Swift Edge (27 page)

“Oh, no, I—” Gigi cut herself off. She did like being a PI, but she wasn’t sure it was her passion. She’d only gotten into it because she needed to put food on the table—and pay ice-skating coaching fees and Dexter’s insurance on the BMW—after Les left. “Was it scary—working with murderers?”

“Very few of my probationers were murderers,” Roger said with the air of someone who has answered the question a few hundred times. “Although my best friend did time for murder.”

Gigi started, and a drip of flan plopped onto her pink satin bodice. “Oh, no!” She snatched up her napkin and scrubbed at the spot, making the stain larger.

“Here.” Roger handed her his napkin, which he had dipped into his water glass.

“Thanks.” Gigi rubbed some more, sure the dress was ruined. Her favorite Betsey Johnson. She wanted to burst into tears. Flagging the waitress down to ask for some club soda—Was it club soda or tonic water that worked on stains? Was it only wine stains or would it remove caramel?—Gigi joggled the brooch. Loosened by her tugging on the fabric, it clipped the table’s edge and tumbled to the floor.

Gigi froze in horror.

“I’ll get it,” Roger said, leaning over.

“No!” Gigi bent at the waist and clunked heads with Roger.

“Ow.” Roger returned to an upright position, rubbing at his forehead.

Ignoring the pain, Gigi felt around on the floor until her fingers brushed the brooch. She emerged from beneath the tablecloth with it clutched in her hand, flushed and perspiring. “Got it.”

“I wasn’t going to steal it, you know,” Roger said edgily.

“Oh, no! I didn’t think— Of course you wouldn’t—” Her fingers were trembling too much for her to repin the brooch on her dress.

“Here, let me.”

“No!” Gigi batted away Roger’s hand.

He drew back, staring at her.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m afraid it’ll fall off again. I’ll just put it in my purse.” She was done with the stupid listening device. She didn’t care if Roger confessed to identity theft, fiddling his taxes, and cheating on a fifth-grade science test. She slid the brooch into her satin handbag and clicked it closed. Roger must think she was a lunatic … or worse. It made her want to cry because even if he was involved with identity theft and murder, she liked him. “So,” she managed a fragile smile. “You were saying about your friend the murderer?”

*   *   *

Having seen Gigi off on her date with Nutt, I got into the rental and pointed it toward Old Colorado City. It had occurred to me earlier that maybe Aaron Wong had the right idea: A snooping expedition at Tattoo4U might yield some interesting data. I didn’t know exactly what kinds of materials or supplies were necessary for producing first-rate fake IDs, but I figured a computer, high-quality color printer, scanner, camera, laminating machine, some art supplies, and the like would be necessary. The mental list loosed a memory—hadn’t I seen a laminating machine at the Estes Park cabin before it went ka-blooey? I couldn’t see the setup being at Dellert House with all the men and boys coming and going at strange hours. If Roger Nutt was in on this, they might be at his house, but I was betting that they were at Tattoo4U. It struck me that this operation was a bit like counterfeiting—an artist was key to its success—and the only “artist” whose name had come up was Graham, the tattoo artist. Anyone who could replicate intricate scenes on human flesh could surely do the background on an Idaho driver’s license, a green card, or a Social Security card, especially with stolen documents to work with. If I didn’t find evidence at Tattoo4U, maybe I could get a line on where Graham lived and poke around there.

I’d taken the precaution of calling Tattoo4U and was satisfied when no one picked up and a recording told me the hours were ten to six. Since it was now past eight and it had been dark for two hours, I figured the time was right for a little reconnaissance. I’d be less conspicuous now, I thought, than if I waited till the wee hours. Still, it paid to be cautious. Parking in the lot across from the shop, I noticed the lights were out and the
CLOSED
sign was up. I boldly crossed the street and walked smack up to the door, trying the knob like a customer frustrated that the shop was closed. “Graham?” I called.

No response. No hint of sound from within. Hiding my satisfied smile, I returned to my car and drove off, circling back to park a couple of blocks behind the shop. In jeans and a black turtleneck, I was virtually invisible—I hoped—as I strode down the street, bolt cutters held close to my right leg with a gloved hand. After a car passed, I ducked into the alley behind Tattoo4U’s block, spooking a gray cat that dashed away from the trash can it was investigating. With the frigid wind lapping at my face and adrenaline pricking at me, I skated on the thin edge between total alertness and fear. Breaking and entering was not something I did lightly, since it carried a prison term if I screwed up.

