Free Kill Me Once by Jon Osborne Page B

I’m really sorry. You’re in charge while I’m gone, OK? Can you keep me updated on any developments? I’ll be on my cell.’
    ‘What’s going on?’ He sounded temporarily panicked. ‘We’re in the middle of a case; we need you here. How long are you going to be gone for?’
    Dana filled him in as quickly as she could on the possible connection to the murder out in LA. ‘I’m not sure where all this is going to lead, but if there’s a connection I’ll probably head out to Los Angeles with this Jeremy Brown guy to investigate the scene if I can get the proper clearance. How’s it coming along with the court orders for those other four autopsies?’
    ‘Still working on it,’ Templeton said, happier now that he understood the situation. ‘Should hear something back any time now. I’ll call you. Good luck.’
    Dana stepped off the kerb just in time to avoid getting run over by a beeping motorised baggage cart piloted by a bored-looking black man in his late fifties and wearing white earmuffs and a scraggly grey beard. ‘Thanks, Gary,’ she said, casting an irritated glance at the driver of the cart, who gave her a disinterested look in return. ‘I really appreciate all your help.’
    She switched off her call to Templeton. Once again she wondered if she was doing the right thing by heading off like this at Crawford’s beck and call. Then she reminded herself of Crawford’s phenomenal instinct for the tiny details that could crack a case wide open. If he thought she should go to DC then chances were he was right. Any possible clue, however small, that might lead them closer to this brutal killer had to be worth it, whatever the inconvenience to her or anyone else. She picked up the overnight bag at her feet and entered the bustling terminal. Inside, harried-looking mothers dragged small children behind them while businessmen in rumpled suits thumbed through slender copies of Fortune magazine. Bundled-up vacationers and college students wearing North Face backpacks hustled to their respective destinations with the heavy smell of Starbucks coffee hanging in the air.
    When she’d been younger – never an especially happy time in her life following the untimely deaths of her parents – Dana had nonetheless always found airports hopelessly romantic. Without fail she’d fall in love at least three times in ten minutes, wondering where certain young men were off to in such a hurry. Were they on vacation? Off to attend a business seminar in Las Vegas? Rushing to be reunited with their estranged parents, whom they hadn’t seen or spoken to in more than ten years? The possibilities were always endless, and they let Dana’s imagination run wild, giving her mind a welcome break from the cold realities of her everyday life.
    These days her everyday life seemed to consist of little more than work, work and still more work. A few months ago she’d joined a Thursday-night pottery class at the YMCA in the hopes of meeting some new people on a social level, but she’d found it hopelessly boring. She’d always enjoyed art in college, but shaping ashtrays out of clay just didn’t appeal to her all that much. Not only did she not smoke, if she had smoked she could’ve easily picked up a ten-pack of cheap plastic ashtrays at Wal-Mart for a measly five bucks. What was the fucking point? Besides, the class had been filled with people just like her – lonely women rapidly approaching middle age who seemed more interested in finding a man to take them away from the drudgery of it all than in fashioning another useless trinket out of clay to clutter up the house.
    It was forty-five minutes before Dana made it through the security line and another half-hour before she finally settled into her seat on the plane next to a middle-aged businessman wearing an immaculate blue suit and what smelled like at least two gallons of expensive cologne. Dana’s eyes watered as she tried to identify the scent. No luck.
    Ten minutes later