Izzie nodded. “A couple of them did, yeah. Current employees or maybe former, we’re still trying to work out the timeline. But there’s definitely a connection there of some kind. Our working theory is that it’s a small group of Parasol programmers and such who are involved in a narcotics ring on the side.” She pursed her lips, thinking for a moment. “The theory fits most of the available facts, but there’s more to it than that, though.”
“So it’s a working theory that isn’t really working then?” Daphne gave a sly grin.
“Something like that.” Izzie glanced her direction as they made their way down the sidewalk. “It’s a temporary fix, like duct tape to mend a broken chair. Not the permanent solution.”
“Sounds like you might just need to get a new chair, to me.” Daphne stepped to one side to let a woman pushing a stroller past, and then side-stepped back. “I’ve run into cases like that before. I mean, nothing as high profile as the ones you’re used to working, but on a smaller scale. Sometimes I had to just toss out the almost-but-not-quite-working theory and start over from scratch. Take what I knew to be true and build a new model from the ground up.”
“Oh, we’re already doing that. Spent the last few hours yesterday charting all of the known data points on a dry erase board at the station house.”
Daphne turned, nodding in appreciation. “Nice,” she said, stretching and stressing the word. “Much respect, that is old-school investigating.”
“That’s just what Patrick said, actually.” Izzie chuckled. “I don’t know, maybe I’m the one that’s old-school. We have a lot of high tech equipment and computer simulations and behavioral modeling software, but in my experience the biggest breakthroughs in investigations often come from just standing in a room and thinking, you know? Making charts by hand and writing down lists and such might sometimes seem a little hokey, I guess, but it helps to focus your thoughts. And helps to visualize the data in a way that’s cheap, fast, and easy to manipulate.”
“Oh, no judgment, believe me. I can totally respect that.” She paused, considering. “I tend to rely on technology a little more than that, I suppose, but maybe it’s just the way you were brought up? Were your parents ‘old-school’ types, too?”
Izzie gave her a sidelong glance, and wondered how much to share.
“I was raised by my grandmother, mostly,” she finally said, “and she was ‘old-school’ like you wouldn’t believe.” She shook her head. “Like, really old-school.”
“My folks were pretty white-bread, I’ll admit,” Daphne said. “Dad was a lawyer, mom was a teacher. I was the middle child of three sisters, and the only one who didn’t end up marrying her high school sweetheart and immediately start pumping out kids.” A look suddenly flashed across her face, as if she had just realized that she’d inadvertently said something offensive. “Oh, don’t get me wrong. I love my nieces and nephews, and I get along great with my sisters. It just …”
“It wasn’t for you,” Izzie finished for her, nodding in understanding. “I get that. Same here.”
Daphne gave her a wan little smile, and it felt as though there were larger things going unsaid, drifting just beneath the surface.
Izzie began to feel the nagging suspicion that larger things might emerge into view if the conversation continued along its current trajectory, and she wasn’t comfortable going down that path. Luckily, an out presented itself.
“Is that the place?” Izzie asked, before Daphne could say whatever it was she was about to say.
Daphne looked in the direction that Izzie was pointing, and smiled.
“Welcome to the Monkeyhaus,” she said, and gestured for Izzie to follow her inside.
It was a corner storefront with cartoon monkeys cavorting across the big glass windows, and appeared to have been an old-fashioned drugstore and soda fountain once upon a time. Now the marble counter of the soda fountain was all that remained of the original establishment, the rest having been completely remodeled and outfitted with couches, chairs, low tables, and bookshelves. There were people on laptops, others chatting in small groups of twos and threes over steaming cups of coffee, at one table sat an old man and a teenage girl playing chess, and on a long couch along the far wall a group of young women were sitting, all drawing in sketchbooks and happily ignoring one another.
“I don’t remember who ended up paying for more rounds the other night, you or me,” Izzie said, “but the first cappuccino is definitely on me this morning.”
