I met her when she first moved into the neighborhood and had stopped by to ask if a homeless person was camping behind our house. The answer was no-the camper had temporarily bedded down behind the overgrown back yard of a nearby house, owned by an elderly couple whose kids I had gone to school with. But that was how we met. It took a long time to realize that her businesslike restraint was not just because she was the supervisor of an elite federal law-enforcement unit, but also because she was shy.
“David. My God, are you all right?”
I told her I was and took a seat on one of the mission-style chairs in her perfect Pottery Barn living room.
“I guess not completely, since you’re packing.”
I had the Python under my windbreaker. I said, “An armed society is a polite society.”
“Yeah, yeah. I read about what happened. Did you know this…person? The story only said it was an unidentified male.”
“It was Robin’s boyfriend. You never met him.” I turned down her offer of wine. “He claimed to teach at NYU and was in town writing about sustainability. It’s the latest fad in academia.” I paused. “Unfortunately, it all seems to have been a scam.” I continued: Now the cops had an entirely different assumption, all based on the man’s ring that I had found in the death house. I described the design.
“El Verdugo.” She looked at me thoughtfully. “He’s been on the radar for several years.” She added, “If he’s real. Some analysts think he’s an amalgamation of different hired killers, but the myth is more powerful to the cartel.”
“The bogeyman.”
Her eyes were still. “Something like that.”
Amy was circumspect, even though we both worked in law enforcement. At one time, I would have been inclined to think: typical fed. Now I was more willing to accept that she had secrets she had to keep. We didn’t talk shop and I had never asked her for a professional favor.
“Are you still staying at home?” she said. “I’m surprised. Robin might be a target-I’m not telling you anything you don’t know. PPD’s providing protection, I assume.”
“I don’t count on it. The lead investigator is Kate Vare.”
“Ah, Ms. Professional Jealousy. Surely she wouldn’t let that get in the way.”
“I wish I could say that.”
The talk stoked my anxiety about Robin. But she knew the drill: if the alarm went off, she would immediately get in the safe space behind the steel plate, with the Chief’s Special, and dial 911. “Tell the dispatcher,” I had drilled her, “it’s a break-in that is in progress. They respond to those words, ‘in progress.’ ”
