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hand in Jacobsville had contained Kilraven’s cell phone number. Now he knew he’d been right to ask for that time off to work on his cold case. The dead man had known something about the murders and he’d been trying to contact Kilraven when he’d been killed. It was a break that might crack the case, if they could identify the victim and his contacts.

    T HE NEXT WEEK , W INNIE worked a shift she wasn’t scheduled for, filling in for Shirley, who was out sick. When she got off that afternoon, to her surprise, she found Kilraven waiting for her at the door.
    She actually gasped out loud. His silver eyes were glittery as he stared down at her.
    “Hello,” she stammered.
    He didn’t reply. “Get in your car and follow me,” he said quietly.
    He walked to his squad car. He was technically off duty, but still in uniform. Officers in Jacobsville drove their cars home, so that they were prepared any time they had to be called in. He got in his car and waited until Winnie fumbled her way into her VW. He drove off, and she drove after him. Glancing to one side, she noted two of the operators who were on break staring after them and grinning. Oh, boy, she thought, now there’s going to be some gossip.
    Kilraven drove out of the city and down the long, winding dirt road that led to his rental house. The road meandered on past his house to join with a paved road about a mile on. His house was the only one on this little stretch. He must like privacy, Winnie thought, because this certainly wasn’t on anybody’s main route.
    He pulled up at the front door, cut off the engine and got out of his car. Winnie did the same.
    “I’ll make coffee,” he said after he unlocked the door and led her into the kitchen.
    She looked around, curious at the utter lack of anything personal in the utilitarian surroundings. Well, except for the painting she’d done for him. It was lying on the counter, face up.
    She felt uncomfortable at his lack of small talk. She put her purse on the counter near the door that led down the hall to the living room. “How’s Kell Drake?” she asked.
    He turned, curious.
    “We heard about it from Barbara last week,” she said, mentioning the café where everybody ate. Barbara was the adoptive mother of San Antonio homicide detective Rick Marquez. “She has Rick at home. He’s getting better, but he sure wants to find whoever beat him up,” she added grimly.
    “So do we. He’s one tough bird, or he’d be dead. Somebody is really trying to cover up this case,” he added.
    “Yes. Poor Rick. But what about Kell?”
    “That ended well, except for his bruises. He’s going to walk again,” he said. “I guess you also heard that they caught Bartlett in the act of knocking Cappie Drake around,” he added. “It seems that Marquez and a uniformed officer had to pull Dr. Rydel off the man.” He chuckled.
    “We, uh, heard that, too,” she said, amused. “It was the day before Rick was jumped by those thugs. Poor Cappie.”

    “She’ll be all right. She and Rydel are getting married in the near future, I hear.”
    “That’s fast work,” she commented.
    He shrugged. “Some people know their minds quicker than other people do.” He finished putting the coffee on and turned to glance at her. “How do you take it?”
    “Straight up,” she said.
    His eyebrows lifted.
    “I don’t usually have a lot of time to stand around adding things to it,” she pointed out. “I’m lucky to have time to take a sip or two before it gets cold.”
    “I thought Grier gave you one of those gadgets you put a coffee cup on to keep it hot,” he said. “For Christmas.”
    “I don’t have a place to put it where it wouldn’t endanger the electronics at my station,” she said. “Don’t tell him.”
    “I wouldn’t dream of it.” He set out two mugs, pulled out a chair at the table and motioned her into another one. He straddled his and stared at her. “Why a raven?” he asked abruptly. “And why those