“Like a girlfriend?” Hailey asked.
“Nah. Think she’s his sister.”
“How about the rest of the bar?” Hailey asked. “Were there other people in the bar when he was here?”
The bartender filled the two sinks with water and added some sort of detergent to one. “Few of the regulars. Carl and Steve at the back. They’re in at lunchtime every day.”
“They talk to Delman?”
“No. They’re not big talkers. They sit in the back with their whiskeys and beer backers, eating stale pretzels. Stay for about forty-five minutes and leave again. They’ve got a standing tab. I bring back two whiskeys, two beers, and a bowl of pretzels. Most days, I don’t even talk to them.” He began dunking dirty glasses in the soapy sink then into the clean sink before lining them out on a thin rubber mat to dry. Roger imagined the bacteria that followed the glasses from one customer to the next.
How many sets of prints and DNA samples remained on them after the bartender’s “cleaning” process? If he’d been considering ordering something to drink, he would have changed his mind now. There wasn’t a chance they’d be able to isolate Delman’s DNA in this cesspool. He didn’t bother to open his evidence collection case.
The bartender looked up. “Delman did take a call. The phone rang a couple times before he finally answered.”
“It rang a couple times,” Hal repeated. “You mean like he didn’t want to talk to the person calling?”
“I ain’t a mind reader,” the bartender said.
Hal leaned down over the bar. “Take an educated guess.”
The bartender took a step backward. “It sounded more like he didn’t know who was calling. Didn’t recognize the number.”
Hal kept his body leaned over the bar. At 6 feet 4 inches, two hundred fifty pounds, he was effective at encouraging folks to talk. What Roger liked was that Hal never threatened. He hardly ever raised his voice. Usually, merely shifting his body was enough to encourage people to talk. “You hear who he was talking to?” Hal asked.
“Nah. He only listened. Then, he pointed to the back door like he’d be right back.”
They glanced at the back door. “He took the call outside?”
The bartender nodded.
“What’s out there?”
“Feel free to look. It’s a little square patio area. No tables or anything—” He waved his hand around. “We’re not the patio service kind of place.”
That was for sure.
“Beyond the patio is a gate that leads to the alley. The trashcans are out there and my truck, but nothing else.”
“How long was he gone for?” Hailey asked.
“Not long. Four, maybe five, minutes.”
“And when he came back?” Hal pressed. “He seem upset or angry?”
“Nah,” the bartender said. “Maybe a little confused.”
“Confused how?” Hailey pressed.
“I don’t know, lady.” He hitched his pants back up, but with his protruding gut, there was really nowhere for them to go.
“Watch the attitude, bub,” Hal warned. “We’re looking for a little assistance.”
The man smoothed a palm across a bad comb-over. “He was here. He left. He came back. Had another beer and left. That’s all I know.”
“And there was no one else here at the same time he was?” Hailey repeated.
“I had a group of three German couples come in—or maybe they were Australian. Who knows?”
He must have meant Austrian.
“They were at a table in back, had a few beers and a round of lemon drops, if you can believe that.” He swung the towel through the air. “Who would come in this place and order lemon drops?”
A light mist dusted Roger’s face from the bartender’s towel. He resisted the urge to wipe his face.
“Hey—” The bartender pointed to the bar. “The lemon drops remind me. There was one other girl.”
“Girl?” Hailey repeated.
“Woman, whatever,” the bartender responded defensively.
“How old?” Hailey continued.
“Legal. No question on that.”
“But you didn’t card her,” Hal guessed.
The bartender stared at Hal. “She was easily twenty-seven.”
“She was alone?” he asked.
“She came in with a book. Ordered a Belgian White. Like I’ve got that on tap. After some hemming and hawing, she settled for Coors.”
“She a regular?”
“Never seen her before,” he said.
“What did she look like?” Hailey asked.
“Decent looking. Pale. Don’t remember much more.” He started to shift on his feet. “Listen, I’ve got a lot to do before we open.”
