“Forget it. It’s not as if you’re supposed to be our guard service.”

With effort, I held back any comment on the dinner with Barbara. The only time I ever wished Barbara would marry Kenny again was when I wanted Jack to be safe from her. She had met Jack on one of her visits to our house, and I knew she was attracted to him. Jack didn’t seem to be able to figure out that she had the red hots for him, and never seemed to treat her as anything more than a friend. Still, these late-night dinners…

“Well, I’m glad you’re getting a dog,” he was saying. “I know it doesn’t make you perfectly safe, but it can’t hurt. And I think this fellow will be good company.”

I thanked Jack again for dog-sitting and went home. Cody sniffed curiously at my clothes, but was easily distracted when I fed him.

FRANK CAME HOME about an hour later, and we had a quiet dinner together. We share silences fairly easily, but I noticed that this one had an edge to it. He wasn’t eating much, but he was looking at his plate more than he was looking at me. I wondered if he had reconsidered our truce.

“Did you learn anything more about Thanatos?” I asked.

He shrugged, then said, “Is this for publication?”

“Does it really matter?”

He sat back and pushed his plate away. “Yeah, I guess it does. Carlson is hot under the collar. John Walters really ticked him off today, so if I tell you something and it ends up in the paper, I’m in trouble. He threatened to take me off the case at least once an hour this afternoon.”

“He’s mad at John and he’s taking it out on you?”

“Right now, anything or anyone that reminds him of the Express can send him into a fit. Needless to say, I remind him of the Express. And it’s not just John. It’s Wrigley as well – the lieutenant is convinced that a wiretap would lead us to Thanatos.”

“I wasn’t involved in that discussion, but I understand why the paper said no.”

“Other papers have said yes under similar circumstances.”

“Not without a lot of soul-searching. In the only case I now of, the reporter’s life was being threatened.”

“Oh, I see. And in this case, it’s just a few unfortunate members of the public that are in danger. The paper would protect you, but not E.J. Blaylock or Rosie Thayer – or whoever is next.”

“That’s not the problem and you know it. I get calls from sources on that phone, people who would clam up on me for good if they ever thought the police could trace or record their calls. And I don’t like the idea of the cops listening in on my calls all day long.”

“You could set up an outgoing, separate phone line – a secure line without a tap – and tell your callers you’ll call them right back.”

“Because the call they’ve just made is being recorded and traced? I’m sure they’d be in a real hurry to thank me for that. I don’t find myself on Wrigley’s side very often, but this time I agree with him. A police wiretap would have a chilling effect on our sources, and in turn, on our ability to report the news.”

He sighed, looked like he would say more, then stood up and started clearing the table.

“Frank – talk to me.”

He hesitated, then sat down again. After a moment, he said, “I had to listen to arguments about this all damned afternoon, and I guess I’m just tired of hearing about it. The funny thing is, I’m arguing with you, and taking a position directly opposite the one I took with Carlson.”

“What do you mean?”

“I wasn’t as hot as he was on the idea of a tap – although for different reasons than yours. From what you’ve told me, Thanatos doesn’t stay on the line long enough to trap it. And from what we’ve seen of the guy’s methods, I can’t believe he’d be careless enough to call from his home or office. He’s a man who makes plans. He’s probably calling from pay phones or using an electronic device to hide the origin of the call. Even if he’s not, I knew what the paper would say when Carlson started talking about a tap, and hassling the Express won’t help us with this case. I figured the request for that kind of surveillance would only create a greater strain in the department’s relations with the paper.”

“You were right. I heard a rumor that the lieutenant is going for a warrant.”

“He’s already tried it. Judge wouldn’t give it to him. That didn’t improve his humor any.”

“I’m sorry you’re having to take flak off him on my account. Is there anything you can do to avoid his temper?”

“Just ride this out. And try not to give him grounds for any complaints. I know I can trust you not to report our private conversations, but Carlson doesn’t know you as well as I do. So he’s going to assume that anything that’s in the paper came straight from me to you. I’ll talk to you, but you’ve got to keep it out of the paper for now.”

“That’s not going to solve your problem. What if Mark Baker or one of the other reporters hears something from another cop?”

“Look, that could happen whether I say anything to you or not. I just want to have a clear conscience.”

Assured that I’d keep quiet for the time being, he told me what he had spent his day on whenever Carlson wasn’t bitching at him. Frank and Pete had talked to neighbors, to the realtors who were selling the house, and made phone calls to the people who owned the house. There was no sign of forcible entry at the house. They were tracking down anyone who might have had a key. They were talking to anyone who might have had any excuse to go near the house.

Just as Molly had said, the real estate listing on the house had expired three weeks ago, and the owners were considering finding a new agent. The realty company that had listed the property was trying to talk them out of switching. Frustrated, the owners had decided to leave the house off the market until after Christmas; they were planning to fly out in January to talk to other realtors. All of the people who had been contacted by the police claimed they hadn’t been in the house during the last three weeks. The Las Piernas Board of Realtor’s lockbox was still on the house, the key to the house still in it.

“Any of these people know Rosie Thayer?”

“No, at least they say they don’t. Hernandez is still working on cause of death.”

That surprised me. “Is there really any doubt?”

“Yes, there is. Hernandez doesn’t think she starved or died from dehydration. She’s been dead for a while, but with the ants – well, I won’t go into that at the table.”

“Thanks.” When it comes to the coroner’s work, there’s still a big gap between what Frank can stomach watching close at hand and what I can stand to hear him refer to in more than a vague sort of way.

As we finished clearing off the table and started to wash the dishes, something he said stayed with me. I frowned down into the sinkful of suds and scrubbed a plate. “How long is ‘awhile’? More than two days?”

He reached over and stilled my hands, making me realize that I had done a fairly good imitation of Lady Macbeth as a scullery maid. His voice was gentle when he said, “She was dead before you got the letter.”

“You’re sure?” Not too steady. Sort of squeaked it.

“Definitely.” He pulled me into his arms, and even though I was getting lemon dishwashing soapsuds on his white shirt, held me there. “He never really gave anyone a chance to save her – not by sending you the letter, anyway.”

“Why is he involving me in this?”

“I don’t know. Publicity, for one thing. He does things to frighten you, it comes across in your stories, and other people feel afraid. Maybe it makes him feel more powerful to have the whole city running around in a panic because of him.”

I leaned back. “You think I’m helping him? That we shouldn’t publish the letters?”

He hesitated, then said, “It’s a useless question. It’s not up to me.”

I knew that meant he thought we shouldn’t, but figured he’d had all he needed of arguments about the police and the press for one day. I let it drop.