One dead—not of his doing, one unconscious—of his doing, Dagger turned his attention to the remaining thug who was holding his balls.
“Get up.”
The man groaned and struggled to his feet, and Dagger shoved him against the door to keep anyone else from coming in and joining the party.
“Say something interesting,” Dagger threatened. “Unless you want me to turn your brains into Jell-O pudding, you better say something real interesting.”
Sweat was thick on the thug’s forehead. He had a tattoo on his neck, and though Sadie hadn’t clearly seen the one on the guy driving the Buick, Dagger saw this one and recognized it, the mark of a Latin prison gang, the Northern Structure. The slang had fit, too, that Thomas’s ghost had regurgitated for him:
“You’re in the hat, lawyer man.” You’re on the hit list.
“Your case is gonna be closed, chapete.” Idiot.
Prison slang used by gang members.
Dagger knew from a previous case he could find ex-cons at this biker bar, including Latin gang members.
“Talk fast. And talk a toda madre.” Dagger threw some of the slang back at the ganger. “I’ll give you some hard candy, asshole. You’ll be the one growing daisies.”
Chapter 1.12
Zaxil stood in front of Evelyn’s desk. He nodded a hello to Detective Angela Reese.
The detective smiled politely and turned to work with Gretchen, who was going through some of Thomas’s files.
“This is no good, Evey. All fruit is not ripe.” Zaxil shifted his weight back and forth from his heels to the balls of his feet and stuck his hands in his pockets. “I’m not offering you any rent money back. I can’t. I just—”
“I don’t expect you to.” Evelyn knew about Pete on the roof and about the wealthy condo developer trying to grab this building. Thomas had filled her in on the case and she was going to help him with it after their work with Holder was done. “Maybe you can find another tenant, Zaxil, and—”
“Doubt that. Doubt I can fast enough anyway. And I’ve promised Pete that he gets approval on any tenant. You gotta be able to do something, Evey. You know law. Tom said you know as much about law as any lawyer with the paper hanging on the wall.”
“Look, I know Thomas was digging into bankruptcy protection and looking at historic preservation.”
“So you’ll keep digging, too, right? You’ll find me a way to save this place.” He’d not asked the last as a question.
“Yeah, Zaxil, I’ll dig. I don’t have to be a lawyer to dig.”
“All right then. All right. All right. Just figure it out before March.” He spun and headed out, holding at the door. “And take care of yourself, all right? Watch yourself. Pete tells me that rusted Buick cruised by here early this morning. Same one that’d been cruising by the night before, you know, when Tom was killed. Pete’s real upset he wasn’t paying attention to the people on the street that night; he might’ve seen the murderer. Pete’s a birdwatcher, said he was watching some Clapper Rails on the roof across the street. A big deal, he said, to see them this far in. Said they’re a marsh bird.” Zaxil scratched at his head. “Never asked him how he knows that. Anyway, said they flew when the sirens started. Pete’s real sorry he didn’t see the guy that gacked Thomas.” He left, the bell on the door jangling.
She shivered. All of this was so desperately unfair … herself without a job, Zaxil in danger of losing this building, Pete in danger of losing his life. She raged at Thomas for being murdered and at whoever caused it. So young, she had so much to look forward to, so much finally going right for her. She didn’t need this complication, and didn’t deserve it.
She’d survive it, though. Evelyn always survived whatever this world chose to dump on her. She’d tell Dagger about the Buick coming by again.
“That’s it for this stack,” Gretchen said. “Damn cold in here. We should crank the heat.”
Evelyn knew Thomas hovered nearby … well, Thomas or Val or both, as there was the telltale chill in the air. But neither showed themselves, even though Evelyn wanted Thomas to talk to Detective Reese. Evelyn returned to sorting through files with Gretchen.
“Me and Gretchen are part-time,” Evelyn explained to the detective.
“She’s telling you that crap piles up.” Gretchen was blunt about it. She’d cancelled her wine country bus trip to help. “These files…” She pointed to a stack on a tilting file cabinet. “I was gonna get to them next week.”
