pulled money from his wallet.
"I'll bring the change."
He knew she would. Mary had come to him after running the household of an older partner in his firm until the children were grown enough not to need her. Now, at least someone in his life was dependable.
Mary set jam and butter on the table and then brought his toast. "Mr. McKinley, there's something I'd like to ask."
Michael looked up at her.
"You're not leaving, are you, Mary?" Amy voiced his own fears.
Mary smiled and shook her head. "Goodness, no. Not until you're fully grown, child."
Michael exhaled. "What is it, Mary?"
"My sister called last night. My mom's a little sick, and I'd like to go to Durham for a few days to visit her."
"Of course. When are you going?"
"I was hoping to leave in a week and stay for perhaps five or six days."
"A week?" Michael frowned. "But I'll be in California. Who will take care of—"
"California?" Amy squealed. "Are you going to see Mom?"
Michael snapped his mouth closed, realizing what a mistake he'd made.
Mary turned quickly to avoid the scene.
Amy dropped her fork and turned to him, her purple-stockinged legs dangling off the chair. "Dad? Are you going to see Mom? I want to come."
He started buttering his toast. "You can't come this time, honey. I'm going for work. What would you do while I was working?"
"Stay with Mom."
He pursed his lips. "You can't stay with Mom." He took a bite of his toast, but he'd lost his appetite.
"Dad, I want to go. I want to see Mom. Take me with you. Please."
He didn't meet her gaze, though he could feel those soft green eyes begging. "You can't miss school."
"Yes, I can. I'm way ahead, Dad. Mrs. Turner won't mind. And I'll make up all my work."
Frustrated, Michael dropped his toast and stood up. "Amy, no. That's enough."
Amy jumped up, knocking her chair to the floor. "I hate you. You don't want me to see Mom because you're jealous. I'm going to run away and go to California. You can't keep me here."
"Amy, please." Michael reached for her, but she'd already run from the table. "Damn it." He sank back into his chair and raked his hands through his hair.
"It might do her some good to see her mother, Mr. McKinley. I think it's rough on a little girl."
Michael didn't respond. Pulling himself from his chair, he climbed the stairs toward his daughter's room.
Chapter 12
Jordan revved the engine as he raced up the hill to McKinley's house, taking the corners with screeching tires. Her house would mark the first scene where Jordan knew his killer had spent any amount of time—if this was his killer, as Casey claimed. Another Caucasian female, age eleven, had been found in Golden Gate Park last night, wearing a green party hat. The white girl's body had been dumped just like the black girl in the alley. Just like the other ones—not a single witness, not one piece of concrete evidence.
Jordan would know; he'd been at the last scene until nearly three a.m. The rain, which had so kindly held off for the last crime scene, had soaked them, washing away most of the potential evidence and making it impossible to find and collect anything that might have been left, including any hair.
To make matters worse, the girl's body had been left staged under a tree, her thin body naked in the deep grass. Finding evidence was like searching for a pin in a wet haystack. He still had men working in Marin County on the scene of the victim whose body had been burned in what was supposed to look like an accidental fire. But Jordan wasn't expecting any miracles. He was beginning to think this killer might be invisible.
Fatigue dragged Jordan down like ankle weights. He wasn't going to get anywhere on this case if he didn't get some sleep. He accelerated around the last corner and slowed in front of McKinley's house.
An ambulance and two cop cars met him at the scene. He took a quick survey of the people in the area, but no one looked out of place. Still, he knew his man wasn't
"I'll bring the change."
He knew she would. Mary had come to him after running the household of an older partner in his firm until the children were grown enough not to need her. Now, at least someone in his life was dependable.
Mary set jam and butter on the table and then brought his toast. "Mr. McKinley, there's something I'd like to ask."
Michael looked up at her.
"You're not leaving, are you, Mary?" Amy voiced his own fears.
Mary smiled and shook her head. "Goodness, no. Not until you're fully grown, child."
Michael exhaled. "What is it, Mary?"
"My sister called last night. My mom's a little sick, and I'd like to go to Durham for a few days to visit her."
"Of course. When are you going?"
"I was hoping to leave in a week and stay for perhaps five or six days."
"A week?" Michael frowned. "But I'll be in California. Who will take care of—"
"California?" Amy squealed. "Are you going to see Mom?"
Michael snapped his mouth closed, realizing what a mistake he'd made.
Mary turned quickly to avoid the scene.
Amy dropped her fork and turned to him, her purple-stockinged legs dangling off the chair. "Dad? Are you going to see Mom? I want to come."
He started buttering his toast. "You can't come this time, honey. I'm going for work. What would you do while I was working?"
"Stay with Mom."
He pursed his lips. "You can't stay with Mom." He took a bite of his toast, but he'd lost his appetite.
"Dad, I want to go. I want to see Mom. Take me with you. Please."
He didn't meet her gaze, though he could feel those soft green eyes begging. "You can't miss school."
"Yes, I can. I'm way ahead, Dad. Mrs. Turner won't mind. And I'll make up all my work."
Frustrated, Michael dropped his toast and stood up. "Amy, no. That's enough."
Amy jumped up, knocking her chair to the floor. "I hate you. You don't want me to see Mom because you're jealous. I'm going to run away and go to California. You can't keep me here."
"Amy, please." Michael reached for her, but she'd already run from the table. "Damn it." He sank back into his chair and raked his hands through his hair.
"It might do her some good to see her mother, Mr. McKinley. I think it's rough on a little girl."
Michael didn't respond. Pulling himself from his chair, he climbed the stairs toward his daughter's room.
Chapter 12
Jordan revved the engine as he raced up the hill to McKinley's house, taking the corners with screeching tires. Her house would mark the first scene where Jordan knew his killer had spent any amount of time—if this was his killer, as Casey claimed. Another Caucasian female, age eleven, had been found in Golden Gate Park last night, wearing a green party hat. The white girl's body had been dumped just like the black girl in the alley. Just like the other ones—not a single witness, not one piece of concrete evidence.
Jordan would know; he'd been at the last scene until nearly three a.m. The rain, which had so kindly held off for the last crime scene, had soaked them, washing away most of the potential evidence and making it impossible to find and collect anything that might have been left, including any hair.
To make matters worse, the girl's body had been left staged under a tree, her thin body naked in the deep grass. Finding evidence was like searching for a pin in a wet haystack. He still had men working in Marin County on the scene of the victim whose body had been burned in what was supposed to look like an accidental fire. But Jordan wasn't expecting any miracles. He was beginning to think this killer might be invisible.
Fatigue dragged Jordan down like ankle weights. He wasn't going to get anywhere on this case if he didn't get some sleep. He accelerated around the last corner and slowed in front of McKinley's house.
An ambulance and two cop cars met him at the scene. He took a quick survey of the people in the area, but no one looked out of place. Still, he knew his man wasn't
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