Free Ashes to Ashes by Tami Hoag Page A

questions, even though the reporters are clamoring for confirmation of the victim’s identity and for the gruesome details of the crime, like scavengers drooling for the chance to pick the carcass after the predator’s feast. They bark out questions, shout the word
decapitation
. There are rumors of a witness.
    The idea of someone watching the intimacy of his acts excites him. He believes any witness to his acts would be aroused by those acts, as he was. Aroused in a way just beyond understanding, as he had been as a child locked in the closet, listening to his mother having sex with men he didn’t know. Arousal instinctively known as forbidden, irrepressible just the same.
    Questions and more questions from the media.
    No answers. No comment.
    He sees John Quinn standing off to one side among a group of cops, and feels a rush of pride. He is familiar with Quinn’s reputation, his theories. He has seen him on television, read articles about him. The FBI has sent their best for the Cremator.
    He wants the agent to take the podium, wants to hear his voice and his thoughts, but Quinn doesn’t move. The reporters seem not to recognize him standing out of reach of the spotlight. Then the principals walk away from the podium, surrounded by uniformed police officers. The press conference is over.
    Disappointment weighs down on him. He had expected more, wanted more. Needs more. He had predicted
they
would need more.
    With a jolt he realizes he has been waiting to react, that for a moment he allowed his feelings to hinge on the decisions of others. Unacceptable behavior. He is
pro
active, not
re
active.
    The reporters give up and hurry for the doors. Stories to write, sources to pump. The small crowd in which he stands begins to break up and move. He moves with them, just another face.
     
     
    “LET’S GO, KIDDO. We’re out of here.”
    Angie looked up from the mug books on the table, wary, her stringy hair hiding half her face. Her gaze darted from Kate to Liska as she rose from her chair, as if she were expecting the detective to pull a gun and prevent her escape. Liska’s attention was on Kate.
    “You got the okay to go? Where’s Kovac?”
    Kate looked her in the eye. “Yeah … uh, Kovac’s tied up with the lieutenant at the press conference. They’re talking task force.”
    “I want in on that,” Liska said with determination.
    “You should. A case like this makes careers.” And breaks them, Kate thought, wondering just how much trouble she was making for herself springing Angie DiMarco—and how much trouble she would be making for Liska.
    The end justifies the means
. She thought of Quinn. At least her goal was noble rather than self-serving manipulation.
    Rationalization: the key to a clear conscience.
    “Are the cameras rolling?” Liska asked.
    “Even as we speak.” Kate watched out of the corner of her eye as her client palmed a Bic lighter someone had left on the table and slipped it into her coat pocket. Christ. A kid
and
a kleptomaniac. “Seems like a good time to split.”
    “Run for it while you can,” Liska advised. “You’re a double bonus today. I hear your name attached to a certain act of heroic lunacy at the government center this morning. If the newsies don’t nail you for one thing, they’ll nail you for another.”
    “My life is much too exciting.”
    “Where are you taking me?” Angie demanded as she came to the door, slinging her backpack over one shoulder.
    “Dinner. I’m starving, and you look like you’ve been starving for a while.”
    “But your boss said—”
    “Screw him. I want to see somebody lock Ted Sabin in a room for a day or two. Maybe he’d develop a little empathy. Let’s go.”
    Angie shot one last glance at Liska and scooted out the door, hiking her backpack up as she hurried after Kate.
    “Will you get in trouble?”
    “Do you care?”
    “It’s not my problem if you get fired.”
    “That’s the spirit. Listen, we’ve got to go up to my office.