“You don’t have the words,” he said tautly.
Pescoli slowly turned on her heel and eyed the undersheriff uneasily. Some of her anger dissipated as she gazed at his stony face. He might not look like it, but she knew he was just barely holding it together, too. “She’s fully clothed,” Pescoli told him, holding up her hands.
“So, what then?” he challenged.
“Just a major lip-lock between her and my son,” Pescoli said. “My son, who I’m about to give a boot to the backside. And that’s all I’m saying about that.”
He opened and shut his mouth several times like a gasping fish, then showed enormous restraint by merely slapping a hand in the air at her and turning away.
As his footsteps stomped off, Alvarez said, “You didn’t have the words, because Jeremy and Bianca were in a lip-lock?”
“There was one of her bent forward in one of those poses where she’s looking at the camera and sucking the hell out of a lollipop. A few other similar ones, too.”
“Maybe you can frame one and give it to Brewster for your Secret Santa gift,” Alvarez suggested.
“There’s an idea. So, what’s kept you here all night? I’m trying to get out of here early so I can referee at my house.”
“I’ve been thinking about the case.”
“Okay.”
“We haven’t pushed O’Halleran enough. We just accepted his assurances that he and Jocelyn weren’t really dating, but maybe he wasn’t giving us the whole truth.”
Pescoli rolled that over in her mind. “The guy works pretty much by himself, doesn’t have to clock in anywhere.”
“Not only was he involved with one victim, but his missing wife looks a lot like the other victims.”
“So, you want to call him in?” Pescoli asked.
“I think it’s definitely time for another interview.”
Pescoli glanced at the clock. “It’s barely seven thirty. What time did you get here?”
“Couple hours ago. Is that Joelle . . . ?”
From down the hall they heard a woman’s voice, Joelle’s, singing: “Here comes Suzy Snowflake, dressed in a snow-white gown. Tap, tap, tappin’ at your windowpane, to tell you she’s in town.”
“Did she make that up, or is it really a Christmas carol?” Pescoli asked.
“I think it’s a Christmas carol.” Alvarez reached for her phone, but it suddenly rang beneath her hand. She threw Pescoli a look, then hit the speaker button and said, “Alvarez.”
“Detective Alvarez.” A woman’s voice came through. “This is Dr. Kacey Lambert.”
Alvarez gave Pescoli a “what’s this” look, and Pescoli shook her head. “Yes?”
“There are microphones, listening devices, planted in my home. I’m not sure why, but it may have something to do with these ... recent accidents.”
“Microphones?” Alvarez picked out the word that jumped out at her.
“Tiny ones. Secretive.”
“You think someone’s bugging you?”
“Looks that way.”
“You have an idea who?”
“No . . .” Her voice grew uncertain, and Pescoli could tell she was already having serious second thoughts about calling them.