Roger scanned the area. There wasn’t enough time in a month to do what had to be done in that place. This was a wasted trip. There was plenty to do back at the lab. He considered leaving, but he didn’t want to interrupt Hailey and Hal. Instead, he settled in to wait and hoped they were close to done.
“We have a few more questions,” Hal said, standing tall again.
The bartender sized up Hal. “Ask away.”
“You think the woman was a tourist?”
“I doubt it,” the bartender said. “She didn’t carry a purse and no backpack. The tourists always have some sort of pack. Plus, she was wearing heels.”
“So, she had no interaction with Delman at all?”
“None. In fact, she ordered her beer while Delman was outside.”
Hailey motioned to the bar. “Right here?”
“Yes,” the bartender confirmed. “Right there.”
“Isn’t this where Delman was sitting?”
“Yes, but he was outside, remember?” the bartender explained.
Hailey and Hal exchanged a look that Roger tried to read. The woman had ordered a drink when Delman was outside.
“Did Delman take his drink when he went outside?” Hailey asked.
“No. I don’t allow people to take the glassware outside.”
Of course.
“She put something in his drink,” Hal said.
“What? I don’t think—” He stopped cold.
“What?”
“She made me pour her another beer. Told me the glass was dirty,” the bartender said. “Asked for a glass off the shelf. Even offered to pay for both beers.”
Hailey’s phone buzzed. She pulled it from her pocket while Hal asked the bartender if he could find the glass Delman drank from.
Roger set his kit on a stool and opened it for a collection bag. If Delman had been drugged, there was a good chance that the drug had left some residue behind on the glass.
The bartender was pulling glasses out of the rinse and shaking his head. “They’re all clean. Yesterday was slow, but it might have been any of these.” He motioned to a dozen glasses. “And I did some last night, too, so it might be back on the shelf.”
“We’ll take them all,” Hal said.
Hailey lowered her phone and leaned onto the bar. “What book was she reading?”
The bartender seemed shell-shocked. He was staring at the glasses that Hal had told him they were taking.
“The book,” Hal repeated.
“Jesus, I don’t know. It was a book. The cover was—”
“Was what?”
“Yellow, maybe. With red X’s.” He waved a hand. “One of those books I seen on posters for some new movie.”
Hailey put the phone to her ear. “You hear that?” She asked the bartender, “Was it the Stone Temptress Series?”
“How the hell should I know what the—Stone whatever?”
Roger knew it well. Kathy and his older daughter were first in line at the bookstore to buy two copies of the newest book in the series the day it was released. Two copies, because neither one was willing to wait until the other had finished it. He pulled out his phone and Googled the series. The image of the newest book filled his phone screen. He held it out to the bartender.
>
The bartender leaned back from the screen and squinted. “Yeah,” he confirmed. “That’s the one.”
“Jamie? You get that?” Hailey asked.
“Great.” Hailey ended the call. “Jamie said she thinks the woman sitting at the bar might have been Tiffany Greene.”
“Who’s Tiffany Greene?” Hal asked.
“I never heard of her,” the bartender commented.
Hailey threw the man a look. The ability to communicate without words was something she and Hal had in common. He raised his hands and retreated to the far end of the bar.
“Tiffany Greene works for the Bordens.”
“Figures Jamie Vail could get an ID from a book,” Roger said.
“I hope it’s the right one,” Hailey added.
“Well, let’s go find this Tiffany Greene, then,” Hal said. “Roger, take these glasses to the lab and test them for residue of phenothiazines.”
“I’ll do one better. I’ll set up the lab and do it right here.”
Hailey patted him on the back. “Have fun.”
Roger called the team. He didn’t have nearly enough sterile sheets to cover the surfaces in this place. They’d have to bring him more. Lots more.
Chapter 27
When Jamie hung up, Vich was giving her a sideways look. “I missed all that. Why do you think it was Tiffany Greene at that bar?”
“It’s a hunch,” she said, but she was already second-guessing herself.
