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hadn’t heard in a long time. Fear?
    My stomach twisted.
    We’d only been home an hour and a half, so he couldn’t have been home much before us. Trouble comes quickly. In my experience it’s usually stomping a blood trail across a pristine floor.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œBeen called back to the office. We have a possible new case.”
    If he was calling me from the office, he hadn’t been home at all. He must’ve gone in to do something when the call came through.
    â€œSince when?” And since when does he say a ‘possible’ new case? If we received a call, that alone meant there was enough concern to make it a probable case.
    â€œI got the call thirty minutes ago. It’s an unusual one, Ellie.”
    â€œHow unusual?”
    â€œYou might find elements of this case familiar.” Caine stopped speaking, leaving a hollow sound on the line.
    A groan sounded in my head. This was hard work. He wasn’t giving me a lot to go on.
    â€œOkay … What do you want me to do?”
    â€œI want you to run the investigation.” He paused. His words idled in space, then he said, “Lee says there’s a poem.”
    My blood suddenly felt cold. Thoughts swirled in my head. A poem: we hadn’t encountered a poem in a crime scene since The Son of Shakespeare case.
    Coincidence?
    I’d been thinking about him earlier.
    Coincidence?
    Focus, Ellie, focus. I tried. I really did but something else surfaced, triggered by the thought of a crime scene poem – or maybe the Valium had worn off.
    ***
    â€œWe found this on the body in your trunk.” He removed a yellow Post-it note with the tweezers and showed it to me. The writing was smeared with blood but still legible.
    â€œ ‘Cream of the crop, he’s missing his top, no more meals à la gourmet . Breakfast of champions is not Special K.’ ” I read it aloud. “I don’t even want to ask if that means his head was hacked off.”
    â€œIt was removed from the body. We found it under his legs,” Caine said. “Now get out of here,” He dropped the Post-it back into the bag. “Stay in touch. Stay safe.”
    ***
    â€œEllie?”
    â€œRight here,” I replied. “Where and when?”
    I listened to a long stretch of quiet before he spoke again.
    â€œI want you in Alexandria A-sap. Lee and Sam are on scene. Lee called this to our attention. He took a call from the local police asking for assistance.”
    â€œYou coming?”
    The entire conversation seemed punctuated by Caine’s silences. I didn’t like it.
    â€œCaine?”
    â€œThis is yours, Ellie. You’re Supervising Special Agent on this one. I’ll be with the Director for a while.” He paused and before he spoke again, I heard paper moving on his desk and knew from experience he was pulling an all-nighter on something for the Director. “I’ll meet up with you as soon as I can.”
    Part of me wanted him to walk me through this. Another part knew I could do it and there was no way Caine would let me loose if he didn’t have faith in me. He’d promoted me over the phone. Now that’s bizarre.
    â€œTake care, Ellie.”
    â€œWe’ll see you soon, yeah?”
    â€œYeah.”
    The line went dead. Mac took the phone from my hand.
    â€œHow bad?”
    I shook my head. “I don’t know yet; it’s my case, that’s all I know. Well, that and Caine just told me I was a Supervising Special Agent, not an acting SSA.”
    I could see no sense in worrying Mac with the poem thing until I’d viewed it for myself and had a handle on what was happening, so I tried diverting us both with the Supervising Special Agent thing. Was I ready to go up a pay scale?
    I watched his face. He was concerned. But then: “SSA,” he said, with a grin that wiped away all remnants of concern.
    â€œThere’s a crime scene in Alexandria; Lee and Sam