“Oh, trust me, there won’t be a second,” Daphne said as she sauntered to the counter to place their order. “They brew their espresso strong here. Two cups and I wouldn’t be able to sleep for a week.” She held up her hand. “I’ll get the drinks while you grab us a table. Want a scone or anything like that?”
“Sure, that would be great. Whatever looks good.”
While Daphne continued on to the counter, Izzie turned in place, looking for a likely spot to sit. She settled on a pair of low-slung upholstered chairs in the corner with a small table wedged in between them.
As she was planting herself in one of the chairs, shifting her belt around slightly so that her holstered gun wouldn’t be pressing into her hip, she heard the chime of an incoming text message on her phone.
She pulled the phone out of the pocket of her suede jacket, and was unsurprised to see that the text was from Patrick.
“YOU UP?”
She thumbed a quick response. “YES. GETTING COFFEE WITH AGENT FROM R.A. WHAT’S UP?”
The ellipsis strobed at the bottom of the screen for a moment, and then the response came through.
“TECH GUYS SET UP WEBCAM. SUSPECT’S FIND-MY-FRIEND MAP IS STREAMING AT THIS ADDRESS.”
A split second later, a link to a secure webserver came through, followed by log-in credentials.
“THX,” Izzie texted back. “WHAT’S THE PLAN?”
“H & C WILL MONITOR MOVEMENT, LET US KNOW WHEN IT’S TIME TO MOVE IN. I’M CONTACTING UNIVERSITY TO SET UP MEET WITH AGUILAR.”
“COPY THAT. LET ME KNOW WHEN YOU’RE READY TO ROLL.”
A moment later, Patrick texted over a “thumbs up” emoji, followed by a winking face. Izzie rolled her eyes, and clicked the link to the streaming video server.
“Goofball,” she muttered under her breath.
She had to copy and paste the username and password several times to get them entered correctly, but by the time Daphne walked over to join her, a plate in either hand, Izzie had the video feed up and running on her phone’s screen.
“What’s that?” Daphne said as she set the two plates down on the little table. On both of them were pastries, a blueberry scone on one and some kind of currant muffin on the other.
“Daffy?” called out a voice from the counter. “Order’s ready.”
Daphne rolled her eyes. “I swear to god, if I had a nickel …” She straightened up and headed back to the counter. “Hold that thought,” she said, glancing over her shoulder at Izzie, “I’ll be right back.”
The video feed wasn’t a perfect solution, but it was a functional one. If Izzie put her phone in landscape mode and zoomed in, she could see where any of the little dots were on the Recondito map, each of them “friends” of Ibrahim Fayed and, more importantly, likely accomplices in the Ink trade.
Daphne came back with two giant mugs of cappuccino. “Here you go,” she said, handing one of the mugs to Izzie.
Izzie put the phone down on the table, so she could hold the mug in both hands while taking her first sip. As she brought the mug up to her lips, she noted the little cartoon monkey’s face expertly poured into the foam. “Cute. But it seems a shame to ruin it.”
Daphne waved one hand airily while taking a sip from her own mug. “Your loss, then.”
“Screw it,” she answered. “Beauty is fleeting.” Izzie took a sip, eyes half-lidded. Daphne was right, it was good.
“What’s that?” Daphne asked, glancing down at Izzie’s phone on the table beside the pastries.
“Nice.” Daphne nodded slowly, impressed.
Izzie shrugged. “Lucky, more like it. It’s strictly amateur hour with this guy.”
Daphne gestured to the pastries, inviting her to pick on. Izzie opted for the scone.
“You know, I never even heard of Ink before I moved to Recondito,” Daphne said, picking up the muffin.
“Nobody had, apparently.” Izzie wiped scone crumbs from the corners of her mouth. “It’s only hit the streets in the last year, I’m told.”
“I mentioned it a few weeks ago to an agent stationed in Boston, a classmate of mine from Quantico, and she said she’d never heard of it, either.”
“So far as I know it’s only been reported in Recondito so far.”
“What? Not in San Francisco, even? Or Portland?”
Izzie shook her head. “Nope. Just here.”
