Body of Shadows (8 page)

He was a drug.

20

Day Two

July 19

Tuesday Morning

Getting to work
Tuesday morning before anyone else, Drift flicked on the fluorescents, kick-started the coffee and worked up a warrant to get the passenger lists into Denver from San Francisco on Sunday, just in case Pantage was right and someone other than Jackie Lake sent the text.

Pantage.

Pantage.

Pantage.

Drift couldn't get her out of his brain. He kept pulling up a visual of her tied spread-eagle on the bed last night while the storm beat on the windows.

Her body was so damned perfect.

Her lust was so absolute.

Her passion was so free.

Her breath was so alive.

Best of all was that she was still there when Drift woke up this morning.

She was the one.

He knew it the first night they met but knew it even better now.

It was wrong to have sex with her last night. He knew that. But how do you stop a freight train when it's running through your blood? How do you not do something when all you can think about is doing it?

Sydney showed up
at seven wearing a sleepy, pre-caffeine face. "There wasn't much in any of the victim's files about their social lives," she said. "It was interesting though that the file pictures for each and every one of them showed liquor or wine in the cupboards. They were drinkers. If they drank at home they probably drank at bars too. My guess is that's where this guy does his hunting, at bars or clubs."

Drift dumped what was left in his cup in the snake plant over by the window and then refilled.

"That makes sense," he said. "Sit back with a beer and look for that perfect lickable face." He took a sip. "So now the question is, what bars did Jackie Lake go to? That's one of the things I want you to figure out today."

Sydney tilted her head.

"Did you say likable or lickable?"

"Lickable."

She rolled her eyes.

"You're getting worse."

"It's not easy," he said. "I have to work at it. I've been thinking about Pantage's memory problems. Maybe they're not from that fire hydrant encounter at all. Maybe they're from that first encounter with me."

Sydney smiled.

"You've been known to have that effect on people."

"That I have." He took a sip of coffee, wrinkled his brow and said, "We need to find our friend with the long hair. It's making my teeth hurt knowing there's someone out there who can potentially wrap this whole thing up."

Sydney frowned.

"It's going to bust a hundred again today. I need to be in air conditioning."

Drift looked
out the window. Across the street were old houses converted into bail bond joints painted in cartoon colors.

"You know what, you deserve air-conditioning," he said. "Go to the law firm. Keep an eye on Pantage today. I'm sure they'll let you set up in a conference room or something. If she goes out to lunch, go with her. Keep reviewing the other files. Call the detectives in charge. Get your brain wrapped around all the details."

"Are you serious?"

He nodded.

"I am," he said. "Most of all be accessible. Be sure everyone knows you're there. Maybe one of the attorneys will wander in and whisper something in your ear."

21

Day Two

July 19

Tuesday Morning

Yardley woke
Tuesday morning by the ringing of her phone. She opened her eyes a found a golden patina of sunlight awash on the walls. The clock said 10:32.

She answered.

“Hello?”

A voice said, “That was a big mistake. A very big mistake.”

The voice belonged to Sanders Cave.

She sat up.

“What was?”

The line went dead.

She called her boss and said, “I just got a call from Cave. He said,
That was a big mistake,
then hung up. He sounded insane.”

Silence.

Then, “Meet me at the bookstore at 11:30.”

“Okay.”

Thirty minutes later Yardley was out the door, showered and dressed. She swung into Starbucks long enough to get a carryout, then sipped it from her left hand and smoked with her right as she negotiated the downtown buzz over to Wazee. When she got to the bookstore the door was locked and the lights were out.

That was wrong.

Deven was supposed to open at ten.

It was 11:22.

Yardley opened
the door, stepped inside and saw something she didn’t expect. The reception desk lamp was on the floor, shattered. Next to it was a stapler lying quietly on its side.

“Deven?”

Silence.

Yardley headed into the back.

To her shock, the back door was wide open. Something reddish-brown was on the floor, shaped in drops, looking like blood. Yardley ran a finger over it. It was dry but definitely blood.

Behind the store was an alley.

Someone could have pulled a car back there, dumped Deven into a trunk and taken off without anyone seeing them.

Cave.

It had to be Cave.

The thought was simultaneously comforting and frightening; comforting in that at least she knew who she was dealing with, frightening in that she knew what Cave was capable of.

At exactly 11:30 the door opened and Yardley’s boss walked in dressed exactly like what she was, an expensive lawyer.

“Cave took Deven,” Yardley said. “What the hell’s going on?”

The lawyer exhaled.

“The Miami deal was a set up,” the woman said.

“What do you mean?”

“It was orchestrated to eliminate Cave.”

“Eliminate Cave?”

“There are reasons,” the woman said.

Yardley took a step back.

“You had no right to involve me without my knowledge,” she said.

The woman said nothing.

Her face didn’t move.

“You never told Cave who I am, correct?”

Yardley nodded.

“No, I haven’t.”

“He’s smart enough to know that it was orchestrated by me, not you,” the woman said. “If he thought you were responsible, you’d already be dead. He took Deven to force you to tell him who I am. You’re not going to do that. We need to get that clear, right here, right now.”

