She was probably five nine.Alan still wasn't about to make a fool of himself. He tapped the shoulder of a young boy standing close by."Who's the lady ...n the red sweat shirt and jeans over there?"The kid looked and replied."Are you talking about Mrs. Spencer?" O-o-o-h-h-h, that's right. Mrs. Spencer" Alan tried to pass it off as if it just hit him."Pretty damned hot to be forty, huh?" The little punk obviously had more than a passing interest."She's gorgeous. She taught me more than ten years. Um, self.Vanessa.She looked away from me. But I know her so well. So intimately. She was suppressing something. Was pleased about something.I said, “Okay, toots. Spit it out.”Walker and Pilar turned to her too.“Winter, I have a thought. An idea about Mr. Television.”Hey, I’m the fucking detective at this fucking table! “What is it, baby?”Vanessa was eager, she’d been holding it in. “There’s this show, “Wallander.” It’s about a Swedish detective, Kurt Wallander. But the BBC did its own. More

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