Split Second

CHAPTER 33

As soon as they stepped outside Enrico’s to walk back to the First Precinct, Sherlock gave Coop a huge smile and pulled out the sketch. “You remember him, don’t you, Coop? His name is Bruce Comafield.”

He studied it again, and said, “When you showed it to Ms. Darlene, I tell you, Sherlock, I couldn’t believe it. You got this out of Thomas?”

She nodded.

“When you think about it, it’s not so surprising Mr. Lansford’s aide would know his stepdaughter. So he and Kirsten—do you think they’re both involved in this killing spree?”

“No clue, but we’re going to find out.”

“So, he went out the back? Where did he go? Did he meet up with Kirsten, before or after she’d killed Genny Connelly?”

“Good questions. I could give Thomas Hurley a big kiss, but he might put me in one of his poems.”

When they faced Captain Slaughter, at his request, ten minutes later, he said immediately, “Detective Alba here tells me you got Daniel Gibbs to do a sketch, supposedly of a guy sitting with Kirsten Bolger.”

Detective Alba said, “We could have gotten that sketch, too, if Hurley had told us about the guy.”

Captain Slaughter waved her away and looked down at the sketch Sherlock laid on his desktop.

Detective Alba jerked her head toward Sherlock. “She says she recognizes him, sir.”

Captain Slaughter raised a salt-and-pepper eyebrow.

Sherlock handed him the sketch. “If you would make a copy of the sketch and fax it to the homicide divisions in San Francisco, Chicago, Cleveland, and Philadelphia, I’d appreciate it. Then we’ll check it out. If it’s really the guy we think it is, you’ll know it right away.” Captain Slaughter handed off the sketch.

Detective Henry Norris said, “At least we know for sure it isn’t a sketch of Kirsten Bolger’s daddy; we can all give thanks for that.”

“Amen to that,” Sherlock said, and smiled at Norris. “Thank you for your assistance. Please send all your ideas and further interviews to us. We certainly appreciate it.”

“Yes, indeed,” Captain Slaughter said. “You’re smiling, Agent Sherlock. You’ve got something up your sleeve?” He handed the sketch back to her and she gently laid it flat in her briefcase.

She patted his arm. “Yes, sir, I believe I do.”

“You should tell us who you think this guy is,” Detective Alba called after them. “I told you, we’ve got a right to know.”

“Once we’re certain,” Sherlock said again, and finger-waved her good-bye, never looking back. She felt rather small about it, but Detective Alba was a pain. She’d been tempted for a moment to tell her they’d have gotten the same information at Enrico’s Bar—if they’d thought to ask. She’d give Captain Slaughter a heads-up when she got back to Washington.