Skeleton Key by Jane Haddam Page A

is, the Watertown police had this stolen car case, and they were looking into it, and one of the things they had some witness saying was thatthey saw this stolen car, this Jeep, and it seemed to be following the BMW.”
    â€œWait. The BMW is the one you found the body in. The one that was doing ninety miles an hour.”
    â€œRight. And this was about seven o’clock or so. So the Watertown police got into it. And now they’re saying that they might just bring in the state police and let them handle it, because when you have a bunch of towns like this it can be hard to sort out jurisdiction, because you don’t know what happened where. Do you see what I mean?”
    â€œSort of. It still doesn’t mean I can go barging in there throwing around advice nobody has asked me for, Bennis. Much as I’d like to. Because you’re involved.”
    â€œOh, I know. But that’s the thing. I talked to the resident trooper. And he knew who you were. And he thought—”
    â€œHe thought?”
    â€œWell, okay. I brought it up. But they’ve spent money on psychics in this state, Gregor, at least you’d actually do some good. And they all know who you are. Even the town cops do. And they want you to help. It’s not as if you’d gone and retired or anything.”
    Gregor lay back on the bed and put his feet up. It was true. He hadn’t retired. He just hadn’t taken much work lately. He wasn’t quite sure why that was. There had been times in his life when he had been thoroughly sick of work. He had spent twenty years in the Federal Bureau of Investigation, the last ten of them as head of the behavioral sciences unit, the section dedicated to the tracking of serial killers. That had gotten old so fast it had left him breathless. There had been times, with one more string of child murders lying on his desk, or the arrival of a new set of photographs meant to show what had been found in yet another series of unmarked graves, when he would gladly have chucked it all and become an accountant. There had been other times, like when he had first started consulting for police departments after he’d moved to Philadelphia, when he’d been enormously gratified to be able to do the work he could do. Lately he’d just been—distracted.
    â€œGregor?
    â€œI’m here,” he said. “Are you sure you’re all right, where you are? At this hotel?”
    â€œIt’s a Revolutionary War-era inn. And it’s beautiful. And I’m fine. Except that I miss you.”
    â€œI miss you, too.”
    â€œSo come on out. At least keep me company. You can talk to the state police when you get here. And you don’t have to consult if you don’t want to.”
    â€œAre you going to have to be there for any length of time?”
    â€œI don’t know,” Bennis said.
    â€œAll right,” Gregor said. “Do you mind if I tell you that this sounds like a script for a Woody Allen movie?’
    â€œNo, Gregor, I don’t mind. You should have been in the middle of it. I think there must be all kinds of people around here who do nothing but monitor the police band. You wouldn’t believe the commotion. And Margaret Anson. I mean. Oh, hell. Margaret
Anson.”
    Gregor turned over on his side. “So,” he said. “Have you worked it out? Can I get there from here? Washington Depot sounds like a train station.”
    â€œIt used to be. It isn’t anymore. And I have worked it out. Do you mind?”
    â€œNot at all. You’ve always been—meticulous about that sort of thing.”
    â€œThanks a lot”
    â€œIt wasn’t an insult. Besides, I like you to act like yourself. How complicated is this going to be?”
    â€œNot so much complicated as long, Gregor. You take the Amtrak to New York. You take the shuttle to Grand Central. You take the New Haven line to Bridgeport. You take the bud car to Waterbury.