Body of Shadows (9 page)

“That’s fair,” he said. “That way you have a 25 percent chance.”

“Fifty,” she said.

“Twenty-five,” he said. “If you win the first one, we flip again. That one will definitely count though.”

“I’ll tell you what,” she said. “I’ll just pay.”

“Fine, if that’s what you want.”

Wong’s at noon
was a study in motion, fast, crowded and energetic to the point that it was a mystery why no one got trampled to death. Drift got there ten minutes early and managed to grab Daisy, who in turn grabbed a corner booth for him.

She leaned in.

“I’m on the menu today,” she said. “For you only.”

“In that case I’ll take an extra large helping,” he said.

“Would you like that with or without screaming?”

“With, please.”

“Good choice.”

Jena showed up five minutes late, looked around frantically, then scurried over and slipped in next to him on the same side of the booth.

“Last time we were here you promised to take me out and get me drunk,” she said.

“I did?”

She punched his arm.

“Why am I hearing from you today? It’s been three months—”

He narrowed his eyes.

“You’re familiar with the murder of the lawyer, Jackie Lake, right?”

“Of course.”

“This is between you an me,” he said. “A guy actually ended up in a fight with the killer outside the house, a guy with long hair. I need to find him. That’s where you come in.”

“You want me to get something on the air?”

He nodded.

“There’s more just between you and me,” he said. “Another lawyer in the same firm as Jackie Lake is in the guy’s crosshairs.”

“Why?”

He shook his head.

“I don’t want to go there,” he said. “Let me just say this. At first, I didn’t want to go on the news to look for the guy with the long hair. I wanted the killer to think that the guy was already in contact with us. That would hopefully suppress him, to a point, and make it less likely that he’d make a move on this other lawyer. Unfortunately, now it looks like I’m not going to find the longhair without help. I already talked to the chief and the public information officer about getting something on the air. I have the green light. What I need you to do is help me figure out exactly how to frame it and then get it done. I want it on tonight’s news.”

She studied him.

“And what do I get in return?”

“What do you want?”

“Remember when we used to go way down the tracks by the cattails and you and Bobby Ray would tickle me to death?”

Drift nodded.

“I want that,” she said. “But first you have to take me to a bar and get me good and drunk.”

24

Day Two

July 19

Tuesday Morning

When the lawyer left
Yardley got a Colt 45 from the safe and slipped it in her purse, then cleaned Deven’s blood off the floor. Cave could pop out of the shadows at any second. Yardley had to let it happen. It was a necessary step in getting Deven back.

She waited.

Cave didn’t show.

He was making her sweat.

He was emphasizing the fact that Deven was gone and would continue to be gone until he decided otherwise.

Yardley got the coffee pot going and drank a cup at the desk with the gun in the top drawer. Twenty minutes went by, then an hour, and then lunch came and went. In the afternoon a nicely dressed woman walked in, looked timidly around and said, “I’ve seen this place a hundred times and always wanted to stop in.” She had short brown hair in a contemporary style, 2-inch heels, nylons and a sleeveless white blouse. Her arms were tanned and firm. She pulled sunglasses off. “This is embarrassing but do you have a restroom?”

She did.

“In the back.”

“Thanks.”

Two minutes later the woman returned and said, “I had to be sure we were alone. I’m here about Cave.”

“About Cave?”

“Right, Cave. I’ve been brought in to take care of him. Sooner or later he’s going to contact you. When he does, play hard to get but eventually tell him that your contact is a woman named Madison Elmblade. Tell him she lives at 1775 Marion. Write it down.”

Yardley obeyed.

“Describe me,” the woman said. “When you talk to him, try to get him to tell you where Deven is.”

The woman stopped.

The silence hung.

“Then what?” Yardley said.

“Then Cave will end up dead. If the police ever question you about it, this conversation between you and me never happened. That’s important. Do you understand?”

Yardley nodded.

“What about Deven?”

“Getting her back safe and sound is the goal,” she said. “Whether that goal gets met or not, only time can tell. There are no guarantees in something like this and we both know it.”

