Body of Shadows (14 page)

That’s what she’d say if he came in.

That trick was limited though. It would work for a minute or two but not in half an hour. She should use it now while the using was good.

She should.

She absolutely should.

Her brain was clear on the matter but her body balked.

A deep warning told her to hold off until she thought it all the way through. If he’s the one who killed Jackie Lake, he knew she was a witness.

He’d kill her, right here, right now.

Renn-Jaa too.

He’d dump their bodies tonight where they’d never be found.

Stay still.

Just stay still.

Renn-Jaa put her mouth close to Pantage’s ear. Pantage pulled back and shook her head.

No.

No.

No.

The woman’s eyes darted, wide and twitchy.

The fear was palpable.

Pantage squeezed her hand.

They kept their bodies perfectly still.

The fridge opened
and a can tab pulled. The gladiator took a long swallow of something, then the bulk of his weight moved in their direction.

He came in.

A zipper came down.

Pantage held her breath.

A long, strong piss followed, not more than three feet away.

Just as it ended a cell phone rang.

“Starry,” the gladiator said. A beat then, “Damn it Sweeton, I told you never to call me on my cell. The stupid records stay forever.” Silence. “I don’t give a rat’s ass if you’re calling from a pay phone.” A pause, listening, then, “Meet me at ten-thirty tonight, the same place as last time.”

A zipper came up.

Ten seconds later the man was out of the loft, scampering down the fire escape.

41

Day Three

July 20

Wednesday Morning

Locke & Banner, P.C.,
was a hundred-plus law firm that had forsaken the typical high-rise financial district venue in lieu of an old warehouse conversion in the trendy section of Market Street just north of the 16
^th
Street Mall. The litigation department was located on the third floor, which was also the top floor. Kelly Ravenfield’s office was at the back, overlooking an alley and staring into the hundred-year-old bricks of another building immediately across that alley.

Drift didn’t make an appointment and used his one blue eye and one green eye to talk the receptionist into letting him wander back without announcing him in advance.

Kelly was faced the other way working at a computer.

The office was decorated in shades of panic, replete with piles of files, yellow post-its galore, and a half-empty pot of coffee on a hotplate.

The woman’s hair was blond and loose, cascading down the backside of a crisp white blouse. Down below was a pinstriped skirt, riding up thigh-high over nylons. Leather shoes with a two-inch heel were slipped off and sitting on the floor next to her feet.

Her left hand had no ring.

There were no pictures of men to be seen.

Drift’s heart raced.

He cleared his throat.

When the woman turned,
she was just as beautiful as ever, with green eyes and a slightly crooked smile. Her face registered surprise, then something primal.

“Someone said you’re still hot for me,” Drift said. “I thought I’d stop by and see if that’s true or not.”

She came around and hugged him tight, stomach-to-stomach, then kissed him on the lips. With her arms around his waist, she leaned back and checked him out.

“How’d I ever let you get away from me,” she said.

Drift cocked his head.

“It was a push, if I recall.”

“Yeah, well, in hindsight it looks like I should have zigged when I zagged,” she said. “You’re here about Michael Northway. You want some coffee?”

Drift shook his head.

“I quit coffee,” he said.

The look on her face was what he expected.

“Honestly? You did?”

He smiled.

“No, of course I didn’t and yes, I’ll take some.”

She punched him on the arm.

“You haven’t changed.”

“Yeah, old dog, no new tricks.”

She poured a cup and handed it to him.

“There was nothing wrong with the old tricks if I remember correctly,” she said. She took a sip of coffee and studied him over the rim. “Here’s the deal on Northway. I was in New York yesterday taking a deposition. During the lunch break, I saw Northway across the street, this was on 42
^nd
in Manhattan, a little before one. He looked the same as always with his surfer boy hair and cocky smile, except the power tie and tailored suit were gone. He was in jeans and a gray and white striped shirt with a collar, cotton, sort of sporty, maybe Abercrombie or something like that. He wore tennis shoes and had sunglasses hanging in the v-neck of the shirt. A woman was with him. She was younger, a lot younger, twenty-six or thereabouts, nicely dressed, very nicely dressed in fact, even by New York standards. She struck me as a lawyer.”

“What color was her hair?”

“Blond.”

“So she was sort of like you,” Drift said.

Kelly nodded.

“Apparently old habits die hard,” she said. “They disappeared around a corner. By the time I got across the street and on their tail, they were gone.” A pause, “Here, let me show you exactly where they were.” She pulled it up on Google Earth, first as an aerial view, then down to street level. “They were right there.”

The street was jammed with office buildings.

“Take me around the corner,” he said.

She did.

There was more of the same.

“Would you recognize the woman again if you saw her?”

Kelly shook her head.

“Doubtful,” she said. “They were at a distance and I was a lot more interested in Northway than I was in her. What I said is about all I can remember of her. Dent, I’m not positive it was him. You need to understand that.”

“You’re pretty sure, though,” he said.