Evelyn knew that lawyers were notorious for having sloppy files. Big, huge piles, stuff sitting around to be dealt with. It used to take Thomas forever to go through the paperwork.
“Whoever did this last night, they left the … piles of … crap …” Evelyn settled on, “pretty much alone. And it really doesn’t look like anything is missing out of the file cabinets, just tossed around. Maybe like they were searching for something but couldn’t find it.” She was thankful the blood was at the back of the room, around the conference table. If Thomas had been killed near the files, she wouldn’t be sorting through paper.
Gretchen gave an evil grin. “Couldn’t find it ’cause they didn’t understand my filing system.”
Or lack thereof, Evelyn thought. “Or maybe they just wanted to make a mess.”
“I vote on the mess angle. It has that feel to it.” Detective Reese appeared thoughtful. “So just the backup hard drive is missing, a few jump drives, and the memory board out of the computer. All the digital files.”
“And about that Buick Zaxil mentioned,” Evelyn said.
“We’re looking for it,” the detective returned.
Evelyn had walked Detective Reese around the issue of clients and the records, and the police correctly hadn’t tried to appropriate any of the files. Attorney-client privilege extended beyond the death of the attorney. It took a court order to get past that. Still, Evelyn conceded a little in an effort to help find the man who’d brought the dark fey into the office; she told the detective the titles of Thomas’s active cases. The detective could look up whatever was public about them in court records and follow leads that way.
Evelyn took a few minutes to call Vaughan’s office. She told his clerk Holder’s case was being passed onto to a designated attorney and requested the matter be moved back a week.
“Gotta do something about that blood back by the conference table, Evey,” Gretchen said. “It smells awful. Like a morgue in here.”
“I have someone coming in about seven.” Evelyn had set up the appointment with a company that specialized in crime scene cleanup, and seven was the quickest they said they could get here. It should take two hours max for a single slaying, the proprietor had told her.
“I liked this job,” Gretchen grumbled. “I really did.” She put her bony hands on her hips and stared at Evelyn. “Can’t you keep this place open? Got half a dozen active cases here. You should finish them. Thomas could finish them.”
“Undead can have jobs, Gretchen, but ghosts are not recognized legally because they have no physical presence. And as for me—” Evelyn had explained this to Gretchen an hour ago. “I don’t have my license to practice law.”
“You and me,” Gretchen continued, “we know more about the law than Thomas did … does. You know that, and he knew … knows … that.”
“Doesn’t work that way.” Evelyn was going to miss the office too. Maybe a part of her had thought she’d be able to stay here after her degree and license, that Thomas and she could find enough business to keep two full-time attorneys busy. “Crystal Gaye is coming over tonight to get the files.”
“Who?”
“Crystal Gaye. She’s an attorney friend of Thomas’s. They went to Stanford together. Thomas has her listed as the attorney designated to pick up his caseload.” Evelyn had found that paperwork first thing. Attorneys were supposed to designate with the state supreme court which of their fellows their cases passed to if they died or became unable to continue their practice. It would be up to the clients
if they wanted to stay with said new attorney—Crystal Gaye, in Thomas’s case.
“I know how it all works,” Gretchen grumbled. “But it shouldn’t work that way. Me and you, we could handle those cases. I liked this job. I really did.”
O O O
“Crystal’s good,” Thomas told Evelyn after Gretchen and Detective Reese left. He looked like the fog that on some mornings climbed the pilings of the Golden Gate Bridge. “She’s with a three-man firm downtown, and they can spread the cases out so it won’t overload them. Specialize in malpractice, wrongful death, and the like.”
“You’re a victim of wrongful death.”
They’d stood there for several moments, or rather Evelyn stood while Thomas floated, listening to the sounds of traffic, and to music that spilled out the open doors of the bars across the street—one blues, the other rock, a miasma of racket in disagreeing keys.
“I don’t want to give up the cases, you know,” Thomas finally said.