Yardley exhaled.

“Can I ask you one thing?”

“Sure.”

“Are you the one who just got the call about killing me and Deven if the lawyer ended up dead?”

The woman looked confused.

“No, that wasn’t me.”

“Okay.”

“Then we’re done.”

Yardley cocked her head.

“You don’t look like the type to be involved in something like this,” she said.

The woman put her sunglasses on and nodded towards the bookshelves.

“Don’t judge them by the covers,” she said.

“You should turn this assignment down,” Yardley said. “Cave’s dangerous.”

“Cave’s nothing. He’s an hour of work.”

Yardley pulled
an old book off the shelf and handed it to the woman.

Moby Dick.

“Have you ever read this?”

The woman opened it up and flipped the pages.

They were heavily yellowed at the edges but white and clean inside.

“No.”

“Read it,” Yardley said. “It’s about a man who goes after something he shouldn’t. It ends up killing him. Take it, my compliments.”

The woman set the book on the desk.

“Thanks but I don’t have time to read.”

Then she was gone.

25

Day Two

July 19

Tuesday Afternoon

Pantage was knee deep
in researching jury instructions for a case that Condor and her would be trying together in September when Renn-Jaa stepped inside and closed the door. “You really have this place buzzing with this detective here guarding you,” she said. “Over half the money’s bet on the fact that you’re going to end up dead.”

Pantage leaned back in her chair.

“Where’s your money?”

“I know you too well to take the stupid side of the bet,” she said. “Here’s the thing and this is just between you and me so don’t repeat it.”

“I won’t.”

“I have a gun,” Renn-Jaa said. “It’s totally legal. I bought it from a store, it’s registered and the whole bit. What I’m thinking is that you shouldn’t be alone when you’re outside the law firm. Tonight, I think it would be a good idea if you slept over at my place or I slept over at yours.” She exhaled and added, “I’ve been researching the law on self defense. If you’re in your house and someone comes in, it’s okay to shoot them as long as you have a reasonable belief that your life is in jeopardy.”

“Thanks but I’m not going to drag you into my problems,” Pantage said.

“But—”

“No buts,” she said. “This isn’t amateur hour, no offense. If you got hurt or killed I’d never be able to forgive myself.”

“You wouldn’t need to,” Renn-Jaa said. “I understand the risks. It’s my decision to make. I’m a big girl.”

“No. That’s final.”

Pantage’s phone rang.

“Let me take this,” she said.

The voice of the California investigator, Aspen Gonzales, came though. “I thought it would be best to touch base with you. It’s about Chiara de Correggio.”

“What about her?”

“Look, I don’t know if you were a friend of hers or what, so I’m sorry if this is bad news.”

Pantage stood up.

Forty floors below, the people looked like ants and the cars moved like toys.

“Go on.”

“She’s dead.”

The words registered, not because Pantage had been friends with the woman and should feel something, but because it was yet another dark thing in her life.

“What happened?”

“She got murdered, actually,” Gonzales said.

“By who?”

“It’s an open case.”

“So they never caught anyone?”

A pause.

“No. Here’s the thing,” Gonzales said. “There isn’t much that’s public about the murder. About the best I can tell you so far is what I already told you. Now, there are ways to go deeper.”

“Do you need more money?”

“I will if I go that route but that’s not the issue,” Gonzales said. “The issue is that the case is dormant right now. If an investigator such as myself starts prying into it, someone on the other end is going to scratch their head and wonder who I’m working for and what their interest is in all this.”

“You said you’d be confidential.”

“I will, you don’t have to worry about that,” she said. “Here’s what I’m getting at. I don’t know if you or someone you know, a sister or friend or something, had anything to do with the woman’s death. I’m not going to ask you and I don’t want you to tell me if that’s the case. What I’m saying though is that if that’s the case, I’d let sleeping dogs lie. I’d just walk away from it right now. I don’t need an answer this second. You can think about it and call me later.”

Sirens came from below.

