Don't Touch Me! - 13

 

"I could ask Walt—Detective Milburn—but I doubt he'd give up the information, even if he had it," Brent told Cody.

"Call him."

Brent chuckled. "It's late. After six," he added, glancing at the time in the computer's task bar. "He's undoubtedly on his way home now. Still…" He took out his phone to call the station. He got the operator, who told him Walt was still working but was unavailable. It took a bit of schmoozing on Brent's part, but he finally got the man to agree to send Walt a message to call Brent at his earliest convenience. "Which might not be until sometime tomorrow," Brent told Cody after hanging up.

"If he won't tell you, then what?" Cody asked. "Can you hack into the doctors' patient lists or something?"

"I can't. That's not one of my skills."

Cody looked at him hopefully. "But you know someone who could."

"Nope. Sorry."

"What if the killer chooses them at random?"

"He might, but he'd still have to see them first if that was the case. With two of the victims being invalids, I'd say it's unlikely he saw them walking down the street and decided 'That's my next target'."

"But they would go to their doctors, whether their doctors are in the same building as Mother's was or somewhere else. By the way, why were those two women invalids?"

"Now that is a good question. The news articles didn't say." Brent went back to the obituaries. "Hmm. One of them had Cushing syndrome. It doesn't list a medical history for the other woman, only that she had been confined to a wheelchair for the last four years of her life."

"What's Cushing syndrome?"

Brent ran a fast search. "It has to do with the adrenal glands producing too much cortisol, leading to a build-up of fat. Now that's interesting." He rapped a knuckle on his teeth.

"So she was probably overweight, maybe even obese. What if the other two women were as well," Cody said excitedly.

"Something else to ask Walt if he calls back."

"Are you hungry?"

"That was out of the blue."

Cody chuckled. "I just realized I'm starving—for the first time since all this began. Maybe because I finally think there's hope of finding the killer."

Brent refrained from pointing out it wouldn't take Cody off Walt's radar as a copycat killer. "I could eat something," he replied.

"A full meal or a sandwich?" Cody asked as they went downstairs.

"A sandwich would be fine. No sense in you putting yourself out."

"It's really no bother to fix a real supper. I like to cook, so there's plenty here to work with."

"Naw." Brent carefully went around Cody to pour another cup of coffee. While he did, Cody took what he needed out of the fridge, including the makings for a salad. Brent leaned against the far counter, watching. By the time Cody had everything on two plates, Brent's mouth was watering. They weren't just sandwiches. They were works of art with thin slices of roast beef piled high, topped with tomatoes, onion, mozzarella, and horseradish sauce. Compared to them, the salad was simple—wedges of tomatoes mixed with shallots, red wine vinegar and olive oil.