Unlucky 13

I WAIT UNTIL I leave the building before I blow off any steam. I won’t give Dickinson the satisfaction of seeing me angry, and I won’t give him fodder to use against me when I try to return to my job in seven weeks. (The truth is I probably already have; he can point to my e-mails, and however he chooses to paint the conversation we just had, as proof that I’m “obsessive” and also committing the greatest sin of a research analyst—“acting like an agent,” forgetting my place in the hierarchy.)

When I settle into the return drive on I-95, I give my steering wheel a couple of good hard smacks, which doesn’t make me feel any better and, if I’m not careful, could leave me with broken fingers. “Asshole!” I yell. That makes me feel better; the only thing I might hurt is my vocal cords. “Asshole! Asshole!”

Dickinson owns me now, after the disciplinary hearing; I’ll be on probation and if I make one false step—or if The Dick even claims I misstepped—I’m done. Oh, watching him smirk at me back there, pretending that I’m in need of therapy. We both know my only disciplinary problem was that I pushed his hand off my knee every time he put it there, I said no to late dinners and even laughed at the idea of a weekend getaway, just the two of us. It was the laugh, I think, that finally did it. By the next morning, he had concocted some story to the upper brass that I was harassing him, and becoming more and more aggressive. Add in words like erratic and volatile—words that are easy to say and hard to disprove—and voila, you are a discipline problem.

Asshole.

But really, Emmy, get a grip. Solve the problem. I have to do something. I can’t give up on this. I know these cases are connected. But I’m stuck. I can’t go outside the chain of command, and The Dick is shutting me down, not on merit but out of spite. I’m stuck. What can I do? What else can I possibly—

Wait.

I let my foot off the pedal, for no particular reason, other than pissing off the SUV driver behind me—he is following me a little close—while I think it over. No. No. It’s the last thing I should do.

But yes, it might be my only way in. So I have to try it.

Because if I’m right about this guy, he’s getting better and better at killing. And nobody even knows he exists.