Pantage looked out the window.

A cop car was weaving in and out of traffic at high speed with the lights flashing.

“I’ll call you later,” she said. “Is that okay?”

“Yes, it’s fine. I haven’t done anything yet in connection with the other part of the assignment, London Winger. I’ll start on that as soon as we hang up.”

“Call me when you get something.”

“I will.”

She hung up.

Renn-Jaa looked at her
and said, “What was that all about?”

Pantage studied her.

“I might need a friend,” she said.

“You have one. Tell me what’s going on.”

26

Day Two

July 19

Tuesday Afternoon

Mid-afternoon
Drift received a strange phone call from a female voice. “I may have information relating to Jackie Lake. I have to stay anonymous though.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t—”

“Totally anonymous,” the voice said, “even from you. Go to the 16
^th
Street mall. There are back-to-back benches at 16
^th
and California. Sit in the one facing towards Broadway. Don’t look at the bench behind you. Face straight ahead. After you’re situated, I’m going to come and sit in the other bench at your back. Don’t turn around. We’re going to talk. When we’re done, you’re going to get up and walk away. You’re not going to turn back. You’re not going to try to see who I am.”

“This is a joke, right?”

“Those are the conditions,” the voice said. “They’re not negotiable.”

Drift looked at his watch.

“When?”

“Right now.”

“This better be something real,” he said.

“Don’t worry, it’s real.”

The destination was a fifteen-minute walk from homicide. Drift did it in twelve and sat down. An old couple occupied the bench at his back. Drift flashed his badge and said, “I’m sorry but you’re going to have to leave. I need that bench for business.”

The woman wasn’t impressed.

“What kind of business?”

“Detective business.”

“Don’t you have an office?”

“No.”

“That’s not true.”

“It’s being painted.”

The woman pointed to an empty bench thirty yards down. “Use that one,” she said.

“Look, don’t turn this into an incident,” Drift said. “I need you to vacate that bench and I need you to do it now. Please and thank you.”

“You just don’t like old people,” she said. “Just because we’re not as strong as you doesn’t give you the right to boss us around.”

Drift exhaled.

“Look—”

“That’s not even a real badge,” she said. “I’ve seen real badges. That one’s not real. Even your eyes aren’t real. They’re two different colors. Who has two different color eyes? No one, that’s who.”

Drift smelled alcohol on her breath.

He pulled a ten out of his pocket, dangled it in front of her and said, “Do you want this?”

A pause.

The woman snatched it.

“Take your stupid old bench.”

Then she was gone, the man too.

Drift faced
the way he was supposed to and kept pointed in that direction. The bench was in the sun. Heat radiated off every building in the stinking city. He wiped sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. Five minutes later the weight of a body sank into the bench behind him and a female voice said, “Don’t turn around.”

“Next time pick a place in the shade,” Drift said. “You didn’t bring a cold Bud Light with you by an chance, did you?”

The woman chuckled.

“No.”

“I didn’t think so,” he said. “Tell me why I’m here.”

The woman cleared her throat.

“I’m an attorney,” she said. “What I’m about to do is violate the oath I took when I became an attorney. I’m going to violate my client’s confidentiality.”

“Are you sure you want to do that?”

“Trust me, I don’t
want
to,” she said. “You need to promise me that you’ll never tell anyone about this conversation, not today, not tomorrow, not ten years from tomorrow.”

“I won’t.”

“If you ever tell anyone about it, I’ll deny it,” she said. “I’ll deny it with a vengeance. Then I’ll sue you for defamation to prove I’m right.”

“You won’t get anything,” Drift said. “All I have is a ’67 Corvette and the bank owns most of that. Do you like old Corvettes?”

“No. I’m a Porsche girl.”

“Do you have one?”

“Maybe.”

“I hope it’s ’89 or earlier,” Drift said. “Those were the keepers, with the headlights sticking out like torpedoes. The new ones don’t do anything for me.”

“Me either,” she said. “Mine’s an ’86.”

“When did they put in the synchronized clutch?”

