Body of Shadows (22 page)

It was a man in jeans, a black T, a red baseball cap and dark oversized sunglasses.

He kneeled down to tie a shoe.

She left, eating the dog en route and trying to not drop catsup down the front, when she came to an art gallery with an angled window.

She peered in, ostensibly looking at something that caught her eye, but using the glass as a rearview mirror.

The man was fifty steps behind, stopped again, not staring directly at her but occasionally twisting the sunglasses slightly in her direction.

She stepped inside the gallery and called Drift.

He didn’t answer.

She called Renn-Jaa.

“I’m on the mall,” she said. “Someone’s following me.”

“Call Drift.”

“I did,” she said. “He’s not answering. What I need you to do is get in line behind him and wait for me to lose him. Then follow him.”

“I’m already heading down the hallway. Describe him.”

She did.

“Stay where you are and give me five minutes to get in position. I’ll call you when I am.”

“Done.”

A nicely-dressed
woman came out from behind a desk in the back to see if Pantage needed assistance, which she didn’t.

She was just browsing.

The artwork wasn’t bad, mostly oil landscapes and cityscapes, some realistic and some looser, not as good as the stuff in Santa Fe or Taos but still not bad.

Minutes later her phone rang.

“I’m in position,” Renn-Jaa said. “I have him in my sights.”

“Be careful.”

“I will.”

Pantage walked out and took an immediate right without pointing her face even peripherally at the red cap.

She walked a block then a second.

There she crossed the street and moved into Market Square, ducking into an alley as soon as she got out of line of sight.

She hid behind a dumpster.

The red baseball cap walked past.

Pantage couldn’t see his face.

He was too small to be the gladiator.

Shortly thereafter Renn-Jaa walked past.

Her face was intense.

68

Day Four

July 21

Thursday Afternoon

Drift could feel
Yardley White’s eyes digging into his back as he walked away from the bookstore. He was a block from the Tundra when his phone rang and Pantage’s voice came through.

“I’m on the mall and someone is following me,” she said.

Drift’s blood drummed.

“Where is he now?”

“I shook him two minutes ago,” she said. “Renn-Jaa’s following him. They’re in Market Square.”

Market Square was six or seven blocks up.

“Describe him.”

She did.

Jeans.

Black T.

Red baseball cap.

Sunglasses.

“Get out of there.”

He hung up, called the dispatcher and said, “I have a possible sighting of the man who killed Jackie Lake. He’s somewhere downtown around Market Square. I want every cop within a hundred miles down there right now. This is top priority, it trumps everything. Are you getting this?”

Yes.

She was.

“Give me his description.”

He did.

She repeated it.

“Right, he said. “No sirens. Do you understand? I don’t want to scare the little prick into a hole. If anyone comes in with a siren blaring I’m going to personally rearrange his face.”

Traffic was thick enough
that he decided he could get there quicker on foot and headed off at a fast run. Every square inch of asphalt and concrete and brick and glass that had been soaking up the heat all day now flung little fireballs at him. It gripped him hard but he didn’t have time to bend to it.

He kept going.

Seconds were everything.

Someone needed to spot the guy before he caught wind of what was going on and ducked in a door. The city was a rat’s maze. A good rat could get out without even trying.

He slowed enough to pull out his phone and hit redial.

When Pantage answered he said, “Call Renn-Jaa and find out where the guy is. Then call me back.”

“Will do.”

A minute later his phone rang.

“The guy spotted her. He cut around a corner over on Market and disappeared.”

“Market. Okay.”

He relayed the information to dispatch then got back into a full run.

He was almost
to 16
^th
when he noticed a man turn the corner at a brisk pace on the opposite side of the street. He didn’t have a red baseball cap or sunglasses but those could have been ditched. The rest matched, namely jeans and black T.

He ran faster, fifty yards off, trying to decide whether to waste time on the guy or continue on to Market.

When he got to the corner the guy was gone.

Drift continued on towards Market then did a one-eight thirty steps later and doubled back.

69

Day Four

July 21

Thursday Afternoon

Too many walls
were crashing in on Yardley. Cave would kill her starting at six tonight, Deven was dead, and now Drift caught her in a lie about being home when Deven was murdered. She had cash in the safe, plus the offshore accounts. There were three fake passports and a variety of driver’s licenses with her photo on them. She’d prepared for flight, never thinking the need would actually materialize this early in the game but being overly cautious nonetheless.

Maybe it was time.

If she did it, it would still be prudent to sanitize everything; download the computers onto flash drives and then destroy the hard drives; shred all the papers; etcetera etcetera etcetera.

Part of her wanted to do it.

Leave.

Leave now.

Leave while the leaving was good.

Another part of her wanted to ride it out.

Cave might actually end up dead by midnight just like Marabella said.

Drift might sniff around but the bottom line is that Yardley had nothing to do with Deven’s murder. The only threat Drift posed was if he worked his way too deep into Yardley’s life and found out the things he shouldn’t.