“Mmm.” Daphne hummed, thoughtfully. “That’s weird, right? That it wouldn’t have shown up anywhere else?”
“It is odd, yeah, now that you mention it,” Izzie agreed.
Daphne looked back at the phone, displaying the map of Fayed’s friends. “Looks like most of them are …” She leaned in close, squinting to reach the street names. “At the Pinnacle Tower.” Glancing up, she caught Izzie’s eye. “Parasol employees again?”
Izzie nodded.
“Bad enough they keep getting all of the good apartments,” Daphne said with a mock scowl, “now you’re telling me they’re criminals, to boot.” She shook her head, chuckling.
“No luck with the apartment search?”
“Don’t remind me.” Daphne sighed into her coffee mug. “I’ve got an appointment with a rental agent to check out a place on Odessa after work, but I’m not getting my hopes up.”
“One of those big apartment blocks?” Izzie remembered the featureless eyesores in the Kiev.
“I think so. At this rate I may be better off biting the bullet and renewing my lease on my old place, even with the bump in rent. It would beat the hassle of searching for apartments that keep getting leased out from under me by somebody else at the last minute.”
“Well,” Izzie said with a sly grin, “at least all of your stuff is already there.”
Daphne chuckled. “So, I was wondering, how long do you think you’ll be in town? There’s this …”
She was interrupted by the ring of an incoming call from Izzie’s phone.
“So sorry,” Izzie said, and glanced down. It was Patrick. “I’ve got to take this,” she said glancing up at Daphne while she picked up the phone.
Daphne mouthed that it was not a problem, and Izzie felt uncomfortable watching her lips move without hearing any attendant sound coming out.
“What’s up?” Izzie said as she held the phone up to her ear.
“I got us an appointment to meet with Aguilar,” Patrick answered without preamble, the noise of a car in motion in the background. “Problem is, it’s in twenty minutes. The rest of his day is booked after that, and he’s leaving town for the weekend tonight. I’m heading there now, but I’m coming from way down in Little Kovoko, and I don’t think I’ll have time to swing by and pick you up. Can you find your own way there and meet me?”
“Sure, I’ll grab a cab and head over right away,” Izzie answered, standing up.
“Okay.” With a click, the call was ended.
“I’m so sorry,” Izzie said to Daphne as she slid the phone back into her pocket. “I’ve got to get to Ross University right away.”
“No problem.” Daphne smiled, putting down her mug. “I’ll give you a lift.”
“Oh, I was just planning on taking a cab …”
“Nonsense,” Daphne interrupted. “My bucar is parked just up the street, and I can get you there sooner than you would be if you had to wait around for a cab.”
“Okay, okay,” Izzie relented. “I feel bad, though. I didn’t arrange for a rental, and now everyone else is stuck chauffeuring me around, when I should just grab a taxi.”
“Yeah,” Daphne said as they started towards the door, “but that’s the one problem with this town: not enough taxis.”
“That and the homegrown drug crisis,” Izzie said.
“And the occasional serial killer,” Daphne shot back, holding the door open for Izzie to walk through. “Can’t forget them.”
“Nope,” Izzie answered, “Even if we wanted to.”
Izzie had meant for her tone to be playful and joking, but she couldn’t entirely suppress an undercurrent of melancholy beneath her words.
Because if there was ever a memory that she would choose to forget if she could …
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
“If you’re going to be in town for a while,” Daphne said as they drove south through Ross Village towards the university, “I’m sure Agent Gutierrez could help line up a bucar for you to use. There’s just my car and his assigned to the R.A. at the moment, but we could always requisition something from the motor pool at the Portland field office.” She paused, and glanced sidelong at Izzie in the passenger seat. “Are you going to be in town for a while, do you think?”
“I don’t know yet,” Izzie said, sighing. “I sometimes think that we’re getting somewhere with this investigation, but then things keep getting more … complicated.”