“I put a lot of hours on the Holder case. I think there are some things I could file to keep me on the Holder case. But it would be a lot of work—that and school, and I’m so close to finishing. I don’t want to jeopardize anything with the bar coming up.”
“Crystal’s good. Don’t worry. She can handle Holder.”
Evelyn decided to change the subject. “Your sister is coming over tomorrow. She called, said she’s planning your funeral for Tuesday.” She still couldn’t recall the woman’s name. “Are you … uhm … going to show yourself?”
“I suppose I’ll have to. Otherwise I can’t tell her I want you to have all my books. No rights, I can’t hold onto property.” He laughed. It was a haunting, sad sound. “Hell, I can’t hold onto anything. It passes right through my hands.”
“Thomas—”
“Seriously, though. I want you to have all my books. I know you like books. And you shouldn’t move. Not until March anyway. The rent for the whole building is paid until the first of March. Try to help Zaxil find another tenant.”
If—when—she moved, she’d probably never see Thomas again. If he was anything like Val, he was anchored to this place. Another business would move in … if Zaxil was lucky. If the condo developer came in and tore this place down, would Thomas and Val die again?
“I have to go. I have some errands to run. Then I’m meeting Dagger for an early dinner, see if he found anything. Then I’m coming back to let … I’m coming back to tend to some things.” She didn’t want to tell Thomas that the cleaner was going to wipe up his blood and make the place smell new. He’d probably watch it happen and could deal with it then.
Evelyn hurried out, locking the door behind her. In the low sixties on the street, it was quite a bit warmer than it had been in the office when Thomas was around.
Chapter 1.13
Dagger arrived early at the Jasmine Garden II on lower Haight, cleaned up in the restroom, picked out a table, and was on his second pot of tea when Evelyn came in.
“It was a hit,” he told Evelyn before she had a chance to sit down.
He thought she looked tired, a little pale, probably had been through an emotional wringer losing her second boss. She’d fixed her gaze on his swelling, purple cheek from where he’d connected with the bathroom sink in the biker bar. But she didn’t ask him about it.
The waitress appeared and handed Evelyn a menu. Dagger had already studied his.
Evelyn continued to stare at him.
“I will come back,” the waitress said in heavily accented English. “I will give you some time to look over—”
“No, we’re ready.” Dagger stopped her. “Thit nuong cuon with peanut sauce, com tom rim cha, and a half order of com bat buu tom rimi for me. The lady will take a bowl of bun oc and com ga xao xa ot.” He handed the menus back. “And keep the tra nong coming. I need the caffeine.” They’d eaten here before; Dagger remembered what Evelyn had ordered the last time, saying she adored the lemon chicken.
Evelyn wrapped her fingers around the cup, and he poured her some tea. She usually put one packet of sugar in it, but not today. He studied her. She ran her index fingers around the rim and stared at the tea’s surface to avoid looking at him. Dagger couldn’t tell if she was wallowing in grief or self-pity. He wasn’t worried on either account; he knew Evelyn was tough and would get over it.
The restaurant was fairly busy for five. More than half of the patrons were senior citizens. This early, the elderly turned out in droves for the specials. Their conversations were about grandchildren, doctor visits, and the upcoming election.
There was canned music playing, soft and under the shush of conversations. He’d spent time in Thailand and Vietnam and recognized the instruments: a jakhe and a few klong jins, and the song, “Sa-Bai Sa-Bai.” Dagger didn’t like oriental restaurants that played American music. If he was eating ethnic, he wanted the whole experience.
“Evey, it didn’t have the finesse of a bullet to the back of the head, but that would have made it look like a hit.” Dagger sat back as the waitress brought their food. “Cảm ơn bạn,” he told her in Vietnamese. “Com ga xao xa ot.” He waited until she returned with another pot of tea and then retreated to visit her other tables. “They wanted to make it look like something else, like maybe Tom had crossed someone with one of his cases, or stepped on the wrong set of toes. Maybe that he’d pissed off an OT client, and hence the OT coming to tear him apart.” He ate the shrimp first, and watched as Evey played with her soup. “But they didn’t want it to look like a hit.”
