Over bacon and eggs the next morning, Tommy told Kelly about the middle of the night phone call.
“Why didn’t you wake me?” Kelly asked.
Tommy shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Well, I think it’s time we got your line tapped. Maybe we should have done that a long time ago.”
Just then Kelly’s cell phone buzzed. He picked it up. “Kelly.” As he listened to the caller, a frown creased his brow and then he slapped the table, startling Tommy. “God damn it all to hell!”
He slammed the phone down.
“Sam Rourke’s body was found this morning. Strung up from a swing set in the park near his house. Son of a bitch.”
“Oh, my God. That’s what he meant,” Tommy said, a chill racing over her. “He said I’d know how serious he was this morning. Oh God. I should have woken you. I should’ve called this in. We should’ve warned Rourke. His voice? This time it just sounded different. I didn’t think it was him.”
Kelly pressed his lips together tightly. “It wouldn’t have mattered. This guy is running rampage on this town and this police department and there’s not a damn thing anybody’s done about it yet. This has to stop. You’re heading up north—all expenses paid trip to Duluth until this quiets down.”
Tommy just rolled her eyes at him.
“Okay, you’re right. I can’t make you do anything, damn it all. Just be careful, St. James. I’ve got a feeling all this centers around you.”
“That’s crazy.”
But, shit, he was right. It was not going well. Not at all. This killer was on the loose and apparently had no intention of slowing down.