Free Body of Shadows by Jack Shadows Page B

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.