“Care to explain it?”
Jamie knew she might be totally off base. There were five million people between the ages of fifteen and thirty reading the newest Stone Temptress book. Vich drove by a billboard and Jamie saw the design.
The pendant she’d seen on Tiffany Greene at the hospital wasn’t a flower.
It was the Temptress’s stone.
Around it were Deception’s flames, trying to break it open. “She was wearing a pendant at the hospital. It was from that series.”
“The bartender recognized the pendant?”
“No,” Jamie said. “He described the cover of the book she was reading. From what he said, it sounded like the third in the series, Temptation’s Hand, that came out yesterday.”
“That’s a hell of a leap,” Vich said. “I’ve never heard of the Stone whatever—”
“Temptress. Well, you don’t have a teenager.” Not that Z was reading the series. It was Jamie who had gotten totally sucked in by them, but Vich didn’t need to know that. It was rare for Jamie to find the time to read. Between her caseload and Z, she stayed busier than she would like. On the occasional weekend day, though, without a pressing task, she’d download a book and usually finish it in a single sitting. For whatever reason, she was drawn to the young adult dystopia novels. Maybe it was because murder and suspense were too close to home, but the postapocalyptic worlds took her to another place. Not a happy one, of course. That would never work.
Home made her think of Z.
He hadn’t called about his mitt. He’d have to realize it was gone before practice. Wouldn’t he call her first, to ask if he’d left it in her car?
So far, nothing.
Just then, her phone buzzed. It wasn’t Z. She slid her finger across the screen. “Hi, Hailey. What’ve you got?”
“Roger’s still at the bar, so I sent him Tiffany Greene’s photo from her driver’s license, and he showed it to the bartender. Guess what?”
“It’s her.”
“Bingo. Nice work.”
Jamie lowered her phone. “I was right,” she told Vich.
“Damn,” he said, shaking his head again.
“I wanted to let you know. Hal and I will reach out to Ms. Greene,” Hailey said. “We’ll keep you posted.”
They drove about a block before Vich turned to her at a red light. “What now?” he asked. “Do we follow up on Tiffany Greene?”
Jamie shook her head. “Hailey and Hal are doing it.”
“Huh,” Vich said. Jamie felt it, too. It was rare that they made a break and didn’t get to follow up on it. There was the little zap of energy, the thrill of discovery about Tiffany Greene, a new lead to chase. But it wasn’t theirs to follow.
“What about Brody?” he asked as the light changed.
Jamie considered Heath Brody. “Guy walks around like he’s some sort of demigod. I don’t see him giving us anything.”
“Maybe we should pay him another visit, apply a little pressure. Find out what he knows.”
“The guy throws acid on pieces of metal and sells them for fifty grand,” Jamie said. “I think he’s basically perfected the pretty-boy bullshit artist routine. I also doubt he’d do anything that might jeopardize the good thing he’s got going with Sondra. She’s connected him to a lot of clients.”
“Maybe we need a little ammo first.”
“What kind of ammo?” Jamie asked.
“Something to make him think his gigolo playboy artist gig might be up.”
Jamie considered the idea. Her mind drifted then to Charlotte. “You mean like an inappropriate relationship with a minor.”
“Don’t imagine Brody’s wealthy clients would take too kindly to the idea that he might be preying on teenage girls.”
“We know Charlotte had a big fight with someone about Heath Brody,” Jamie said. “Maybe we can track down those housekeepers and find out who she’d been fighting with.” She pulled out her notebook and scanned for the name. “Here it is. Abigail Canterbury.” She dialed the number Sondra had given her. It went straight to voicemail for a company called Canterbury Personnel Services. She listened to the entire message, hoping for an in case of emergency cell phone number. Nothing. She ended the call without leaving a message. She hated voicemail. She dialed the department and requested they pull the cell phone number for Abigail Canterbury.
Jamie hung up, and the phone rang almost immediately. Too soon to be the department with a number. “Vail.”
