greater information resources were available and detective support departments such as the crime scene search unit, latent fingerprint unit, photography unit, police crime laboratory, and the document examination unit were more accessible.
Sami's concern about Captain Davison removing her from the case and turning it exclusively over to the Special Investigation Squad escalated with each moment she failed to produce a viable lead in the serial murders investigation. Although the captain hadn't alluded to this possibility, Al and she had struggled through another unproductive week, and often, at least within the dynamics of police procedures, certain repercussions were understood without the benefit of spoken words. She did not expect a warning. One morning--perhaps even today--Al and she would be summoned to Davison's office and the bloodletting would be over swiftly. No debate. No begging for more time.
Unlike prior investigations, this case baffled Detective Sami Rizzo. Her acute investigative skills and inherent ability to unearth a clue from seemingly innocuous information had always been a topic of great amusement among fellow detectives. With playful respect she had been nicknamed Blood Hound. Not an image she aspired to, but Sami, a little appreciative yet a bit insulted, reluctantly accepted the pet name in the spirit in which it was intended.
Every once in a while, particularly after she'd uncovered a new weighty piece of evidence in a difficult case, a giant-size Milkbone dog biscuit would mysteriously appear on her desk, wrapped, of course, with a big red ribbon. She'd not received any doggie treats on this investigation and couldn't believe that she actually missed them. This case completely bewildered her. The killer was indeed stealthy. A cruel, crafty, calculating murderer.
She parked the Taurus in the underground garage, grabbed her briefcase, and headed for the elevator. Just as she pushed the up button, her cell phone beeped.
"Sami Rizzo."
"Are you prepared for an evening of sumptuous food and stimulating conversation?"
She'd all but forgotten about the tentative dinner. "Simon?"
"Just calling to confirm our dinner date for tomorrow evening." His voice sounded strange.
Date ? Sami had always recognized the fine distinction between a date and enjoying dinner with a male companion. Did he really consider it a date, or was he merely playing a game of semantics? The offer tempted her, but the week had been consuming, and as much as she needed and wanted a recreational break..."Can I ask for a rain check, Simon?"
"Do you really want to hear a grown man cry?"
"It's been a hellish week and I'm afraid I wouldn't be much company."
"All work and no play makes for a dull life."
"I really can't, Simon."
"Look, you have to eat dinner anyway, right? Why not with me?"
She thought about his logic for a moment. How terrible could it be eating dinner opposite a man she was attracted to? "What time would be good for you?"
"Seven-thirty okay?"
"Perfect."
"Would I be less than chivalrous if I asked you to meet me at the restaurant?"
Maybe this wasn't a date? In her little book of etiquette, an honorable man always picked up his date. "What did you have in mind?"
"You're familiar with Pacific Beach, right?"
"Been there many times."
"How about Romano's Cafe, on the corner of Cass and Garnet?"
She'd never been there but heard about the quaint and romantic setting. "I'll see you at seven-thirty."
"Great. I'm looking forward to it, Sami."
"Just in case something unexpected happens--you never know with police work--why don't you give me your home or cell number."
Silence. "How about I call you around seven, just to confirm."
"Sure."
He doesn't want me to have his number.
That pang of doubt tweaked her subconscious.
When Sami walked into the precinct, Alberto Diaz was sitting on the corner of her desk, talking to Captain Davison. Diaz did a double take. Sami and Al had developed an esoteric communication
Sami's concern about Captain Davison removing her from the case and turning it exclusively over to the Special Investigation Squad escalated with each moment she failed to produce a viable lead in the serial murders investigation. Although the captain hadn't alluded to this possibility, Al and she had struggled through another unproductive week, and often, at least within the dynamics of police procedures, certain repercussions were understood without the benefit of spoken words. She did not expect a warning. One morning--perhaps even today--Al and she would be summoned to Davison's office and the bloodletting would be over swiftly. No debate. No begging for more time.
Unlike prior investigations, this case baffled Detective Sami Rizzo. Her acute investigative skills and inherent ability to unearth a clue from seemingly innocuous information had always been a topic of great amusement among fellow detectives. With playful respect she had been nicknamed Blood Hound. Not an image she aspired to, but Sami, a little appreciative yet a bit insulted, reluctantly accepted the pet name in the spirit in which it was intended.
Every once in a while, particularly after she'd uncovered a new weighty piece of evidence in a difficult case, a giant-size Milkbone dog biscuit would mysteriously appear on her desk, wrapped, of course, with a big red ribbon. She'd not received any doggie treats on this investigation and couldn't believe that she actually missed them. This case completely bewildered her. The killer was indeed stealthy. A cruel, crafty, calculating murderer.
She parked the Taurus in the underground garage, grabbed her briefcase, and headed for the elevator. Just as she pushed the up button, her cell phone beeped.
"Sami Rizzo."
"Are you prepared for an evening of sumptuous food and stimulating conversation?"
She'd all but forgotten about the tentative dinner. "Simon?"
"Just calling to confirm our dinner date for tomorrow evening." His voice sounded strange.
Date ? Sami had always recognized the fine distinction between a date and enjoying dinner with a male companion. Did he really consider it a date, or was he merely playing a game of semantics? The offer tempted her, but the week had been consuming, and as much as she needed and wanted a recreational break..."Can I ask for a rain check, Simon?"
"Do you really want to hear a grown man cry?"
"It's been a hellish week and I'm afraid I wouldn't be much company."
"All work and no play makes for a dull life."
"I really can't, Simon."
"Look, you have to eat dinner anyway, right? Why not with me?"
She thought about his logic for a moment. How terrible could it be eating dinner opposite a man she was attracted to? "What time would be good for you?"
"Seven-thirty okay?"
"Perfect."
"Would I be less than chivalrous if I asked you to meet me at the restaurant?"
Maybe this wasn't a date? In her little book of etiquette, an honorable man always picked up his date. "What did you have in mind?"
"You're familiar with Pacific Beach, right?"
"Been there many times."
"How about Romano's Cafe, on the corner of Cass and Garnet?"
She'd never been there but heard about the quaint and romantic setting. "I'll see you at seven-thirty."
"Great. I'm looking forward to it, Sami."
"Just in case something unexpected happens--you never know with police work--why don't you give me your home or cell number."
Silence. "How about I call you around seven, just to confirm."
"Sure."
He doesn't want me to have his number.
That pang of doubt tweaked her subconscious.
When Sami walked into the precinct, Alberto Diaz was sitting on the corner of her desk, talking to Captain Davison. Diaz did a double take. Sami and Al had developed an esoteric communication
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