Sunday, June 23
TERRI STOOD BY THE STOVE, breaking eggs into a mixing bowl. “Did you know the city has a museum of old fire trucks?”
Cardozo shook his head. He’d spent the night tossing, too restless to sleep, and now he felt too unrested to wake up. “I think I read about it.”
“Does it interest you? Because Josh is a fire-truck nut and we’re going this afternoon. He thought you might like to come along.”
“He thought?”
She looked over at him. “Something wrong?”
“It seems funny you didn’t think I might like to come along.”
Her face crinkled. “I just thought you might like to meet Josh. Or have you lost interest?”
“Not if you haven’t.”
“I don’t know.” She beat the eggs with a fork. As she tipped them into the frying pan they made a hiss. “Josh gets excited about a lot of so-what things. Like old fire trucks.”
Cardozo took a long swallow of coffee and waited for it to pry his senses open. “Maybe we could skip the fire trucks and Josh could come over for lunch.”
“Today?”
“Why not? I’m home.”
“I’ll ask him.”
Across the kitchen, the telephone made a purring sound.
Why can’t my phone at work sound like that? Cardozo thought.
“Maybe that’s him.” Terri lifted the receiver off the wall. She listened for a moment and turned. “For you, Dad.” She handed the receiver across the table.
“Cardozo.”
It was the call he’d been dreading—the precinct, saying a seventh Society Sam victim had been found.