“What if she’s guilty, Russ? Or your daughter-in-law.” No way I could resist that in-law dig. After all, this was Russ.
He stared at me, finally shook his head. “I know Danya. She didn’t do this. She wouldn’t know the first thing about that Xenon asshole, lyrics like that. She plays Johnny Mathis CDs at Christmas, sings along with him. I don’t know that much about Shanna, but . . . no way. I think this is just a random piece-of-shit deal, unless someone knows Danya’s my kid and is using her to screw with me.”
“Whatever I find, assuming I find anything at all, you want me to run it past you first.”
“That’s right.”
“Sounds maverick all right, but not illegal since you’re a cop. I would just be giving information to the police, which is the right thing to do.”
“You might concentrate on who killed Xenon and stuck him in that garage. Finding Danya isn’t likely to be an issue. She’s a bit high-strung. She might not think about something like this very clearly, but I think she’ll get hold of me pretty soon. If she doesn’t, police will probably have her and Shanna rounded up by this evening at the latest.”
“Yeah? I didn’t think RPD was that good.” Another sweet dig, and one I thought might be accurate. Danya and Shanna might not be as easy to find as Russ thought. Not sure why I thought that, but it might’ve been my gumshoe gene flaring up.
He shrugged, didn’t rise to the bait. “Where’s she gonna go? Right now we’ve got fifty cops looking for her and Shanna. So, how ’bout it? I haven’t heard you say yes yet.”
I gave him a hard look. “On three conditions, Russ.”
“Aw, shit. Let’s hear ’em.”
“Number one, I want access. Right now I don’t have that, not like I’ll need it. Maude’s out of town and I’m not licensed. I can’t get a name or address from a phone number or a license plate. I can’t track credit card usage or ping a cell phone’s GPS. I might have to call you with something like that, and if I do, I’ll want it, no hassle, no questions.” In fact, I had all that except the pinging. I had Ma’s passwords and was getting used to her online investigative tools, but putting Russ in my pocket was the kind of underhanded move Ma had built a career on. If I didn’t do this, Ma would show my naked poster all over town. But even without Ma, I wasn’t about to let an opportunity this good slip away.
“Two,” I went on. “Ma’s not going to be involved in this. I’m not going to put her PI license at risk. This is just between you and me. No contract, no legal shit. Just you and me.”
“Well, hell, Angel—I was gonna get the guys in the squad room together and make a formal announcement.”
Good one, Russ. “What about Day? Clifford. That thing you did, turning off the camera. How’s he good with that?”
“Cliff’s my brother-in-law. Well, ex. He’s a good guy. And if he said word one about any of this, my sister would cut off his nuts since they’re still friends.”
“That does sound friendly. It also sounds like she knows how to use a chainsaw.”
He smiled. “So we’re good. I give you access and this deal’s just between you and me—don’t worry about Cliff. You said three conditions. What’s the last one?”
“I want five thousand dollars. Today. In cash.”
“Well . . . horse pucky,” he said, smiling. “Now I gotta go hit the bank.” Walking back, he had a little skip in his step. Until, that is, he got to thinking about things—like me, his job, Jo-X in his daughter’s garage even if the place was a rental—a rat’s nest of complications that looked as if it was going to turn into shit stew. Then the skip curdled into his usual flat-footed shuffle, shoulders hunched, face as long as a cold night in January.
“Try phoning her again,” I said.
He got out his cell phone and called Danya, got voice mail, left a message for her to call him.
We walked back to the police station, hashing out details. I got his phone numbers, personal and police, same for e-mail addresses. And I got Day’s numbers, which I would treasure. I gave Russ both my numbers and e-mail, and told him not to call unless he absolutely had to. Or if he heard from Danya. And I told him if I ever caught him tracking my phone’s GPS, he’d never hear from me again. I didn’t bother to tell him I was going to go out and get an untraceable Walmart burner, just in case. In case of what, I didn’t know, but . . . you never know. If you’re going to skate around that razor edge of right and wrong, you take precautions. After last October, I was an expert. And, of course, a murderer.
He stopped outside the gate to the parking lot. “Not actually sure I like you, Angel. Probably won’t be having you over for beer and barbeque, but . . . I’m glad you said yes.”
He went through, but I stayed behind. He turned and gave me a questioning look.
“I’m not going to tell you how I came up with this, Russ, so I don’t want to hear any whining or hassling, none of that, but since you’re a client now, you should know that I’m about twenty percent sure that your kid, Danya, is Celine. Maybe even thirty percent.” Actually I was only at about ten percent, since Danya was five-eight or -nine and Celine was six-three, almost as tall as Jo-X. I didn’t know if they made shoes with six- or seven-inch heels, but there was some sort of a connection there. Danya and Celine were both black, beautiful, and busty, and Jonnie Xenon was hanging around Danya’s garage, so I thought . . . maybe.
“Celine?” Russ asked.
“The missing black girl.
