Jazz shot out of bed. “That’s it!” he shouted, loud enough that someone on the other side of the wall pounded on it for quiet.

“What’s it?”

“Oh, man, I gotta go, G. William. And thanks,” he said hurriedly, and hung up before the sheriff could say anything more.

He flung himself to the room’s desk, where his copies of the Hat-Dog files lay scattered. He pawed through them, organizing them, riffling through the papers to confirm the details he needed.

It all came together. It was beginning to make an insidious sense.

Just as he’d been saying all along, it made perfect sense to a crazy person. And now Jazz believed he’d found a way to make it make sense to someone rational.

He glanced at the clock again. He’d been working for three hours without even realizing it. He needed one more thing to confirm his suspicions, then probably another couple of hours of work before he could tie it up nice and neat and take it to the task force.

A toy store. That’s what he needed—a toy store. There had to be one nearby. After all, a random walk on the street revealed legions of baby carriages everywhere he went.

He picked up his phone to call 411 for the nearest toy store and stared at its screen for a moment, cogs and gears clicking in his imagination. It was a smartphone, right? Its various icons shined up at him. He’d used maybe two of them since getting the phone.

Howie. He would call Howie.

CHAPTER 43

With a half hour still to go to the airport, Howie finally stopped checking the rearview mirror for the flashing lights and sirens of Lobo’s Nod’s finest.

“I think they believed me,” Connie said quietly.

“Would you really cut them off if they narced on you?”

“I don’t know.”

She had been quiet the whole way, arms folded over her chest, staring moodily out the window. He was trying to think of something very stupid and very funny to say—his usual tactic—when his phone buzzed in his pocket. Since his mom worried about her baby boy talking on the phone while driving, she’d installed a really kick-ass hands-free system in his car roughly ten seconds after he’d bought it, so at the same moment, a pleasant and very sexy robotic voice said, “Phone call. Jazz Matazz.” Howie had put Jazz into his contacts list that way because he liked the way the speakerphone said “Jazzmatazz.”

Connie perked up in the passenger seat for the first time since they’d left her house. “Whatever you do—” she started, but Howie had already hit Answer.

“Jazz Matazz!” he cried out.

“Does that dumb thing still call me that?”

“Of course not. I was just funning with you.”

“What are you up to?”

Next to him, Connie shook her head wildly and cut her hands back and forth in the universal “No!” gesture.

“I’m driving Connie to the airport.”

“What?”

“Jesus, Howie!” Connie exploded.

“Connie,” Jazz said from the speakerphone, “where are you headed? Back here?”

“Yeah,” she said, glaring at Howie.

“Don’t.”

“Well, I need to—”

When Jazz spoke again, it was in a voice so cold and so commanding that for a moment Howie thought maybe Billy Dent had grabbed the phone at the other end. “Do not come to New York. This isn’t something we’re talking about. Just turn around and go home. Howie, I need your help with something.”

Howie risked a look over at Connie, whose eyes had grown wide with fury, her lips pressed together as if to keep from breathing out flames.

“Um… sure, man, but you should know—”

“I don’t know how to download apps on my phone,” Jazz said with peculiar urgency.

Howie laughed nervously. “Is that really an issue right now?”

“I need a specific one. I’m pretty sure it exists. Can you walk me through it?”

“Jazz, this is kinda—” To his right, Connie was now back in arms-over-chest mode, glaring through the window.

“Please!” from the speaker.

“Fine, fine. What do you need?”

He told him. Completely confused, Howie nonetheless explained how to locate and download the app in question.

“Thanks,” Jazz said. “You’re gonna turn around and go home now, right? I’m counting on you. And Connie? Con?”

Howie studied her grim posture. “Now’s not a real good time, buddy. From the looks of things, you won’t be getting laid for a long, long time.”

“Con, I know you can hear me. I get that you’re pissed. But I’m in the middle of some crazy stuff here, and at least knowing that you’re safe keeps me going. All right? I love you.”

There was silence on the line as he waited for her to say it back. When she said nothing, the line went dead.

“You could have talked to him,” Howie said after a few minutes.

“Did you hear that voice he used with me?” she asked. “He went all Billy on me. I won’t tolerate that.”

Howie signaled and shifted lanes.

“What are you doing?” Connie demanded. “Are you getting off the highway?”

“Well… yeah. You heard him. I’m gonna turn around and—”

“You’re doing no such thing.”

“But—”

“A butt is something I’m gonna kick if you keep this up,” Connie said. “He doesn’t know what’s going on here. I’m going to track down this mystery person and help him whether he wants it or not.”

Howie watched an exit ramp go by. He could always turn at the next one….

Oh, who was he kidding?

“At least call him. Tell him what’s going on.”

“When he’s like this? When he’s all crazy like this? No way.” She jabbed a finger at him and he flinched even though she didn’t actually touch him. “And you don’t call him, either. Once I’m on that plane, he can’t stop me. No one can. And if he knows I’m on it, he’ll freak out and get all distracted, and with everything that’s going on, being distracted could get him killed.”

“Fine. Fine.” The next exit, it turned out, was for the airport. Howie guided the car down the ramp. “But are you sure about this? It could be dangerous.” Even as he said it, Howie felt idiotic. A mysterious voice was seducing Connie into traveling to New York. Manipulating her. Of course it was dangerous. Either Billy Dent or someone like him was at the other end of that phone call. “Maybe you should just let the cops handle this.”

“What, the NYPD? They have their hands full already with the Hat-Dog Killer. This is personal. I’ll go to New York. Find this clue at JFK, then get to Jazz. Show him what we’ve got, what we know. In the meantime, just to be safe and cover all the bases…” She twisted around in the car seat and retrieved the lockbox from the backseat. “I want you to wait until my flight is off the ground and then take this to the sheriff.”

“Got it. Will do. Sammy J and I will hold down the fort here in the Nod,” Howie promised.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Connie turning to stare at him. “What?” he asked defensively. He knew that look—it was Connie’s Guilt Glare, usually employed when he said or did something stupid or offensive or both. “What did I do?”

“What did you just say?” she asked, her tone insistent, with an undercurrent of panic.

“I said I’ll hold down the fort with Sam. We be keepin’ it one hundred, dawg. We’ll keep Gramma cool; we’ll check in with G. William to see if the cops learn anything else from that lockbox; we’ll—”

“No. Exactly. What did you say exactly?” Before he could recall his exact words, she filled him in: “You said ‘Sammy J and I.’ Sammy J.”

“Right. It’s just a nickname.” Howie signaled and pulled off the highway onto the access road that led to the airport. “It’s what they called her when she was a kid.”