“Eighty-seven.”

“Ouch. So you have to come to a complete stop to downshift into first?”

“Right.”

“That makes for tough driving.”

“There are worse things,” she said. “The guy you’re looking for refers to himself as Van Gogh. He was a client of mine. He never had an actual case with me, he just retained me and then told me about the killings.”

“Why?”

“Who knows,” she said. “Maybe he just needed to talk about it and knew I couldn’t repeat anything because of attorney-client confidentiality. Maybe he just liked to put me on edge. Either way it was pretty sick. He’s been doing them for years.”

“What’s his name?”

“Van Gogh, that’s all I have,” she said. “He never told me his real name.”

“Do you have an address, phone number, anything?”

“No.”

“You’re not being much help,” he said.

“He picks them out in bars,” she said. “He follows them for a week or two or three, then he strikes. He ties their wrists to the headboard and then chokes them to death while he’s raping them. That’s how Jackie Lake died, right?”

“How’d you know that?”

“I’m an attorney,” she said. “It’s a small town.”

“Has he called you about Jackie Lake?”

“Not yet.”

“When he does I want you to record it.”

“We’ll see.”

“What else can you tell me about him?”

“A little part of his left ear got shot off once. He’s pretty proud of that,” she said. “That was his inspiration for cutting off the left ear of his victims.”

“Who shot him? The police?”

“He never said.” She lowered her voice. “Every time he talked to me, he always finished the conversation the same way. He always said that if I ever told anyone anything about what he was telling me, he’d do the same thing to me that he was doing to the other women, only more slowly. That’s why you’re going to get up now and walk away, and you’re not going to turn around, like you promised. Goodbye.”

“What you just did took a lot of guts. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Drift stood up.

He took a step and stopped.

He didn’t turn around.

“Was Jackie Lake a friend of yours? Is that why you’re coming forward?”

No one answered.

She was gone.

Drift walked away.

He didn’t turn around.

On the walk
back to the office he called Sydney and said, “See if you can find the name of a female attorney in town who owns an ’86 Porsche 911.”

“Who is this?”

Drift smiled.

“Thanks.”

He was almost at the office when the phone rang and Sydney’s voice came though.

“The attorney in question is someone named September Tadge.”

“September?”

“Right.”

“As in the month?”

“Right. July, August,
September.”

“Her parents must have been hippies,” Drift said.

“I wouldn’t know,” Sydney said. “That’s a white infliction. You don’t find any black girls called September. What’s your interest in her, anyway?”

“She may have done something to make herself a target,” he said. “Don’t mention this to anyone. I’m serious, not a word.”

“Okay.”

“It’s important.”

“I understand,” she said. “Not a word.”

Drift almost hung up and said, “Are you still there?”

She was.

“Do me a favor,” he said. “Cross-reference September to Jackie Lake. See if there’s any connection.”

“As in what? Common cases? Common clients?”

“As in anything at all.”

“Drift, that would be a three week project.”

“Don’t let anyone know you’re doing it,” he said. “Love you.”

He hung up.

Bars.

Bars.

Bars.

That’s where the guy did his hunting.

That’s where Drift needed to do his.

27

Day Two

July 19

Tuesday Afternoon

Yardley was pacing
with a cigarette in hand when a chill ran up her spine. Maybe Madison Elmblade actually worked for Cave. Maybe she was trying to draw Yardley into a trap. Maybe she’d call later, after dark, and say they needed to meet and come up with a better plan. That’s when the woman would club her on the back of the head and drive her to whatever sick little place Cave had picked out.

She called her contact, got dumped into voice mail and didn’t leave a message.

If Madison worked for Cave, they might meet up sooner than later, as in now.

Yardley swung the sign from Open to Closed, stepped outside and locked the door behind her. Then she followed Elmblade up Wazee towards downtown.

The sun was fierce.

28

Day Two

July 19

Tuesday Afternoon

Late afternoon
Pantage closed her door and called the California PI, Aspen Gonzales. “If we go deeper into Chiara’s murder, what exactly is the risk? They couldn’t get a subpoena for your files, could they?”

