Stirred

April 1, 6:00 P.M.

I didn’t bother fighting it.

Not this time.

I let Herb wield his power, and the Chicago Police Department checked me and Phin into the Congress Hotel under fake names. McGlade got the room next to mine. They put two officers in plainclothes down in the lobby to monitor all coming and going.

Phin and Harry had gone back to my house for my clothing and sundries, to ship Duffy the dog to Duffy the person in NY, and to set up Mr. Friskers with the portion-controlled food and water dispenser and automatic litter box cleaner. Once again I tried to talk to Phin about the proposal, but he’d folded his arms and shut me down with a “Not now.”

Hell hath no fury like a bank robber scorned.

That made me wonder if the engagement ring had been purchased with ill-gotten gain, which made me wonder how far said ring had traveled through Duffy’s digestive tract. I felt my blood pressure skyrocket at the thought of Phin taking Duffy for a walk before driving him out to the airport. Worst-case scenario, I’d borrow a metal detector from McGlade and spend a few hours hunting through my backyard for buried treasure.

I sat on the queen-sized bed and picked up the phone on the nightstand. Herb had already given me an u

I knew the inherent difficulty in tracing cell phone calls and didn’t hold out much hope. But I didn’t want the Feebies recording my private conversations.

I called Duffy the guy and was relieved when he picked up, which made me realize how few friends I had. I wondered if that was by choice, or if I was simply an unlovable workaholic.

“FedExing the beast my way?” he asked.

“Phin is right now. I’ll send you the arrival info when I get it. Also…there’s a problem with Duffy.”

“Is he licking himself too much? That’s not a problem so much as a lifestyle choice.”

“Phin proposed to me, and Duffy ate the ring.”

“Off your finger?”

“It wasn’t on my finger yet.” I felt awful saying it, and Duffy was kind enough to let it slide.

“So you need me on poop patrol?”

I let out an exasperated sigh. “I’m sorry, Duffy.”

“No sweat. My hound, Al, once ate all of my keys. They were on a leather keychain, which he digested. Then he pooped them out one at a time. Took me eight days to get my car key back. I had to take a cab to a boxing match, which cost more than the purse I won.”

“What kind of purse was it? Gucci?”

“You sure you’re a cop and not one of those stand-up comics?”

“Thanks again, Duff. I really owe you for this.”

“No biggie, Jack. Maybe one day I’ll need you to pick through some of my dog’s poop. You never know.”

I thanked him again and hung up.

Then I used my iPhone to access Google and read up on Roe vs. Wade.

John Doe and Jane Doe are often used in the legal system as placeholder names for anonymous or unknown defendants. When plaintiffs are anonymous, the names used are Richard Roe and Jane Roe. In 1970, Roe filed suit against Henry Wade, the Dallas district attorney representing the state of Texas. The case eventually went up to the U.S. Supreme Court, which deemed abortion a fundamental right under the Constitution.

Though the hotel room was warm and a bit stuffy, I shivered. If Herb was right, and Luther wanted to kill my baby, I wasn’t sure what point he was trying to make. Surely a serial killer like Luther wasn’t pro-life. Maybe this was just a coincidence?

I Googled “Roe” and “Chicago” and came up with hits on the late patent attorney’s office, a used office furniture company, and the Regional Office of Education on the Illinois State Board. The cops already had people stationed at both the furniture store and the State Board, but neither of these felt right to me. It didn’t seem to be the direction Luther was pointing me.

Next I tried “Wade” and “Chicago” only to be inundated with articles about the Miami Heat basketball player Dwayne Wade, who was born in the Windy City.

Finally, I tried “Roe” on its own.

Roe was the name for fish eggs and business speak for Return on Equity. The Environmental Protection Agency also had a Report on the Environment which they called ROE.

Perhaps Luther was going with the first name instead of the last this time, so I tried “Chicago” and “Peter.”

Nothing concrete.

I added “landmark” to the search, hoping Google would reveal a Peter building, park, or museum.

Nada. Zip. Zilch.

I rubbed my eyes. The screen was getting blurry, probably from squinting at the small text. The rubbing didn’t make things any clearer, and I had a sudden attack of vertigo, the room begi

When the dizziness finally passed, I went back to Google.

For some reason, Luther kept alluding to Dante’s Inferno.

I did some additional surfing on the work.

Inferno was the first part of The Divine Comedy, and it concerned Dante’s encounter with the spirit of the Roman poet Virgil, who takes him through the nine circles of hell to witness the suffering of various si

Ultimately, Inferno is about the path to enlightenment. Dante is lost at the begi

Or some bullshit like that.

I wasn’t a religious person, but I found the whole idea of a God who allowed people to be boiled in oil for eternity in direct conflict with an all-powerful, all-loving creator. Hell was a concept that helped church officials exercise control over the masses, and ultimately, make money.

Though I didn’t believe in hell, I wouldn’t have minded a little enlightenment in my life. But I was doubtful I’d get it from anything written centuries ago.

I yawned, rubbing my eyes again.

Then I tried rereading the excerpt from Blue Murder, but the picture I’d taken of the Kindle screen was too small to make out. That led me to buying another overpriced Andrew Z. Thomas e-book and searching for the location Luther had bookmarked.

According to Google, the line They think not there how much of blood it costs was another Dante quote. There was also mention of the intersection of Oak and Sycamore, but Chicago didn’t have any corresponding intersections, although there were about a hundred non-intersecting streets individually named Oak and Sycamore in Illinois.

I wasn’t feeling any traction there, had no idea what Luther was trying to tell me, and lacking any other ideas, I put my feet up on a pillow and dove into Blue Murder, trying to stay calm and focused in the face of knowing that someone was going to die horribly in—I glanced at my iPhone timer I’d programmed—seven hours and five minutes.

Unlike the stark realism of The Scorcher and The Killer and His Weapon, Blue Murder contained an element of the supernatural.

The plot concerned a man plagued with strange premonitions that kept coming true. I read for an hour, convinced that the hero wasn’t seeing into the future at all, but in actuality remembering horrific events from his past that he wanted to hide from himself, when I heard someone at the door.