'What are you working on?' I ask.
'He used a credit card to buy his plane ticket. It's a valid card, turns out it was issued a few years ago. I got an address and I'm headed over there now.'
My heart sinks.
'What was the name on the card?'
'Richard Ambrose.'
'The real Ambrose, whoever he was, is dead, Alan.'
'Yeah.'
If our perp had manufactured this identity from whole cloth, the credit card would have been issued recently.
'He probably found a guy that came close to his own physical description,' I muse. 'That will help, at least.'
'You want me to continue with what I'm doing, or come to you?'
'Get over to Ambrose's place. I'm fine here. It was just a shock.'
'Ned and I will take a look and I'll call you.'
When Alan was being trained for homicide, his mentor told him that a notepad was a detective's best friend and that a friend should have a name. Alan gave his pad the name Ned. It's stuck to this day. I've seen many incarnations of Ned pulled from an inside jacket pocket. Ned's been a faithful friend.
'Okay.'
'You sure you're fine?'
'I'm sure. Keep doing what you're doing.'
'MY, MY, MY,' CALLIE MUSES after I fill her in. 'Our very own crazy Hansel, leaving us a trail of bloody bread crumbs.'
And James had been right, I think. He is taking something from his victims. He told us he is.
'How is it going there?' I ask.
'We finished vacuuming for trace. I won't know how helpful that is until I get it back to a lab. I haven't found any prints, but I did find some smudged areas on the arm rest where prints should have been.'
'He probably wiped them down.'
'Not a stupid Hansel, but then, we expected as much.'
'I bet it means he's in the system.'
'Why?'
'He's leaving us clues, Callie. He wants us to know he's there and that we should chase him. Why bother wiping his prints? I think it's because he knows they would lead us right to him.'
'Hm. If so, it's not immediately probative, but helpful. It means he either has a criminal record, is a government employee, or has been in the military or law enforcement.'
'It's something. What else?'
'Nothing, yet. We're about to remove the seat cushions. I still need to print the overhead luggage compartment and then we're done.'
'I want you to come over here next. We need to process this condo.'
An overdramatized, long-suffering sigh. 'No rest for the brideto-be, I see.'
I chuckle. 'Relax. Marilyn is still working on the wedding logistics, right?'
Marilyn is Callie's daughter.
'It's not Marilyn I'm worried about. It's her helper.'
I frown. 'Who?'
'Kirby.'
I raise an eyebrow. 'Beach bunny Kirby?'
'Is there any other?'
Kirby Mitchell is an eccentric bodyguard I'd hired a few years back to help protect a potential victim. She's in her early thirties, about five-seven, blonde, with all the plucky personality and chipper talk you'd expect from a California stereotype. The truth of Kirby is something a little different, however. Kirby is ex-CIA 'or something like that' as she likes to say. The rumors are that she spent many years down in Central and South America as an assassin for the U.S. government. I have zero doubt about this. Kirby, for all her thousandkilowatt smiles and 'gee-whiz' exclamations, is as deadly as they come.
She's also loyal and funny and has managed to insinuate herself into the lives of the team.
'Why'd you pick Kirby?'
'She's got wonderful taste for a killer, Smoky. Exquisite, actually.'
'I see.'
'But she needs supervision, you know?'
'Oh yeah, I know.'
Kirby is unapologetic about satisfying her impulses, and her moral compass needs a little nudge sometimes.
Callie sighs. 'Oh well, I'm sure it'll be fine. I told her not to hurt anyone too much if they tried to overcharge me.'
' 'Too much'?' I query.
I can almost hear Callie's smile. 'What's the use of having an assassin help with your wedding planning if you can't use her to scare the vendors a little?'
I PLACE A CALL TO Rosario Reid and fill her in on what I found. She's silent for a moment.
'He--he was there? The man who killed my Lisa?'
'Yes.'
More silence. I know what she's feeling. Grief, rage, violation. An impotent desire to destroy the man who did this, who not only took her child from her, but walked through Lisa's condo, Lisa's life, with impunity.
'Rosario, I have to ask--do you have any idea what Lisa was talking about in her journal? The big secret she mentions?'
'I haven't the slightest, I really don't.'
Is that true? Or are you lying to me?
I let it go, for now.
She sighs. 'What are you going to do now?'
'When my team is done with the plane, they'll be coming over here. They'll be processing the condo from top to bottom.'
'I see.' Yet more silence. 'Thank you for keeping me up-to-date, Smoky. Please call me if you need anything.'
She hangs up, and I realize that she hadn't asked me what else Lisa had written in her journal.
Perhaps you're capable of dishonesty after all, Rosario. Maybe you know you'll find that Lisa wasn't as happy as you told yourself she was.
I can't blame her for this. I want to remember my Alexa as perfect too.
My phone rings. Alan.
'Not only is Richard Ambrose dead,' he begins without preamble,
'his body is still here.'
I curse to myself. This is getting out of hand.
'Give me the address,' I say. 'I'll find a cab and meet you there.'
8
IT'S NOW NEARING TEN IN THE MORNING, AND I'M STARTing to feel like someone who has missed a night's sleep. My eyes are gritty, my mouth tastes bad, and I have aches I'm not usually aware of.
I concentrate on the weather and the sky to shake myself awake. The cold has cleared the air and the sky is incredibly blue. When I step out of the cab the wind bites into me, not unpleasant. The sun burns cold, nothing more than a source of light.
