Let It Burn by Steve Hamilton

look at his face,” I said, looking out the window as we raced back to the train station.
    “Sounds like you’re going to be a very popular man.”
    *   *   *
    There were a dozen cars at the train station. Our car was one of them. Franklin must have been sent to retrieve it. It was going on six o’clock now, two hours past my shift. I knew my night was far from over.
    I took a deep breath as I got out of the sergeant’s car. I thanked him. He was officially on duty now, so he stuck around to help coordinate.
    There was a train stopped at the station, the air brakes hissing. I saw Detective Arnie Bateman waving me over. After all the time I’d spent avoiding him that day, this was real business, and I knew he’d be right in the middle of it.
    “This is the five forty-five Amtrak,” he said as soon as I was in earshot. “We held it up to ask the passengers if they saw anything while they were waiting.”
    “Yeah, we did a quick pass through the waiting room,” I said. “I don’t think our suspect ever went in there.”
    “You might want to take a quick look through the train yourself, before we let it go. I mean, you never know, right? Maybe he’s on board right now. We’ve caught dumber criminals.”
    “Last I saw him, he was running away. I can’t see why he’d double back.”
    “Just humor me, all right? Maybe you saw someone else. An accomplice or something. Maybe seeing him will jog your memory.”
    I knew it was beyond a long shot, but I got on board anyway. I walked down the aisle of every car, giving everyone the once-over. Some of the passengers were clearly annoyed to be kept waiting. One of them actually stood up and asked me when the train would finally be moving. He was wearing a suit, and he reminded me of the man who had wrecked his Saab earlier that day, his time and convenience clearly being more important than anything else. God, how long ago it seemed now, just a routine accident on a day that started out so normal. Now I had this man in my face and I felt like taking him off the train, into the station, up to that abandoned balcony. Here’s your reason, you pompous jackass. Now go back to your seat and sit the hell down.
    When I got off the train, having looked at every face, it slowly pulled away from the station. It was heading west. First stop maybe Ann Arbor, then on to Chicago.
    “Okay, so now that we’ve got that out of the way,” the detective said, “tell me exactly what you saw.”
    We were standing outside between the station and the tracks. He looked just as fresh and energetic as he had that morning at roll call, but the man who had come looking for basketball players, the man my partner and I had both made fun of, was long gone. The sun was low in the sky, and I swear that gold shield on his belt was practically glowing.
    “Because the last I heard,” he said, not even bothering to let me start explaining, “you were asking for two-eleven on a suspected drug dealer running away from here. Then a few minutes later … we’ve got this poor woman on the floor upstairs?”
    “Have you identified her?”
    “Yes,” he said, taking a step back. “Sorry, I’m getting ahead of myself. The victim’s name is Elana Paige. She was … Well, you saw the crime scene.”
    “Multiple stab wounds?”
    He shook his head. “From what I’m hearing, way beyond multiple. Somebody just stabbed her and stabbed her. God knows how many times.”
    “What else do we know about her?”
    “Twenty-eight years old, married, no kids. Lives in Farmington Hills. Not employed at the moment, but she’s taking classes at Wayne State.”
    Out of everything he was saying, that’s the one thing that stopped me short.
    “My wife is taking classes at Wayne State,” I said. “They might even know each other.”
    “I suppose that’s possible. Although it is a big school.”
    “I know. I’m just saying.”
    “It does bring it home, yes. This woman could have been from anyone’s