“Gotcha.” Daphne kept her eyes on the road for a moment before continuing. “The reason I ask … well, other than the suggestion about requisitioning a bureau car … is that there’s this theater troupe in town that does live reenactments of old TV shows. I haven’t been, but I hear that it is hilarious. Anyway, in a couple of weeks they’re doing an episode of that old sitcom Behind the Lines …” She glanced over at Izzie. “Did you ever watch that show?”
“Are you kidding?” Izzie gawped. “I loved that show when I was a kid!”
“Oh my god. Me, too.” She sighed, eyes on the road ahead. “It’s so, so corny, but I loved it.”
“I think I loved it because it was so corny,” Izzie said.
“So yeah, anyway … if you’re still in town, I was wondering if you wanted to go see it with me.” She glanced in Izzie’s direction, and hastened to add, “Strictly as friends, of course. Not a date kind of thing. Just a going-to-see-a-play-together kind of thing.”
“It’s okay, I totally get what you mean,” Izzie said. “And yeah, that sounds like it would be a lot of fun. If I’m still in town, count me in, definitely.”
“Great!” Daphne beamed. “Just don’t solve your case too quickly, okay?” She got a pained expression on her face, and shot Izzie a guilty glance. “I’m sorry. I was just kidding, but that sounded funnier in my head than it did out loud. Of course I hope that your investigation goes well.”
“Don’t worry.” Izzie gave her a reassuring smile. “At the rate things are going, it looks like I might be in Recondito for a while.”
Patrick was waiting for her near the front door of the black bunker that housed the Department of Physics on the Ross University campus. He was dressed more casually than the suit and tie he typically wore when working, instead wearing a T-shirt, jeans, and quilted jacket with a pair of hiking boots.
“What?” Izzie said, looking him up and down, “Is it casual Friday and nobody told me?”
He held his arms out to either side while he looked down at his clothes, a wounded expression on his face. “Hey, I had to get over here at short notice. I was going to stop by my place and change, but that was before Aguilar’s secretary told me how tight his schedule was for the day.”
“What’s the matter? Did you go out and get lucky last night, and this is some kind of morning after walk-of-shame outfit?”
Patrick sneered playfully at her. “If you must know, I volunteer at a school down in the Oceanview on Friday mornings, and I find it puts the kids more at ease if I’m not dres
sed as incredibly fashionable as I usually am.” He jerked a thumb towards the entrance to the building. “Now come on, we don’t want to miss our appointment.”
As he held the door open and Izzie stepped through, Patrick took the opportunity to give her outfit a once over, as well.
“Besides, with you rocking the jeans and suede jacket every day,” he said with a lopsided grin, “I figured I’d slum it a little bit today to put you at ease, too.”
Izzie slugged him lightly in the shoulder as they entered the foyer.
“What is it with women shoving and hitting me all the time lately?” Patrick said, putting his hand on his shoulder, shamming that he was injured.
“I don’t know,” Izzie answered, “maybe you really are just that punchable.”
“Well maybe you are …” Patrick began, but was interrupted by the woman sitting behind the reception desk.
“Can I help you?” the receptionist asked, looking up from a crossword puzzle. “Oh, you’re those police detectives who were here the other day, right? Are you back to see Dr. Kono again? I think he’s in a class at the moment but I can …”
“No, thank you,” Patrick interrupted, holding up his hand. “We actually have an appointment with Ricardo Aguilar.”
“Oh, sure,” the receptionist said, seeming relieved that she wasn’t required to do anything more strenuous than provide directions. “His office is on the second floor, room 210. You can’t miss it.”
Patrick nodded thanks, and the receptionist was back to her crossword puzzle before he and Izzie had made it three steps past her desk.
“So you volunteer at a school?” Izzie said while Patrick punched the call button for the elevator. “Let me guess, it’s your alma mater?”
“Yeah.” Patrick nodded. “Powell Middle School. Why, does that make me a cliché? The cop who gives back to the community?”
“Is that really a cliché? I’d only heard the one about the donuts.” Izzie ignored his withering stare. “But what kind of volunteering do you do?”
The elevator doors opened, and a group of grad students bustled their way out. Izzie and Patrick slipped inside, and he punched the button for the second floor.
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