Blood Ties by Nicholas Guild

serious.
    â€œI’m sure it’s obvious to you,” he said finally, “that this particular murderer has had a lot of practice. He isn’t making his debut in San Francisco. Can we agree on that?”
    Sam nodded, with effort. “For purposes of this discussion, yes.”
    â€œThen I can offer you something,” Tregear announced, as if genuinely pleased. “Talk to the Seattle police about four unsolved murders that occurred between June and November of last year. Then call a Sergeant Carton at Boise Homicide, about a case that’s still on the books from last April. Needless to say, there are others, but those will give you a taste.
    â€œAnd now you can do something for me.” Tregear addressed this to Ellen. “Tell me about the Wilkes killing.”
    Ellen glanced at Sam, who looked as if his lunch was beginning to disagree with him, and then turned back to Tregear with what she hoped was a modest, slightly embarrassed smile.
    â€œI wonder if I could use your bathroom.”
    It took a brief moment for the request to register, and then Tregear instantly switched back to the perfect host.
    â€œCertainly.” He halfway rose out of his chair, as if he thought he might be required to lead her by the hand. “Up the stairs. First doorway on your left.”
    As she exited the room, she wondered if Tregear was watching her. And then she wondered what her wondering might mean.
    It was the cleanest bathroom in living memory, which was a disappointment. There was nothing on the sink except a dispenser of liquid soap—no comb, no brush, no electric razor. The medicine cabinet was just as barren.
    Ellen had the sinking feeling that this was probably the guest bathroom.
    Then she noticed the towels. They weren’t folded as if they had just come from the linen closet. She touched the face towel and it was still slightly damp.
    This was Tregear’s bathroom. He was just a clean freak.
    There was a shower stall. Lots of people preferred a shower stall to a bathtub. Maybe the only thing Tregear did in this room was use the shower.
    The shower drain was covered with a plastic cap. She took out the jackknife she always carried and pried the cap out.
    Praise be to God, there were a few strands of hair sticking to the inside.
    Ellen extracted an evidence bag and one plastic glove from her pocket. By the time she had put the glove on, used her finger to scoop out the hair strands, put both the glove and the hair in the evidence bag and then put the bag back in her pocket and replaced the drain cap, she had been in the bathroom for about a minute and a half.
    She was almost ready to leave and go back downstairs when she remembered she had forgotten to flush the toilet. She worked the handle and then made a leisurely production out of washing her hands. Men always assumed that it took women forever to pee, so when her hands were clean she inspected her face and hair in the mirror.
    She didn’t like her expression. It was cold and cynical. This is what I do, she thought to herself. I steal hair out of people’s drains. I pry into their lives.
    When she got back to the living room, there was complete silence. Ellen had the impression there had been what her mother would have called a “scene.” Sam looked angry and Tregear looked uncomfortable, as if he had just witnessed a display of bad manners he was too polite to acknowledge.
    Sam stood up. “We’d better be going now.”
    The only exchange of pleasantries at the door occurred when Tregear took her hand and smiled the kindest, warmest smile Ellen had ever seen.
    â€œIt was a pleasure to meet you,” he said.
    They were in the car and had already slipped into the flow of traffic before Ellen could bring herself to speak.
    â€œSo what happened while I was gone?” she asked.
    â€œI told him I’d check with Seattle and Boise and that if his information turned out to be useful we might have