When he was pretty sure she wasn’t going to actually eat, he dropped more news. “The guy in the hoodie … he’d juiced up the fey, with something that set it out of control. Got a syringe with a trace of the juice in it, and a friend at the lab is checking it out. The guy, the one holding the fey’s leash, I haven’t found him yet. But I have a good lead, Evey. He’s a ganger, hasn’t been back on the street very long, owed some people some favors.”
“So whoever he owed a favor to,” Evelyn said, “that’s who ordered the hit on Thomas.”
“My guess.” Dagger thought the peanut sauce was a little too salty. He finished the shrimp and started on the rice. “The fey’s a dead end, though, Evey. Literally.” He could tell from her arched eyebrows that she didn’t know. “Someone gave him a Christmas tree to the stomach and shifted gears about an hour and a half ago, supposedly a lifer with a full hate-on for OTs.” He’d taught Evey enough of the terminology, that it was a type of shank. “The lifer was a member of a Latin gang.”
“The same gang as the guy who held the leash.”
Evelyn always caught on fast.
“So I need to find who’s at the top of the favor-chain, Evey.”
She set her spoon down. Dagger finished his meal and asked for Evey’s to be boxed up with a couple of extra beef rolls and a large to-go cup of tea. He’d stop by the alley and drop the meal on Sadie, should make her predisposed to him if he ever needed to chat again.
“This favor-chain,” Evelyn broached. “You’ll follow it right?” She paused and picked up the teacup again. It was empty, but it kept her hands occupied. “I can’t pay you much, Dagger. Whatever money the firm had, that’s going to Thomas’s sister. Even though he was young, he’d had the foresight to draft a will, and he left everything to her. Nothing goes to his father, they didn’t get along. A ghost, he can’t own property. Whatever money there is—”
“This one’s on the house, Evey.”
She brightened just a little.
“But know that I don’t make a practice of working gratis. Not even for you.”
“You’re going back to it now, right? Tracking the favor-chain?”
“Can’t work tonight, Evey. Not even for you. Not for Thomas the Friendly Ghost.” It was another full moon.
“Dagger, you have to. This is important. His sister is coming by tomorrow. I want to tell her something. The detective, she’s good, Dagger, but she doesn’t have your resources. You have to—”
<
br /> “Back off, Evey.”
The waitress returned with his to-go box and large Styrofoam cup of tea.
He stood and fixed his eyes on Evelyn, showing a darkness he usually reserved for people like the ones he’d beaten up at the biker bar. “I’m not on the case tonight, understand? Leave it at that. Not happening. Other plans. I’ll be back on it in the morning. Late in the morning.” He’d turn off his cell phone for good measure.
The moon would be full, so he anticipated another rough night.
Chapter 1.14
“Exotic,” Sadie pronounced the Vietnamese take-out. She provided a few more details from the night of the murder.
“Shit.” Dagger looked at his watch: 6:30.
He had two hours and twenty-five minutes according to the local meteorologist’s report. Not a lot of time to work with, but perhaps worth a try.
It was a strip club on Folsom Street, with a twenty-dollar cover charge that left him only a twenty in his wallet. The neon was pink and purple, twisting like spaghetti along the ceiling and above the small stage. Three women undulated on it, two of them human, one of them a slight green fey with gossamer butterfly wings that sparkled like glitter, a looker and a half, he thought. The trio had gotten rid of whatever they’d been wearing before Dagger had come in.
A waitress with a few too many pounds for her G-string toddled over and pointed to a table. Dagger shook his head and said something. She shrugged, not hearing him over the new age music that blasted from speakers in the bar.
He leaned close, his keen senses picking up her cologne—cheap, along with the scent of cigarettes on her breath, perspiration, and deodorant that was failing her. “Sly Redmond. I’m looking for Sly.”
The Love-Haight Case Files Page 8