbor's description with the two women last night. They walked right past the store window." He opened the folder. "I took the liberty of getting a still made."

"And passed it to all of your men," Merlioni said.

"No, detective, this is the only copy, and I brought it here first."

Merlioni looked like he would have argued, but Zerbrowski cut him off. "I don't care who solves this, as long as we get this guy."

"I feel the same way," Bradley said.

I didn't exactly believe Bradley. Last time we'd talked, his little division had been in jeopardy of being disbanded, and their cases given back to the Investigative Support—read Serial Killer—Unit. Bradley was one of the good guys, he really did care more about solving crimes than career advancement, but he also cared about his new unit. He felt strongly that the feds needed one. I agreed with him. So why was he handing over the only copy of the picture? Sharing made sense, simply giving it to us didn't.

"What do you think, Anita?" he asked me.

I glanced down at the photo. It was black and white, pretty good quality actually. Two women were laughing up at the tall man in between them. The brunette on the left matched some of the pictures downstairs. I hadn't asked the name of the woman who owned the house. I hadn't wanted to know. Not knowing had made it easier to go into that bathroom and paw through the remains.

The other woman looked vaguely familiar. "Wasn't the woman in a group picture downstairs? It looked like it was taken at a party."

"We'll check," Zerbrowski said.

"What about the man?" Bradley asked.

I looked at the man in the picture. The man that might be our killer or might be at the bottom of the pile of bones in the bathtub was tall, broad-shouldered.