“Hi, Jamie. It’s Sydney.”
“Hi, Sydney.”
“Heard about yesterday. Scary. Are you doing okay?”
“Yeah, fine. Thanks for asking.” Jamie hoped to cut through all the condolences about the bomb. She didn’t want to talk about it. “What’s up? I didn’t expect to hear from you on a Saturday.”
“Actually, I’m at a Kindermusik class, but my son fell asleep, so I’m checking messages.”
Jamie said nothing. She had no idea what Kindermusik was.
“I called Vich yesterday and told him we’d found an off-market tracking device on Sondra’s Mercedes.”
“Yeah. He mentioned it.”
“We were able to track the purchase back to an online security company called SafeTrack. The purchase was made by a local company, R.I.P. Investigations. Seems they’ve bought several of the devices in the past ninety days.”
“R.I.P.?” Jamie repeated.
“I know, right? I did a search. Comes back to Ronald Ikerd Private Investigations,” Sydney said.
“Can you text me his contact info?”
“I’ll do it now.”
“Thanks, Sydney.”
“No problem.”
“What’s R.I.P.?” Vich asked.
“Someone was tracking the whereabouts of our Mercedes.”
“Maybe Gavin knew about his wife’s affair.”
“It’s possible, but it doesn’t explain an attack on Charlotte. The guy finds out his wife was cheating on him, so he throws his daughter down the stairs?”
“What if Heath Brody found out that Charlotte was the one who spilled his secret?” Vich said.
Jamie nodded slowly. “And so he goes after her to keep her from ruining the good thing he’s got going.”
“Or… maybe she told her father,” Vich added.
“Yes,” said Jamie. “And maybe the argument the housekeeper heard was…” She stopped. It was like guessing in circles.
“How was Brody when you met him?” Vich asked.
“He certainly didn’t seem like he�
��d been outed. But—” He’d showed no signs of remorse when she told him about Charlotte’s condition. “He might also be a really good liar. Maybe Charlotte saw the sketch of the bridge and assumed Brody had painted it.”
“The view from her mother’s bedroom.” He paused. “Or—maybe Sondra saw it and assumed Brody had been in her daughter’s bedroom.”
“Either way,” Jamie said, “we need to talk to Abigail Canterbury.”
“And Brody,” added Vich.
Jamie scanned her phone and saw a text from Sydney and another from a department number with Canterbury’s cell phone number. Jamie hit the link and the phone dialed. She put the call on speakerphone when the greeting kicked in. “Hi, you’ve reached Abigail Canterbury. I can’t get to my phone, so leave a message and I’ll call you back.”
With no other choice, Jamie left her name and number and disconnected.
“Same voice as on the company voicemail. Maybe Canterbury is one of those people who actually takes weekends off.”
“A business owner, catering to wealthy clients? No way.”
Z’s game started in less than three hours. “I’ll request her address and we can run by her house, then give a call to our private eye.” She typed a reply to the department, requesting a current home address for Canterbury. Jamie looked up. “And somewhere in there, we could go by Brody’s again.”
“It’s a plan.”
Vich made a wide U-turn in the street and went off in the other direction. Jamie tried to press off her oncoming headache. Another hour had passed with no word from Z about his mitt. Practice was about to start. He had to know it was gone.
*
Jamie arrived at City Academy at 5:05. The day had been largely a wild goose chase. They’d gotten no response from the cleaning service. Ikerd’s private investigation agency was closed for the weekend. No word from Hailey or Hal on Tiffany Greene. No luck finding Heath Brody, and no change in Charlotte.
As she came into the school lot, Jamie tried to push the work stuff away. Instead, she found herself scanning the asphalt and noted that the debris from the bomb was gone. Fresh paint lined the sides of the parking place where Steckler had been parked. Only a trace of the black burn marks from the bomb remained. What had changed was that four patrol cars were now parked in the lot. The sides of their cars were marked with the K9 logo. The bomb dogs were here.
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