Psychological flexibility. And the only way to achieve it was to be honest about your emotions.
And right now, his emotions were telling him that Heidi was the most attractive woman he had ever known.
He erased the thoughts, like pushing a delete button, and got out of the jeep.
23
The coffee shop had amateur art on all the walls and in the corner were large bookshelves. Two men were playing chess at a table, and a woman in a beanie was writing something in a journal. One employee was behind the counter. Other than that, the place was empty.
Stanton waited until she chose the spot. A table near the windows, in plain view of the cashier and the men playing chess. He sat across from her and waited a beat until she placed her purse down by her feet.
“I’m sorry I startled you,” he said. “I just didn’t want to approach you in front of any co-workers.”
“I appreciate that. So who are you exactly?”
“I’m a detective with the homicide detail of the HPD. I was assigned the two murders I told you about.”
“The news called them the Black Widow Murders.”
He nodded. “That was an unfortunate nickname from our department. But I guess they have to call it something.”
The cashier came over and asked if they wanted anything. Stanton declined and Heidi asked for a coffee with cream.
“They have really good coffee here,” she said.
“I don’t drink coffee.”
“What, are you Mormon or something?” she said dismissively. He grinned. “Oh my gosh. You are. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.” He looked around. “I like this place. It reminds me of the coffee shops I would study at in college.”
“I know. College was the best time of my life. I guess I’m drawn to anything that reminds me of it.” She looked out the windows. “I didn’t kill those men.”
“I didn’t say you did.”
“But that’s why you’re here. You think I killed them.” The coffee came. She thanked the cashier and he laid a ticket on the table. Heidi took a sip of the coffee and placed it gingerly on the table. “How did they die?”
Stanton hesitated, wondering how many of the details he should discuss and what had been released to the press. “They were tortured to death. They died primarily from blood loss.”
“Primarily?”
“They were given potassium injections, probably to slow them down. They were also in severe shock. The ME thinks the blood loss is what killed them. But they would have died shortly anyway from the potassium. Whoever killed them made sure there was no way they could be saved.”
She nodded. Her eyes came up quickly, caught his, and went back down to her coffee. Her eyes were like crystals, large and pure. Stanton felt like they could have gleamed in the dark. He had to remind himself why he was here. He had to picture those two men strapped to a bed with swaths of skin pulled off.
“What were the dates they were killed?” Heidi asked.
“May first and June third.”
She nodded. “I worked all day on those days.”
“You know what days of the week they are off the top of your head?”
“I only have Sundays off. Most murders don’t happen on Sundays.”
“Why do you say that?”
She shrugged and took another sip of coffee before picking up a sugar packet. “I don’t know,” she said, tearing open the packet and pouring the contents into the black liquid. “Just something I’ve always felt. I was a pediatric trauma surgeon in Los Angeles for a while. The murders we received were mostly during the week or Friday and Saturday. There didn’t seem to be as many on Sundays.” She smiled. “Maybe because all the murderers were in church. No offense.”
“None taken. It’s probably true. A high percentage of people with antisocial personality disorder are also fervently religious.”
“So was I right?”
“Yes. One was a Wednesday and one was a Monday.”
She nodded, not looking at him. “I would have been working.”
“The time of
And right now, his emotions were telling him that Heidi was the most attractive woman he had ever known.
He erased the thoughts, like pushing a delete button, and got out of the jeep.
23
The coffee shop had amateur art on all the walls and in the corner were large bookshelves. Two men were playing chess at a table, and a woman in a beanie was writing something in a journal. One employee was behind the counter. Other than that, the place was empty.
Stanton waited until she chose the spot. A table near the windows, in plain view of the cashier and the men playing chess. He sat across from her and waited a beat until she placed her purse down by her feet.
“I’m sorry I startled you,” he said. “I just didn’t want to approach you in front of any co-workers.”
“I appreciate that. So who are you exactly?”
“I’m a detective with the homicide detail of the HPD. I was assigned the two murders I told you about.”
“The news called them the Black Widow Murders.”
He nodded. “That was an unfortunate nickname from our department. But I guess they have to call it something.”
The cashier came over and asked if they wanted anything. Stanton declined and Heidi asked for a coffee with cream.
“They have really good coffee here,” she said.
“I don’t drink coffee.”
“What, are you Mormon or something?” she said dismissively. He grinned. “Oh my gosh. You are. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.” He looked around. “I like this place. It reminds me of the coffee shops I would study at in college.”
“I know. College was the best time of my life. I guess I’m drawn to anything that reminds me of it.” She looked out the windows. “I didn’t kill those men.”
“I didn’t say you did.”
“But that’s why you’re here. You think I killed them.” The coffee came. She thanked the cashier and he laid a ticket on the table. Heidi took a sip of the coffee and placed it gingerly on the table. “How did they die?”
Stanton hesitated, wondering how many of the details he should discuss and what had been released to the press. “They were tortured to death. They died primarily from blood loss.”
“Primarily?”
“They were given potassium injections, probably to slow them down. They were also in severe shock. The ME thinks the blood loss is what killed them. But they would have died shortly anyway from the potassium. Whoever killed them made sure there was no way they could be saved.”
She nodded. Her eyes came up quickly, caught his, and went back down to her coffee. Her eyes were like crystals, large and pure. Stanton felt like they could have gleamed in the dark. He had to remind himself why he was here. He had to picture those two men strapped to a bed with swaths of skin pulled off.
“What were the dates they were killed?” Heidi asked.
“May first and June third.”
She nodded. “I worked all day on those days.”
“You know what days of the week they are off the top of your head?”
“I only have Sundays off. Most murders don’t happen on Sundays.”
“Why do you say that?”
She shrugged and took another sip of coffee before picking up a sugar packet. “I don’t know,” she said, tearing open the packet and pouring the contents into the black liquid. “Just something I’ve always felt. I was a pediatric trauma surgeon in Los Angeles for a while. The murders we received were mostly during the week or Friday and Saturday. There didn’t seem to be as many on Sundays.” She smiled. “Maybe because all the murderers were in church. No offense.”
“None taken. It’s probably true. A high percentage of people with antisocial personality disorder are also fervently religious.”
“So was I right?”
“Yes. One was a Wednesday and one was a Monday.”
She nodded, not looking at him. “I would have been working.”
“The time of
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