The director tried to question me but I cut him off, saying we possessed no ambitions beyond what we were doing. Yes, we were as frightened as a kid on a high board, looking at the water below.
"You're not doing it for money." It was a statement, not a question. "You know you could name your price."
"I'd be lying if I didn't admit we have expenses and we're limited in what we can do because of real life restraints, but we're not in this for a golden purse. We're trying to come to grips with our day to day problems like the rest of the masses." He tried to interrogate me more but I'd had my say.
"Give Daniel Brennan a free hand and we'll both have what we want. You and I are finished here." I added a thank-you before hanging up.
Four of us, sans Martha, shared a bottle of bourbon with Quinn drinking two for each of ours. We played back our conversation with crossed fingers and not a small dose of nervousness. Later, we tried to get back to business.
It was difficult on Sunday, attempting a routine day after our leap forward contact with the director. Howie's first two sessions were failures. Few cases met fell within our criteria. Late in the afternoon, we tried something different. It was a murder.
Howie broke out in a sweat when he thought about actually witnessing a killing. There was always a chance it would happen as he pursued an abduction but he remained adverse to a case where we knew for sure someone was killed. This case was a twelve year old girl, shot in cold blood as she sat alone at the poolside of her California home. Her parents, next door at a neighborhood barbeque, were startled by a gun shot. By the time they reached their daughter she was dead, with no one in sight. The police blamed street violence though the neighborhood was wrong and girl had no known gang involvement.
"Please, Howie," Betsy pleaded. "You can look away when it actually happens but we have to get this guy before he kills another child." Howie reluctantly agreed.
The perpetrator proved to be a thirteen year old girl, scarcely known to the victim, jealous of an older boy's changing affections. We shared our sadness at the waste of two barely emerging lives with the remainder of the celebratory bourbon.
I waited until Monday to call Daniel Brennan.
Georgia. It's is warm here in the south and I fear I can't keep my tiny trophy in my auto another day. Where shall I choose as her final resting place? The sea shore is too far to the east so I fear she'll be remanded to a roadside bier of Kudzu and discarded fast food wrappers. I'm sorry my darling. Oh well, there are always others.