“Five,” she said, looking evenmore tired.
Hardinsaw movement over the mother’s shoulder. The woman looked. Behind her,leaning against the wall like she was trying to hide behind it, was agirl—a young woman, rather. Sixteen or seventeen. Wide-eyed, pretty.Give her another couple of years to fill out the curves and she’d bebeautiful.
“Thisis my oldest,” the woman said.
“You mind if I ask her a few questions?”
Theyoung woman shook her head no, but her mother stepped aside. Hardinexpected her to flee to the back of the house, but she didn’t.
“Hi,”Hardin said, trying to sound friendly without sounding condescending.“I wondered if you could tell me anything about Ms. Manuel.”
“Idon’t know anything about her,” she said. “She didn’t like kids messingin her yard. We all stayed away.”
“Canyou remember the last time you saw her?”
She shrugged. “A few days ago,maybe.”
“Youknow anyone who had it in for her? Maybe said anything bad about her orthreatened her? Sounds like the kids around here didn’t like her much.”
“No,nothing like that,” she said.
Hardinwasn’t going to get anything out of her, though the girl looked scared.Maybe she was just scared of whatever had killed Manuel. The mothergave Hardin a sympathetic look and shrugged, much like her daughter had.
Hardingot the names—Julia Martinal and her daughter Teresa. Shegave them a card. “If you think of anything, let me know.”
Two housesdown was an older, angry white guy.
“It’sabout time you got here and did something about those Mexicans,” hesaid when Hardin showed him her badge.
“I’msorry?” Hardin said, playing dumb, seeing how far the guy would carrythis.
“ThoseMexican gang wars, they got no place here. That’s what happened, isn’tit?”
Shenarrowed her gaze. “Have you seen any Mexican gangs in the area? Anyunusual activity, anything you think is suspicious? Drivebys, strangepeople loitering?”
“Well,I don’t get up in other people’s business. I can’t say that I sawanything. But that Mexican broad was killed, right? What else couldhave happened?”
“What’syour name, sir?” Hardin said.
Hehesitated, lips drawing tight, as if he was actually consideringarguing with her or refusing to tell. “Smith,” he said finally. “JohnSmith.”
“Mr.Smith, did you ever see anyone at Dora Manuel’s house? Anyoneyou’d be able to pick out of a lineup?”
Hestill looked like he’d eaten something sour. “Well, no, not like that.I’m not a spy or a snitch or anything.”
Shenodded comfortingly. “I’m sure. Oh, and Mr. Smith? Dora Manuel wasFilipina, not Mexican.”
Shegave him her card, as she had with the others, and asked him to callher. Out of all the people she’d left cards with today, she bet Smithwould be the one to call. And he’d have nothing useful for her.
Shedidn’t get much out of any of the interviews.
“I’m sorry, I never evenknew what her name was.”
“She kept to herself, I didn’t really knowher.”
“Shewasn’t that friendly.”
“Idon’t think I was surprised to hear that she’d died.”
Inthe end, rather than having any solid leads on what had killed her,Hardin walked away with an image of a lonely, maybe even ostracizedwoman with no friends, no connections, and no grief lost ather passing. People with that profile were usually pegged as thekillers, not the victims.
Shesat in her car for a long time, letting her mind drift, wonderingwhich lead she’d missed and what connection she’d have to make to solvethis thing. The murder wasn’t random. In fact, it must have beencarefully planned, considering the equipment involved. So the bodyhad been moved, maybe. There still ought to be evidence of that at thecrime scene—tire tracks, foot prints, blood. Maybe the techs had comeup with something while she was out here dithering.
Thesun was setting, sparse streetlights coming on, their orange glow notdoing much to illuminate past the trees. Not a lot of activity went on.A few lights on in a few windows. No cars moving.
Shestepped out of the car and started walking.
Insteadof going straight through the gate to the backyard, she went around thehouse and along the fence to the alley behind the houses, a narrow pathmostly haunted by stray cats. She caught movement out of the cornerof her eye; paused and looked, caught sight of small legs and a tail.She flushed and her heart sped up, in spite of herself. She knew it wasjust a cat. But her hindbrain thought of the other creatures with furshe’d seen in back alleys. The monsters.
Shecame into Manuel’s yard through a back gate. The shed loomed beforeher, seeming to expand in size. She shook the image away. The onlything sinister about the shed was her knowledge of what had been foundthere. Other houses had back porch lights on. She could hear TVsplaying. Not at Manuel’s house. The lights were dark, the wholeproperty still, as if the rest of the street had vanished, and thesite existed in a bubble. Hardin’s breathing suddenly seemed loud.
Shecouldn’t see much of anything in the dark. No footprints, not a straythread of cloth. She didn’t know what she was hoping to find.
Onething she vowed she’d never do was call in a psychic to work a case.But standing in the backyard of Manuel’s residence at night, shecouldn’t help wondering if she’d missed something simply becauseit wasn’t visible to the mundane eye. Could a psychic stand here andsee some kind of magical aura? Maybe follow a magical trail to theperson who’d committed the crime?
Thereal problem was—how would she know she was hiring an actual psychic?Hardin was ready to believe just about anything, but that wouldn’t helpher figure out what had happened here.
Thenext day, she made a phone call. She had at least one more resource totry.
Hardincame to the supernatural world as a complete neophyte, and she had tolook for advice wherever she could, no matter how odd the source, orhow distasteful. Friendly werewolves, for example. Or convicted felons.
CormacBennett styled himself a bounty hunter specializing in thesupernatural. He freely admitted he was a killer, though he claimed toonly kill monsters—werewolves, vampires, and the like. A judge hadrecently agreed with him, at least about the killer part, and sentencedBennett to four years for manslaughter. It meant that Hardin now hadsomeone on hand who might be able to answer her questions. She’drequested the visit and asked that he not be told it was