“Unlikely,” Aspen said. “The main risk is that the case won’t necessarily stay cold. If we shake it up someone might want to dust it off and take a fresh look. They might see something they didn’t see before. It might the first slip of a slippery slope, meaning it might not end well for the killer, or killers or people who aided or abetted them, whoever that may be.”

Pantage gave it one last thought.

“Go deeper,” she said.

“Are you sure?”

“No but do it anyway. I assume you’ll try to stay as discrete as you can.”

“Of course,” Aspen said. “There will be costs. ”

“How much?”

“Let me think . . . okay, let me see what I can do for two thousand. That’s a straight pass through by the way. I don’t mark it up.”

“I appreciate it. What do you have on London Winger?”

“Nothing yet.”

As soon as
she hung up, the phone rang and Drift’s voice came through. “What bars have you gone to in the last three or four weeks?”

“Why?”

“Because that’s where the guy does his hunting. He picks his victim out in a bar and follows her around for one or two or three weeks,” he said. “Then he strikes. So, what bars have you been in?”

She hesitated.

“Can we talk about this in person, away from the firm?”

“Why?”

“It’s a little embarrassing.”

A beat then, “We’re going to be barhopping tonight so if you have anything planned in the office for early tomorrow morning you may want to push it back. Oh, one more thing. Do you know anyone with a small piece of their left ear missing?”

“Not offhand.”

“Okay.”

“Where do you get this information?”

“I detect it. That’s what detective’s do. By the way, don’t tell anyone what I just told you.”

“I won’t.”

“Oh, I almost forgot, one more thing. Do you know anyone who goes by the name Van Gogh?”

“Is that his name? The killer’s?”

“Maybe.”

“It doesn’t ring any bells.”

“Okay, don’t repeat it. You never heard it.”

She hung up
and headed to the kitchen for a cup of decaf. Renn-Jaa was lifting the top of a Krispy Kreme box. “There’s one left,” she said. “I’ll split it with you.”

“I have to stay away from those things.”

The woman held it up.

“Chocolate frosting.”

Pantage hesitated.

“Come on,” Renn-Jaa said. “Don’t make me eat the whole thing.” She broke it in half and handed the smaller piece to Pantage.

“You’re evil.”

She took a bite while she poured coffee.

Suddenly a vision flashed in her brain. She was in Jackie Lake’s bedroom, straddling her helpless victim. The fear on the woman’s face was so real, so honest, so perfect. Pantage let her right hand drift to the side until it found the box cutter. She pushed the blade out until it locked. Then she bent her face close to Jackie's and said, “I usually do this after they’re dead but in your case I’m going to make an exception.”

Then she did it.

She sliced the woman’s ear off with one quick motion.

The mug dropped
out of her hand and shattered on the tile.

She looked around.

She was in the law firm’s kitchen.

Someone was there with her.

Renn-Jaa.

The woman’s forehead was tensed and her eyes were narrowed.

“Are you okay?”

29

Day Two

July 19

Tuesday Afternoon

For the first time
in his professional life, Drift let a dark, illegal thought work its way into his brain. The lawyer, September Tadge, no doubt took notes of her conversations with Van Gogh. There would be a wealth of information in those notes over and beyond what September already told him. What time of day did he call? How long did he wait after the killing before calling? How long did the conversations last? Did he specifically name any of the bars where he picked out his victim? Were they biker bars, country bars, discos, fashion clubs, fancy hotels or what? What facts did he emphasize? Were the facts more about the woman and why he picked her or more about the act of the killing?

One option would be to approach September and ask for the files point-blank.

If she said no, she might hide or destroy them.

She might feel like she’d gotten herself in deeper than she envisioned and try to pull out.

If she said yes, she’d be the one committing the wrongful act. What right did Drift have to have her do the dirty work instead of him?

The best option would be to break into her office, copy the files and put them back exactly like they were.

Okay, play it out.