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memory.  After a long day she’d close the door to her room and give herself time to unwind. Many times she’d find the answers that had eluded her when she was on the job—something would just click.  She remembered asking a maid for towels at a Holiday Inn in Flagstaff and abruptly remembering a piece of evidence essential to the case. 
    The motels also reflected the peripatetic quality to her job; always starting over, working with someone new.  She was invariably seen as an outsider, but Laura didn’t mind that.  She liked working her way into the warp and woof of a town, picking up its easy rhythm, slowing down for the odd yellow dog crossing the street.
    Every small town had its own personality.
    She got into bed without bothering to change out of her clothes and lay there thinking about Jessica’s killer.  When she wasn’t thinking about the killer she thought about Tom and the idea of living together, her mind going around like a carousel.

    * * *

TRAFFIC STOP ON 92
    Rain tapped on the roof of Officer Duffy’s patrol car as she sat in the Safeway parking lot, keeping her eye on the blue BMW Z4 through the streaming windshield.  She’d already run the plate; it came back to a Darrell Lee James, 2452 E. Silver Strand Drive, Gulfport, Mississippi.  No wants, no warrants—
Great car. 
    Duffy glanced down at the laser-printed photograph on the seat beside her.  In the orange light from the sodium arcs, raindrop reflections from the windshield crawled across the picture like ants.   The photo showed a good-looking man leaning against a blue BMW Z4.  Hard to believe he could be a child-raper, a great-looking guy like that.  Still, when she’d spotted the  Z4 on her way out to Tacho’s Tacos for a late dinner, she’d had no choice but to check it out.   If it was him, and she was the one who caught him—oh, man.  That would show them all up.
    Her thoughts turned to that stuck-up detective the chief had saddled them with.  Imagine being kept out of the crime scene, like she was a first-year rookie. She smiled at the picture on the seat and said, “You stupid bitch. You don’t know everything.”
    If this was the guy, she’d be a hero.  She pictured how impressed Randall would be if she and Buddy ended up on The Today Show. 
    This daydream kept her occupied until she spotted a man carrying a grocery bag in each hand splashing through the parking lot toward the Z4.  She couldn’t see much of him; he wore a hooded raincoat. When he drove out of the parking lot, she pulled out right behind him.
    He made it easy for her by speeding.  Couldn’t blame someone with a car like that for putting on the afterburners.  She stopped him on 92 just south of Tintown. 
    The rain was coming down hard now.  Mud sucked at Duffy’s shoes as she walked up to the driver’s side, careful to approach him from an angle.  Safety first.  Darrell Lee James buzzed his window down. 
    She flashed her light on his face.  It wasn’t him.  This guy was fifty if he was a day.
    Duffy kept her face impassive, but her disappointment was deep.  She knew she should feel more than disappointed.  There was a monster on the loose.  The problem was she didn’t feel things deeply the way other people did, with one exception.  Love was the most important emotion on earth, and that she felt in spades.  Everything else paled in comparison to what was going on between her and Randall—even catching a killer.  Love could be sweet torture, or a burning agony, and she couldn’t live without it.
    “Sir, put both hands on the wheel where I can see them.” 
    “Officer, I know I was speeding—“
    “Reach down with one hand and remove your wallet.  No quick moves.”
    Carefully, Darrell Lee James reached into his coat and produced his wallet, holding it high and away from his body.  The move was automatic; he’d been caught speeding before.
    “Slide the license out of your wallet, sir.”
    He did so, and handed it