Yardley shook her head.

“I’d never do that.”

“Yes you would,” the woman said. “If you do though, I’ll have a plan in motion to take Deven out, first her, then you. So be assured you won’t be advancing your cause by giving me up.”

“I already said I wouldn’t.”

The woman
pulled a pack of smokes out of her purse, tapped two out and handed one to Yardley.

She lit them both up from a fancy gold lighter.

“We need to get Deven back and kill Cave,” she said. “That’s our only option.” She blew smoke. “Either you’re in or you’re out.”

Yardley paused.

Then she said, “I’m in.”

The woman nodded.

“Hold on.” She pulled her phone out, dialed a number and said, “It’s me. I have an assignment for you. If I die at any time within the next month, and I don’t care what the cause is—I don’t care if I get hit by a bus or get a bullet in the head, either way—you’re to kill two women, one’s named Deven Devenshire and the other’s named Yardley White. Money will be in your account within the hour.”

She closed the phone and looked at Yardley.

“Do we have an understanding?”

Yardley nodded.

“When this is over, though, I’m done with you.”

The woman blew smoke.

“One step at a time,” she said. “I’m being a businesswoman and you know it. Right now my goal, just like yours, is to get Deven back. That call I made was just an insurance policy, nothing personal against you.”

22

Day Two

July 19

Tuesday Morning

Pantage was besieged
with work when she got to the law firm Tuesday morning. The echo of Jackie Lake’s murder still resonated up and down the halls but the day-to-day operations of the firm were back to normal. Luckily no one talked to her about anything in the too distant past. She was able to hold her own memory-wise.

Sydney showed up to keep an eye on her.

Pantage got her set up in a conference room, poured two cups of coffee and settled into a leather chair. “So what’s the deal with Drift?”

“What do you mean?”

“What I mean is, should I worry about getting in too deep with him?”

Sydney patted her hand.

“Girlfriend, you’re already in too deep with him.”

Pantage shrugged.

“You’re probably right,” she said.

“No probably about it,” Sydney said. “I’m big-time jealous, just for the record.”

“Did you ever—you know—do it with him?”

Sydney reflected.

“You mean have sweaty edgy sex in the back of his pickup down by the BNSF switchyard under a pitch-black night?”

“Right, that.”

“No, nothing like that ever happened. I’ll admit, though, there were a few drunken nights when I wore a short dress and let my panties flash more than they should have,” she said. “His excuse is that we’re partners. He doesn’t want to cross the line.” A beat then, “So, is he any good in bed?”

Pantage shook her head.

“No, you’re not missing a thing.”

Sydney punched her on the arm.

“You liar.”

“Did you just call me an attorney?”

“I guess I did.”

It was mid-morning
before Pantage got enough clear space around her to do what she’d been aching to do all morning, namely close the door and see if the internet had any information on Chiara de Correggio. The woman would be able to tell Pantage about her past.

Google had nothing on her.

It had hits on “London Winger,” but on deeper investigation they weren’t Pantage, they were separate people.

She got a listing of private investigators in Malibu and called the only female on the list, a woman named Aspen Gonzales, who had a soft Hispanic accent.

“I’m trying to get information on two people who lived in or around Malibu three or four years ago,” she said.

“Hold on, let me get a pencil.” A beat, then, “Okay, go on.”

“The first is London Winger, 3883 Three Seagulls Drive, Malibu. The second is Chiara de Correggio. I don’t have an address on her. She was a friend of London Winger’s.”

“What’s your interest in these women?”

“It’s personal.”

Silence.

“I’m sort of in a hurry, too,” Pantage said.

“Okay, I’m willing to see what I can do. I’ll need a retainer, five thousand. That’s standard. There are no guarantees. I’ll do my best but that doesn’t mean I’ll necessarily find anything.”

Pantage swallowed.

Five thousand.

That was a lot of money.

“Do you take credit cards?”

“As long as it goes up to five-K, sure.”

“Hold on a second, let me get my purse.”

She gave her the digits.

“All this is confidential, right?”

“Absolutely.”

23

Day Two

July 19

Tuesday Morning

Most people
along the front-range knew Jena as the Channel 8 TV roving reporter, the charismatic blond with the big blue eyes who wasn’t afraid to get in the middle of the mess. Drift knew her from the old high school days in Fort Collins when she was the ticklish tomboy down the street, three years younger than him.

He called her mid-morning and said, “I want to buy you lunch.”

“Who is this?”

“Me, Drift.”

“It can’t be,” she said. “The Drift I know doesn’t use the word
buy
.”

He smiled.

“Are you free?”

“No.”

“Good. Wong’s? Noon?”

“Let me see if I have this right. If I somehow do an incredible amount of work to rearrange my schedule and actually go, you’re the one who’s going to pay. Not me, you.”

“Right,” he said.

“Okay then, Wong’s at noon.”

“When I say right, that means we’ll flip for it.”

“So now I have to flip for it?”