“I don’t want to do it,” Breslau said.
“Yeah, but will you?” Behr asked.
“A police-backed community outreach meeting …” Breslau mused aloud. “Shit.”
They were at Floral Crown Cemetery, a run-down place on the west side, standing inside a vestibule in the memorial chapel, holding but not drinking foam cups of burnt, overly hot coffee. The occasion was Danielle Crawley’s funeral. Behr was there on the hoary theory that killers attend their victim’s funeral, Breslau on behalf of the department.
“I don’t need captain-level brass and a detective squad,” Behr said. “Give me one body. You come.”
“Oh, I don’t think I’m gonna be there,” Breslau said. “No way in hell that’s happening …”
There had been a bleak, sparsely attended graveside ceremony. The cemetery spread big and flat around them, with its winterbrown grass broken by low headstones, and just enough bare trees to remind everyone that there should’ve been more trees. And more mourners. It was only Crawley’s sister and her husband, an aunt, and an aged female family friend. The sister, dry-eyed in her sorrow, read a message from a recovery sponsor from Milwaukee who couldn’t attend, but who commended Danielle on her efforts at getting clean and her hopes for the future, and expressed his fondness for her. The event was completely devoid of suspects in Behr’s opinion. Breslau agreed. Out of respect they had followed along as the funeral moved inside for a last prayer.
“Shit,” Breslau said again.
“The department rep, whoever you send, tells people to lock their doors and take care when alone at night. We show a couple of the more palatable crime scene photos, we advertise that in advance, in the hopes of drawing this animal in. In the meantime I’m getting license plate numbers, video. I run ’em and cross ’em against any parking tickets or violations or eyewits’ sightings at the times and locations where the snatches or drops have taken place.”
“That’s a lot of ball sweat,” Breslau said.
“My sweat, my balls,” Behr said. “The thing’s in the news already. Have you seen the comment section on the websites? People are freaking out over it.”
“Don’t I know it. And doesn’t your girlfriend work over at the Star? Couldn’t you have had her spike the story for us?”
“First of all, she sells ads these days, she isn’t in editorial. And at the moment my favor account with her is seriously overdrawn.”
“Oh, you do have a way with the people, don’t you?”
“Come on, Gary, what’s the harm that can come from what I’m asking?”
“The harm is that we look like a bunch of dipshits with no leads,” Breslau said.
“As opposed to what you look like if I do it on my own without Department backing,” Behr suggested. “A concerned private citizen, in the security field, with a law enforcement background taking action where the department won’t.”
Breslau slowly looked at Behr. “You’re not doing that,” he said.
“Oh no?”
“Listen, you go there, it’s the deep freeze for you. Every time you get out of your car it’ll be ticketed and towed. And that’s just for starters.”
“I don’t mind walking—”
“Don’t play hardball with me, fuckstick,” Breslau said.
“Settle down. We both want the same thing here. Help me out.”
The funeral service in the main room had ended, and the family was ready to leave. Behr and Breslau jettisoned their coffee cups and turned to give their final condolences.
“I’ll have to check it with my superiors … but it’ll probably fly. Just don’t make jerks out of us.”
Behr raised his palms in innocence. “Who, me?”