He swung the keys on his ring around and around as he considered her answer.
“Do you want to tell me how you know that?”
“Not really.”
He hesitated but ultimately seemed to understand that he’d be better off if he didn’t allow himself to be drawn in any further. “Fine. Good luck finding your sister.”
Unable to resist provoking him a little more, Jasmine lowered her voice. “Take care of that cut on your thigh.”
“Sorry, Pearson Black is no longer on the force.” The stocky, bald sergeant behind the bulletproof glass at the front desk of the NOPD hadn’t bothered to check any employment records before dispensing this information. He’d known Black by name.
“You’re sure?” Jasmine asked.
“Positive.”
The badge on the sergeant’s uniform identified him as P. Kozlowski. “When did he quit?”
“Didn’t quit. Got fired a year ago.”
Jasmine struggled against the disappointment of running into yet another roadblock. “How well did you know him?”
“I worked with him now and then.”
His clipped tone indicated he had strong feelings about Black. Jasmine guessed they were negative. “But you didn’t like him.”
Kozlowski focused on the business card she’d passed through the slot.
“What’d you say your interest in Black is?”
“He might have some information on a case that’s related to one I’m looking into.”
“And which case would that be?”
He was skeptical; evidently, he didn’t trust outside investigators. “Adele Fornier.”
At this, he turned around to see who might be listening to the conversation.
When no one in the busy station seemed to be paying attention, he cleared his throat.
“We’ve heard enough about that one to last a lifetime.”
“Detective Huff’s mistake cost everyone, I know.”
“If you want to call it a mistake.”
“What would you call it?”
His mouth worked as he swept his teeth with his tongue. “It’s in the past. I don’t have a comment.”
She’d given him a card, but that didn’t prove anything to him. It didn’t make her who she said she was. Neither did it offer any guarantees as to her goals and motivations. He was playing it safe. “Were you involved in the case?”
“Not really.”
“Do you know much about it?”
“Just the basics. Killer’s dead.”
“That’s what I’ve heard.”
“So what do you want with Black? He didn’t work that case, either.”
“Someone told me he kept close track of it. And there are a few…similarities between Moreau and the man who took my little sister in Cleveland sixteen years ago.”
His eyes widened in sudden recognition. “Wait a minute…you’re that profiler I saw on America’s Most Wanted, right? What was it…last month?”
“A few days before Thanksgiving.”
“I thought you looked familiar. It was your card that threw me. Victims’
Support and Assistance. I only saw part of the show and I assumed you were FBI.”
“I work for the FBI occasionally, as a consultant.”
“That must be what I heard.” Now that he had some frame of reference, Kozlowski grew noticeably friendlier. “What was it like? Going on TV?”
Jasmine hid a smile, although she found his enthusiasm amusing. “It’s great to have the media on our side for a change,” she said, searching for common ground between them.
“No kidding.”
“You probably already know, but they caught the guy I profiled.”
“The week after it aired, right?”
“Within twenty-four hours.”
“I go on their Web site every few days,” he explained.
“About Black—”
He grimaced and lifted a hand to stop her. “Don’t waste your time with him.
He followed all the sensational cases. But he was the worst cop I ever knew.”
So she’d guessed correctly. Kozlowski didn’t care for Black. “I’d still like to ask him a few questions. Can you tell me where I might find him?”
He cast another glance over his shoulder, seemed content with what he saw and continued, “Last I heard he was working as a security guard for a shopping center in a pretty rough part of town.”
“So he’s fallen on hard times.”
“You could say that.” His lips twisted as if Black’s misfortune pleased him.
“Are you familiar with the city?”
“Not really.”
“Then you won’t truly appreciate how far he’s fallen until you see for yourself.
I’ll draw you a map.”
Just that quickly, Kozlowski had become an ally. Interesting what a little fame could do. “What didn’t you like about Black?” she asked while he sketched.
“He was…odd.”
“In what way?”
“Like me, you’ve seen some pretty sick stuff, right?” He slid the map through the portal as she nodded. “It’s not something we enjoy, but it’s part of the job and we handle it the best we can.”
“I’ll go along with that.”
“Well, Black was different. He didn’t just tolerate the violence and depravity, he thrived on it. The sicker the situation, the more excited he got. He was one demented son of a—” he caught himself “—gun,” he finished. “I don’t know how his wife stands him and I can’t help wondering how his little boys will turn out.”
“So…you’re telling me he liked murder scenes?”
“Or fight scenes. Or car accidents. Anything bloody. He took pictures and kept the grossest ones in a scrapbook. He attended every autopsy he could, then went on and on about the details. Toward the end, he even kept an online journal.”
“How do you know?”
“I read it. I think we all did. It made him look worse than most of the guys we put away.”
“What’d your chief think of Black?”
“Didn’t like him. No one did.”
Jasmine knew that some seriously twisted minds gravitated toward police work. Fortunately, most would-be criminals failed the aptitude tests and background checks necessary for the job. But no system was perfect. “How’d he get on the force to begin with?”