At Tattoo4U’s back door, I risked a quick squirt of light from the miniflashlight on my key chain. The padlock was secured, just as it had been when Aaron tried to break in. A quick glance to left and right, wrenching pressure on the bolt cutters, and the lock gave way with a metallic snap. Slipping the hasp free, I finagled the doorknob lock with a bent paper clip and a rarely used credit card, vowing to find someone to teach me how to use the picklocks Gigi had acquired via eBay. With a deep breath, I pushed the door open just wide enough to sidle through it.

I was barely clear of the door when my foot snagged on something solid angled across the floor and I staggered. I managed to stay upright by grabbing what felt like a counter or shelf but knocked against something that rolled in a clunky way and then dropped with a resounding thud. Great. I felt about as stealthy as a sumo wrestler in a lingerie shop. Steadying myself with one hand, I flicked on the small flashlight and pointed it at the ground. Oh, shit.

The suddenly shaking beam traveled up a jeaned thigh, across a blood-soaked shirt with two bullet holes in it, over a tangle of ginger beard, to a staring eye. The eye startled me so much I jumped and almost dropped the flashlight. A split second later I realized the eye was filmed and unmoving. Automatically, I squatted and searched for a pulse on the man’s neck, the wiry growth of beard feeling alien under my fingertips. Graham was slightly chilled and most definitely dead.

31

My phone vibrated, and I jumped. Still staring at Graham’s body, I pulled it out. Gigi. I debated not answering it, not wanting to tell her what I was up to since she was almost as opposed to breaking and entering as she was to lying, and she’d certainly freak if I told her about Graham, but I picked up before it went to voice mail. “What?”

“I slid off the road and wrecked the Mustang! The on-ramp was so slick. I can’t—”

The hysteria in Gigi’s voice sounded way out of proportion for a fender bender, and it stopped my own shaking as I focused on her panic. “Are you hurt? Did you call Triple A?”

“I’m fine. It’s not me, it’s her!”

Her? Had she hit someone? My muscles tensed.

“She’s with her. They’re meeting Dmitri. Oh, my God, my baby!”

“Calm down, Gigi,” I said, utterly confused. “Who’s with who?”

“Kendall,” Gigi gasped. “With Irena. Well, she’s not
with
Irena, but she’s in the Hummer.”

“Irena kidnapped Kendall?” Surely not. Who in their right mind would voluntarily snatch a sullen fourteen-year-old? Better question: Who would pay good money to get one back?

“I don’t know if she kidnapped her, exactly,” Gigi hedged. “It’s possible Kendall might have … invited herself along.”

“Good God!” I wanted to say more, but my imperative was to get out of Tattoo4U before a cop ventured along to ask awkward questions about the body on the floor. “I’ll call you back in a min—”

“They’re at the World Arena.” Gigi sounded close to tears. “Kendall heard Irena tell Dmitri she’d meet him there and they’d ‘finish it.’ She’s scared.”

“Where is she?” I didn’t need this, not while I was hovering over a dead body.

“Still in the back.”

“Of the Hummer?”

“Uh-huh.” She paused. “Under a blanket.”

“She stowed away.” I closed my eyes. Kendall must have seen Irena rifle Gigi’s purse for the Hummer keys and figured she’d get in on the action by stowing away. Maybe she even hoped to be the one to find Dmitri, confounding Gigi and me. Whatever, now she was in the midst of something that had already resulted in at least two deaths. “Tell her to stay in the car, no matter what Irena does.”

“I already did,” Gigi said. “I don’t know if she’ll listen to me.”

Fat chance.

“She’s not answering her phone now, Charlie!” Tears choked her voice.

“I’m on my way,” I said. “Hang up now and call Triple A, Gigi.”

I clicked off. After a moment’s hesitation, I picked up Tattoo4U’s phone and dialed the nonemergency police number to report a body in Tattoo4U. As I spoke, I trailed the flashlight’s beam around the room, hitting at least four computers, a printer, and a professional-looking camera on a tripod in front of a blue backdrop. I felt little satisfaction in the discovery now. I hung up on the startled officer, hoping I’d slowed the response enough to get clear before the cops arrived. Slipping out the way I’d come, I jogged back to my car without seeing anyone. Inside, I took a deep breath, held it for a moment, and let it out. I started the car and cranked up the heat.

