The Rook Read Online Free Page B

work, but when we were nearly done with our salads, Tessa steered us back. “So, Patrick. Is it true you have the highest clearance record for cases involving serial offenders in the history of the FBI?”
    “Wow. That was random.”
    “You’re not allowed to say that. You’re over thirty.”
    I took a slim breath. “Tessa, where did you hear that statistic?”
    “Fox News. A couple of weeks ago. After that whole thing with Ramirez.”
    Julio Ramirez had abducted young boys from playgrounds in Maine. He would take them to his home, do the things to them that parents have nightmares about, then lock them in a pit in his basement until they starved to death. Eight in all. My friend, Special Agent Ralph Hawkins, and I had caught him just after the first of the year.
    “Well, I’m not sure if that stat is exactly accurate.”
    She punched her fork into her salad and stuffed an olive into her mouth. “They said it was.”
    “You can’t always trust what you hear. Look, I don’t really want to talk about all this right now. Let’s plan our schedule for the next couple—”
    “They only call you in when everyone else is, like, totally stumped—which is pretty cool, by the way, I have to say.”
    “Thank you. Now, let’s talk about—”
    “But don’t get a big head or anything,” she said. “Because, I don’t really get it.”
    “You don’t get what?”
    “What you do.”
    I didn’t like where this was going. “I thought you read the two books I wrote?”
    “Well, I did. Sort of.”
    “Sort of?”
    She dropped her gaze. Let it wander around the table. “I did read ‘em, I mean … until I fell asleep.”
    A needle through my ego. Punctured. Drifting to the ground.
    “You fell asleep reading my books?”
    “Look, I didn’t mean to, OK? It’s just … I couldn’t help it.”
    She stuffed some lettuce into her mouth. “No offense or anything, but don’t quit your day job.”
    How nice.
    “Anyway.” Talking with her mouth full again, “What I mean is, maybe you can explain it better in person than on paper.”
    Boy, she really knew how to lay on the compliments.
    I decided to go for it, though. I might not get another chance.
    But make it quick, then get back to planning the week.
    “OK. Let’s see, where to start … So, crimes only occur when five factors intersect.”
    “Time, location, offender, victim or object of desire, and lack of supervision or law enforcement presence. That was in the introduction to Understanding Crime and Space . I hadn’t fallen asleep yet.”
    “Well, that’s encouraging.” I grabbed a saltshaker and slid it in front of me. It would be too complex to talk through all fourteen fires, but I could at least give her an idea of what I do by referencing four or five of them. “So then, with these arsons, let’s say this is the site of the first fire …” I tapped the saltshaker, then moved the pepper to the far side of the table. “The next arson was down here, south of San Diego in Chula Vista …” I put the rental car keys behind my salad bowl. “And the third fire was here, in Clairemont …” I moved the coffee creamer and the teacup into position.
    “And these are fires four and five, what does that tell you?”
    “Nothing. They’re just spread out all over.”
    “Actually, it tells us several things.” I crumpled up a napkin and set it in the middle of the table.
    “Is that the next fire?”
    “No, it’s where I believe the arsonist might live. Think about this for a minute: if you started those fires, do you think you’d be familiar with the area?”
    “I guess. So I’d know how to get away.”
    “Right. But if you committed the crimes too close to your home, you might draw too much attention to yourself.” I dipped my finger in the bread oil and drew two concentric circles around the napkin, the outer one enclosing the salt and pepper fires. As I did so, our server approached, took one look at me finger-painting on the table, spun on