She nodded.

“Right, pretty sure,” she said. A beat then, “Have you talked to Sydney lately?”

Yes.

Every day.

“Did she say anything about me?”

The question confused him.

“No. Why would she?”

“We meet about once a month or so for lunch,” she said. “Did you know that?”

No.

He didn’t.

“What for?”

“You want the truth or lies?”

He shrugged.

“Whichever is easiest.”

“That would be the lie,” she said. “I’m going to go the hard way though and tell you the truth. We do it so I can keep up with what’s going on with you. I made her promise to never tell you. It looks like she kept her word.”

“Apparently,” he said. “Remind me to talk to her about that.”

The woman
downed what was left in her coffee cup, then closed the door and locked it.

She shut off the lights.

She pulled the window covering.

Then she sat on the edge of the desk in front of Drift, leaned back on her arms and dangled her legs, saying nothing.

Drift put an index finger on each knee and moved them slowly outwards.

The woman’s legs spread.

The nylons were held up with a black garter belt.

White cotton panties peeked out from between taut golden thighs.

“I have a confession to make,” Kelly said. “You’re the best lay I ever had.”

“Is that what I am to you, a lay?”

She ran her fingers through his hair.

“I miss sitting in that old car of yours on those stormy nights.”

He ran an index finger in a circle on her knee, then looked into her eyes and said, “I ripped up every picture I had of you, ripped ’em up then burned them.”

“You hated me.”

He nodded.

“That’s right.”

“Do you still hate me?”

He considered it.

The answer surprised him.

“Yes,” he said. “I didn’t realize it until just now, but the answer is yes.”

“Good.”

“How is that good?”

“It’s good because hate is another form of love.” She pulled her skirt up. “Show me how much you hate me, Dent. Make me sorry I ever hurt you.”

42

Day Three

July 20

Wednesday Morning

Yardley spent the night
in the darkness around the corner of the building, curled up with her back against the structure, slipping in and out of consciousness. She must have fallen asleep because there was now a low-lying amber seeping into the sky. She stood up, took a few steps over and relieved herself on the ground. The more she thought about killing Cave the more it weighed on her. She’d try to wound him if possible then escape on foot. If he ever came after her down the road, she’d kill him without a second thought. He would have had his chance and blown it at that point.

The dawn got lighter.

The terrain took shape in the form of rolling prairie filled with scraggly pinions, yuccas, rabbit brush and grasses. To the west not more than twenty yards distant was a string of cottonwoods sucking up to a dried creek bed. Beyond that the foothills rose up.

Voices came from inside the structure.

Cave was up.

Yardley hugged the side of the building with the gun in hand waiting for the man to emerge. More than an hour passed, then he finally stepped out.

“Damned stupid tire!”

A stream of piss landed on the ground outside the door, then the trunk of the car popped up and Cave rummaged around getting the spare and jack out. Yardley took a quick look and found Cave on the other side of the car out of sight, working the jack.

She was focused but not afraid.

She had a gun.

He didn’t.

She crept around the corner and made her way to the door of the structure.

It was open.

She stepped in
and found Deven naked on the bed, tied but in a different position. Instead of spread-eagle, her wrists were tied behind her back and one of her ankles was roped to the frame.

Her eyes were open.

She had enough wits about her to know not to talk.

Yardley looked around for a knife to cut the ropes, found nothing, then set the gun on the mattress and worked at the knots with her fingers and teeth.

Cave was outside swearing, broadcasting his position.

The knots were tight.

It took time.

Finally they came undone.

Silently, Deven put her shoes on; not her clothes though, there was no time for the clothes; those she picked up and carried.

They got to the door and waited until Cave got the spare on and knelt down to put the lug nuts on. Then they slipped outside and around the edge of the building.

Neither woman talked.

They made their way to the cottonwoods and followed them for a hundred yards where they ended.

Back at the structure a gun fired.

Yardley cursed herself for not being smart enough to grab Cave’s weapon while she had the chance.

“Come on!”

They ran.

Deven was slow.

“Hurry,” Yardley said. “We need to get over that ridge before he spots us.”

“I’m trying!”

“Try harder!”

43

Day Three

July 20

Wednesday Afternoon

Back at the law firm
Pantage kept her ass in the chair and cranked out billable hours until mid-afternoon, then did a web search for Concrete Flower Factory, the mysterious $500 credit card charge on Starry’s bill. It turned out to be a dungeon in an industrial area on the north edge of the city, up I-25 near furniture row.

When she told Renn-Jaa, the woman’s response was fast. “We need to get over there and find out what Starry’s game is.”

“Why?”

“I want to see the women he uses for one,” she said. “I want to see if they look like you. I’d also like to know if he’s into suffocation or strangulation or oxygen deprivation or whatever it is they call it. That and/or rape fantasies. Maybe that place is his release valve until he just can’t stand it any more and has to do it for real.”

Pantage cocked her head.

The woman made sense.

“Okay,” she said.