“I never told them I was from the paper.”
“These suits can sniff a reporter from a mile away,” Zach said snapping gum obnoxiously.
“There has to be something we can do.”
“It’s a forensic facility. They can do whatever they like.” He sniffed hard. “Anyway, I anticipated you would run into trouble so I came up with a plan B.” He leaned back, a sly grin forming as he ran a hand over his unruly mustache. “Well, aren’t you going to ask me?”
“Zach, just spit it out.”
He leaned forward, his face getting too large for the screen. His eyes were bloodshot from staying up late and drinking one too many whiskeys. Before they got around to discussing Winchester, Kelly had to endure a long-winded spiel about his night out, and the woman he’d brought home for a night of fun. “Okay, well you remember we spoke with the Telluride Police Department after Dana went missing. They reported that Jack had an alibi, an out-of-town contact that he was with at the time of disappearance. Well, you can thank me later but I got that name.”
She nearly spat out her coffee. “You’re kidding?”
“Nope. John Dalton. He works at the Unified Rescue Mission on Skid Row.”
Her brow furrowed. “The cops just gave you the name?”
“No, of course not. I had a source of mine do some digging in the phone records from his residence in the months prior to her disappearance. I figured that might shed some light on his contacts. Anyway, one number came up multiple times. It was for the rescue mission. So I phoned and worked my magic on this soft-spoken girl who answered. Of course with my charm, it didn’t take long to get her to tell me that Dalton knew someone by that name and he not only visited Dalton on a regular basis but he had at one time worked at the mission. Interesting side note — the dates of when he worked at the mission coincide with a large-scale murder investigation into the Chinese triads who were involved in smuggling. Coincidence? I think not.”
“So you’ve spoken with Dalton?”
“No. I thought I would give you the honor of making that call. You want the number?”
“Yeah, yeah.” Eager, Kelly got up and snagged a pen and notepad beside the bed. “Go ahead.” He gave it to her and then proceeded to discuss the value of such a find.
“Hold on, hold on. Surely this is worth dinner and a movie when you get back?” he said.
“Probably, but now you’ve got a lady friend. I’m afraid that ship has sailed. I’m a woman of morals.”
Zach leaned forward quickly trying to backtrack. “Did I say I was dating her? I meant she was a friend. A close…”
“You took her to bed.”
“Yeah, but I take all my friends to bed.” She raised a brow and he chuckled. “You know what I mean.”
“See you later, Zach.”
“Kelly. Hold up.”
She dropped the call and the screen went black.
Not wasting any time she made a call to the mission.
John Dalton was in the middle of trying to break up an argument between two homeless men who had come in for breakfast that morning. He stabbed his finger at a disheveled, skinny man with gray hair. “Now Vern. Remember what I told you.”
“He snuck ahead of the line. I’ve been waiting here since five this morning.”
“Bullshit,” the other man replied causing Vern to react. Dalton got between them and pushed them apart.
“Lord above, give me mercy. You’re both going to get fed.”
“But it’s the principle of the matter,” Vern said, spitting saliva on Dalton’s face.
“Mr. Dalton.” Dalton swiveled his head to see Violet, his secretary, standing in the doorway with a hand raised. He gestured to her that he would be a minute then stuck his finger in the face of both Vern and Bud.
“No more. If you continue I’ll have you both removed. And you know I will.”
They scowled at one another but realized that to push things further would mean empty stomachs. Vern dropped his chin. “Sorry, Mr. Dalton.”
“It’s okay. Just remember, be cool or else.” He pointed to one of his security guys to take over as he crossed the room. Disputes were common in the 24-hour mission. They served over 300,000 meals every year and worked with the homeless to provide showers, clothing, education, job assistance and referral services. He’d been involved for many years and while his security staff was good at keeping folks in line, there were a few times he had to step in. “What is it, Violet?” he asked.
“You’ve got a phone call on line three.”
“Thank you.” He worked out the tension in his neck as he wandered down the labyrinth of hallways to his office. He wiped the tiredness from his eyes. What he would give for a week, or a month off. As soon as he was in his office, he closed the door, sealing out the sound of chatter. Dalton scooped up the phone. “John Dalton. How can I help?”
The woman fired out her words in rapid succession as if expecting him to hang up. “Hello, Mr. Dalton, my name is Kelly Armstrong. I was told you are a close friend of Jack Winchester?”
There was a pause.
Although he considered Jack one of his closest friends, unless it was him phoning, the very mention of his name meant trouble. History had taught him it was never a good thing.
“Sorry, who are you again?”
“Kelly Armstrong. I’m from the San Francisco Chronicle. A reporter.”
He was quick to jump on that. “Look, lady, I’m a little busy right now. I really have to—”
“I know you’re a friend of his,” she said cutting him off. “I also know he worked for you. I just thought you would want to know his current predicament. Or perhaps you already know?”
She was fishing for specifics.
If he said he didn’t know him, it would be a lie, then on the other hand if he admitted it, that would open a