As the finding-a-dead-body jitters subsided, I pointed the car toward I-25 and tried Montgomery’s cell. Voice mail. Leaving a terse message about my destination and the situation as I understood it, I cut the connection and thought about calling 911. Deciding to wait until I’d had a chance to assess the situation in person—What was I going to say? According to a fourteen-year-old, an ice-skater and his mother were maybe meeting some bad people at the rink?—I skidded slightly getting off at the World Arena exit and went with it, glad there were no other cars around. I drove as fast as I dared, then cornered into the World Arena’s vast, empty parking lot. The building, its domed bulk set above the lots and wide stairs leading up to it, a Parthenon of entertainment, squatted in the middle of an asphalt landscape. The dim security lights didn’t quite reach to where a lone vehicle was parked at the far edge of the lot. I raked it with my headlights: Gigi’s yellow Hummer.

Figuring that surprise wasn’t really an option, I drove to the Hummer and stopped with the car’s lights aimed into the vehicle. I could tell the front seat was empty as I braked. Leaving my engine running and my door open, I liberated my flashlight from the glove compartment and drew my gun from its holster. Cautiously approaching the Hummer, I confirmed that there was no one slumped in the front seats and peered through the windshield into the back. No one. I circled the car, trying to peer in the back window, but could see nothing through the tinted window. On the passenger side of the Hummer, the back door was closed but not securely latched, as if someone had been in too much of a hurry to close it properly. Whispering, “Kendall?” I worked the handle with my gloved fingertips.

No answer. Easing the door wider with the flashlight, I announced, “I’ve got a gun.” When that didn’t elicit a response or a bullet, I stuck my head in, hoping it didn’t get shot off. No one crouched in the footwells of the backseat. “Kendall, if you’re in here, now’s a good time to come out,” I said a little louder. When I got no reply, I ducked my head around the backseat to the cargo area, spotting a rumpled zebra-striped blanket, a Snickers wrapper, and what looked like oil drippings on the carpet. No Kendall.

Letting my breath out in a long
whew,
I aimed the flashlight beam at the stains, which glinted red and wet.

*   *   *

Turning off the rental’s engine and shutting its door, I debated my next move, unsure what I faced. My fingers wrapped around the gun were tingling with cold, and I wiggled them. At the very least, I figured Dmitri, Irena, and Kendall were inside, along with whoever was after Dmitri. Whether that was a lone operator or a team of desperadoes, I had no idea. I wished they’d parked in the lot so I could estimate a head count, but Gigi’s Hummer was the only vehicle in sight. I tried Montgomery again with no luck. With an inward sigh, I called 911 and told the operator where I was and that I’d found blood in a car—no need to mention it was just a few droplets—and had reason to believe someone was in danger inside the World Arena.

“Are you being threatened right now, ma’am?” the calm voice asked.

“No, it’s—”

“Please stay where you are and—”

Screw that. I flipped the phone closed, silenced it, and headed into the World Arena.

32

I tried three sets of doors across the front of the World Arena before finding one propped open with a folded wedge of paper. I wondered how Dmitri had gained access but figured if he’d been skating here for years, he probably knew his way around and/or had managed to score a key at some point. The concourse curved blankly to either side of me, the areas closest to the glass doors very dimly lit by the ambient light from outside, the rest obscured by darkness, which I did not find reassuring. I’d been hoping for a security guard or two and a little illumination, at least. The last two times I’d bumbled around in dark buildings I’d found bloodied bodies: Bobrova and Graham. I devoutly hoped I wouldn’t find Kendall in the same condition.

The thought of the teenager and of Gigi’s worry spurred me on. Slipping through the door, I crossed the concourse to swinging doors that opened into the auditorium, moving from almost dark to I-might-as-well-have-my-eyes-closed dark. I paused to listen and thought I heard the low murmur of voices coming from below me, in the direction of the rink. Hugging the wall, I slunk around the door and peered down. Nothing but darkness. It was like standing on the lip of a volcano crater at night. I could feel the presence of other people, though; I was not alone.

“Fane!”

The voice was a bellow not far in front of me, and I instinctively dropped to my haunches behind the back row of seats. A faint reddish glow from the exit sign above me was the only light—useless.