The Delilah Complex

Fifty-Eight

The bad news came at noon the next day, like it always does with a phone call.

“Shit,” Perez said with such vehemence and anger that Jordain had no doubt what had happened. “Shit, shit, shit. Damn.”

“Another one?” Jordain asked.

Perez nodded at his partner as he continued on the phone. “Don’t go anywhere, we’ll come there.” He hung up. “That was Douglas. Young got another package this morning. We’re gonna have to let Lessor go.”

“He could have mailed them before we got him.”

“Nope. The lock of hair isn’t just in a bag. This time it’s wrapped up in a nice little cut-out of today’s New York Times article saying we have a suspect in custody.”

Jordain felt sick to his stomach, but there was no time for that. Grabbing the bottle of Pepto from his top desk drawer, he unscrewed the cap and chugged the viscous pink liquid while Perez waited.

“Where was Young last night?”

“Home all night.”

Jordain threw the empty bottle into the garbage pail and they left.