stalked out of his office, heading back for the lab. I followed Baker as far as the reception area, but Emma Jackson wasn’t there. I found her out in the parking lot, pacing back and forth beside the car. She was understandably agitated and upset, but I wondered if there was more to it than that.
“Look,” I said, once we were in the car, “I know how awful all this is for you, but I hope you’re not thinking about turning yourself into a one-woman posse. Forget it.”
“Why should I?”
“Why? Because it’s dangerous, just like Doc Baker said. If you tangle with these creeps, you could be killed too.”
“So?” she asked.
She didn’t say, “What’s the big deal?” but the thought was there, hanging heavily in the air between us. I glanced across the seat. Her slender jaw was set. A single tear glistened in the corner of her eye. The idea of being killed herself didn’t seem to offer much terror to Emma Jackson right about then. In fact, death may have seemed like a reasonable alternative to the ordeal she was facing.
“Things’ll get better,” I said, hoping to offer some comfort. “Don’t think you’ve got nothing left to live for.”
“That’s easy for you to say, Detective Beaumont,” she declared reproachfully. “Your son isn’t lying back there on a stainless steel slab. Mine is.”
There wasn’t a hell of a lot I could say to counter that remark. If Dr. Jackson made up her mind to become personally involved in solving the case, there wasn’t a whole lot I could do about that either. My best tactic was to try to derail her by embroiling her in some innocuous aspect of the case. I needed to give her a task assignment so she’d feel as though she was accomplishing something, making a contribution.
“You have connections with all the hospitals around town, haven’t you?”
She shrugged. “I suppose. Why?”
“The first thing you need to do is to get some rest and then you’ll probably need to work on funeral arrangements. But after that, I’d like to ask you to help me.”
“Doing what?”
“By calling each of the hospitals and checking with the various E.R.s to see if any dog-bite victims came through last night.”
“If I find anything out, what makes you think I’ll tell you?”
“You’re not stupid, Dr. Jackson,” I told her bluntly. “If the killers were tough enough to handle Ben Weston, they’d certainly be more than a match for you.”
She seemed to think about it for a moment or two. “I suppose I could do that,” she said eventually. “Check for you, I mean.”
“Good.”
We came to a stoplight. I dug out one of my cards and scribbled my home number on the back of it. “Call me any time of the day or night and let me know whatever you find out.”
“All right.”
“The department has created a task force to handle this,” I continued. “I’m only assigned to Adam’s part of the case. Later on, I’ll need to interview you in detail and, most likely, so will other members of the team.”
She nodded. “Right,” she said. “I understand.”
“But do me a favor, would you?”
“What’s that?”
“If you talk to someone named Detective Kramer, don’t mention to him that I have you checking with the hospitals for me, would you? He’s a lot more territorial about that kind of thing than I am.”
“I won’t mention it,” she said.
We headed straight back toward her house on Queen Anne Hill. We were turning off Denny Way onto Fifth North when Emma Jackson jumped as though she’d forgotten something important.
“What is it?”
“You said Junior’s all right, but you never told me where he is.”
“With his grandfather,” I told her, “Ben Weston’s father. We turned Junior over to old Mr. Weston early this morning. He came down to the Public Safety Building and picked him up.”
“Really,” she snorted. “Wonders will never cease.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because Ben Weston’s father hated everything about
“Look,” I said, once we were in the car, “I know how awful all this is for you, but I hope you’re not thinking about turning yourself into a one-woman posse. Forget it.”
“Why should I?”
“Why? Because it’s dangerous, just like Doc Baker said. If you tangle with these creeps, you could be killed too.”
“So?” she asked.
She didn’t say, “What’s the big deal?” but the thought was there, hanging heavily in the air between us. I glanced across the seat. Her slender jaw was set. A single tear glistened in the corner of her eye. The idea of being killed herself didn’t seem to offer much terror to Emma Jackson right about then. In fact, death may have seemed like a reasonable alternative to the ordeal she was facing.
“Things’ll get better,” I said, hoping to offer some comfort. “Don’t think you’ve got nothing left to live for.”
“That’s easy for you to say, Detective Beaumont,” she declared reproachfully. “Your son isn’t lying back there on a stainless steel slab. Mine is.”
There wasn’t a hell of a lot I could say to counter that remark. If Dr. Jackson made up her mind to become personally involved in solving the case, there wasn’t a whole lot I could do about that either. My best tactic was to try to derail her by embroiling her in some innocuous aspect of the case. I needed to give her a task assignment so she’d feel as though she was accomplishing something, making a contribution.
“You have connections with all the hospitals around town, haven’t you?”
She shrugged. “I suppose. Why?”
“The first thing you need to do is to get some rest and then you’ll probably need to work on funeral arrangements. But after that, I’d like to ask you to help me.”
“Doing what?”
“By calling each of the hospitals and checking with the various E.R.s to see if any dog-bite victims came through last night.”
“If I find anything out, what makes you think I’ll tell you?”
“You’re not stupid, Dr. Jackson,” I told her bluntly. “If the killers were tough enough to handle Ben Weston, they’d certainly be more than a match for you.”
She seemed to think about it for a moment or two. “I suppose I could do that,” she said eventually. “Check for you, I mean.”
“Good.”
We came to a stoplight. I dug out one of my cards and scribbled my home number on the back of it. “Call me any time of the day or night and let me know whatever you find out.”
“All right.”
“The department has created a task force to handle this,” I continued. “I’m only assigned to Adam’s part of the case. Later on, I’ll need to interview you in detail and, most likely, so will other members of the team.”
She nodded. “Right,” she said. “I understand.”
“But do me a favor, would you?”
“What’s that?”
“If you talk to someone named Detective Kramer, don’t mention to him that I have you checking with the hospitals for me, would you? He’s a lot more territorial about that kind of thing than I am.”
“I won’t mention it,” she said.
We headed straight back toward her house on Queen Anne Hill. We were turning off Denny Way onto Fifth North when Emma Jackson jumped as though she’d forgotten something important.
“What is it?”
“You said Junior’s all right, but you never told me where he is.”
“With his grandfather,” I told her, “Ben Weston’s father. We turned Junior over to old Mr. Weston early this morning. He came down to the Public Safety Building and picked him up.”
“Really,” she snorted. “Wonders will never cease.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because Ben Weston’s father hated everything about
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