What to do?

If she stuck it out, that would prove her loyalty beyond question. The assignments would get bigger and the money would follow.

She liked Denver.

It was sunny.

She had friends.

She knew the haunts.

In a strange turn of affairs, she might even take up with Drift. There had been a moment between them. Most men couldn’t keep up with her long term. Drift could, he was built for distance. He had the strength for it. He had enough dimensions to him to keep her interested. She’d seen him on the cover of GQ two or three years ago. She remembered his eyes, one blue, one green, both so full of sex that it made her think nasty little thoughts.

Her phone rang
and the voice of a man came through, a voice she didn’t recognize.

“Yardley?”

“Yes.”

“I’m a friend of someone who has invited me to come to Denver to resolve a problem,” he said. “Are you familiar with what I’m talking about?”

She was.

“Good,” he said. “I’m already here in town. The problem has gone underground. I’m going to need your help to bring the problem back out into the open.”

Bait.

That’s what he was talking about, bait.

Her mind flashed to Deven, alone and tied in Cave’s trunk, then being dragged out into the night and stabbed through the ear with a screwdriver.

“Sure,” she said.

“Yes?”

“Yes, whatever you want.”

“Good,” he said. “Keep your cell phone with you at all times. I’ll be in touch.”

70

Day Four

July 21

Thursday Evening

Pantage took refuge
at homicide while Drift coordinated a small army from his desk via cell phone and emails. She kept his cup full, answered questions when he had them and fought back the urge to grab him by the tie and pull him into the coat closet.

The killer escaped.

In fact, not a single person including Pantage and Renn-Jaa got a good look at him. Drift’s main ambition since the point of failure was to find a security camera that captured the guy’s face. The army was out looking for those cameras and collecting tapes when they found them.

So far only one camera had a tape of interest.

That was from a second story location looking down.

The suspect’s cap hid his face.

However, it also showed a tattoo sticking out the bottom of his sleeve on the left arm. The ink depicted the tip of a scorpion’s tail, with 90 percent of the tattoo hidden.

Pantage had never seen that tattoo before.

The tapes were inspected not just for men in a red hat but for anyone and everyone wearing jeans and a black T, the thinking being that the lid and sunglasses could have been ditched.

Several persons of interest emerged.

On closer inspection, however, the Ts while black didn’t match the suspect’s, which was plain. Two had AC/DC in white letters, others had writings or images.

At 9:15 Drift called everything off.

Everyone was out of the room by 9:39.

Only Drift and Pantage were left.

Outside
night had settled over Denver.

Pantage flipped the lights off.

The room fell into darkness.

She closed the door and wedged it shut with a folding chair.

She unbuttoned her blouse as she walked towards Drift.

“Is this going to be your first time doing it in here?”

She expected him to balk, to tell her how he couldn’t, to flap his lips about how the cleaning lady could show up at any minute or how one of the other detectives might have forgotten something.

Instead he came at her.

His hands went to ass and he pulled her up.

Her legs spread and her thighs gripped his waist.

Drift walked her over to the wall and backed her into it.

He kissed her hard.

He dropped her feet to the carpet then grabbed her wrists and pulled her arms up over her head. He pinned them with one hand and ripped her panties off with the other. Then he took her with all the force of his body, slamming her into the wall and shaking the windows.

71

Day Four

July 21

Thursday Night

With so many reporters
hovering around to get a sound-byte out of Drift’s lips, he decided it was best to not create a second story by carting Pantage home with him, so he put her in a taxi to Renn-Jaa’s and listened to the oldies station as he headed west on 6
^th
Avenue.

The music was good.

Neil Diamond, “Solitary Man.”

The Four Tops, “Bernadette.”

The Righteous Brothers, “You’ve Lost That Lovin’ Feeling.”

Johnny Rivers, “Secret Agent Man.”

As he passed Kipling he checked his voice messages to find he had one from Sydney. “Hey, cowboy, I made it here safe and sound if anyone cares. I’ve been flashing the photo of Northway and his female companion around at restaurants in the vicinity. So far no one recognizes Northway. A waitress recognized the woman but has no idea who she is. Later.”

The line died.

Drift looked at his watch.

It was almost 11:00 meaning 1:00 a.m. New York time.

Sydney would be asleep.

He dialed anyway because if he didn’t he’d forget what he was thinking by the morning.

She answered.

Her voice was scratchy and unfocused.

“The waitress who recognized the woman, did she work at a nice restaurant?”

“Drift it’s one o’clock here. You’re waking me up.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” he said. “The restaurant though, was it an expensive one?”

“They’re all expensive,” she said. “Do you want to know what I paid for supper?”

“You know what I mean.”

Yes.

She did.

“It was a nice enough place.”

“Was the woman decked out?”

“The waitress?”

No.

The other one.