. . . 34 Hours and Counting . . .

“Damn,” said Agent Vasquez. That was all she could think to say.

“I know, I didn’t want to think it was all him, either,” said Johansen.

Vasquez glanced up at him then turned back to the murder scene. She frowned. She knew Johansen was lying for her sake, he had always counted Vance as the sole perpetrator. Still, she couldn’t find it in herself to be angry with him for patronizing her a bit. When faced with death, in all its ignominy, she always found it difficult to be angry with anyone who was on her side. Usually, she felt closer to them. Somehow, the working relationship with a partner helped to reassure her that she was still alive, that death wasn’t close at hand.

She felt, rather than saw, Johansen raise his big hand up. It hovered for perhaps two seconds over her shoulder. He wasn’t sure, she knew, if he should comfort her or not. She tensed up, but tried not to show that she knew the hand was there. She herself wasn’t even sure how she would react if he did touch her. It wasn’t something they normally did. But then, they didn’t normally work cases like this. The best thing about working the clean stuff, like electronic crimes, was that you didn’t have to face blood and death. Usually, the worst one saw of humanity was something like Nog’s apartment.

Johansen withdrew his hand. She breathed deeply, realizing only then that she had been holding her breath. The spell was broken.

“Vance has just put himself on the Most Wanted list,” said Vasquez. She stepped over the corpse and away from her partner. She moved about the scene, looking, but not disturbing things. “I’m putting him down as our number one suspect for the virus, his son’s disappearance and the murder of Brenda Hastings. What’s more, he’s now to be considered armed and dangerous. Do you agree?”

Johansen nodded. He flipped out his cell phone and made the call. Soon every squad car in Northern California would be getting the message.

Vasquez moved over to the terminal with the bloodstained keyboard. She checked the message on the screen. Santa?Frosty?She made sure her notes had every detail down, then shook her head. She would check it out, of course, but it seemed like the work of someone delusional, someone looking for clues that would erase the unthinkable truth.

“I guess Sarah Vance was right,” said Vasquez. “This case is all related.”

Johansen finished his call and nodded. “Just not the way she hoped it was.”