“Shoot me if I ever get as twisted as you.”
62
Su-Moon made it to the roof without dropping to her death. She disappeared over the parapet, checked the access hatch to be sure it wasn’t locked, and shouted down to Waverly, “Come on!”
“Move the rope over.”
“Can’t. There’s nowhere to hook it.”
Waverly swallowed.
Su-Moon barely made it and she was stronger.
A gust of rain lashed at her face and pushed her body sideways. She waited for it to subside, then got up on the railing, shifted her weight onto the rope and climbed up hand over hand with every ounce of strength she had. At the top, Su-Moon grabbed her arm with both hands and pulled her over the parapet.
She landed on her back.
The weather pelted her face.
She didn’t care.
She was up.
She was alive.
“Come on,” Su-Moon said. “No time for naps.”
The access door led to a steel interior stairway. On squishy feet they took it down to Bristol’s floor, hearing no one, seeing no one, encountering no cleaning crews or guards. A trail of dripping water followed them.
So far, so good.
The door to Bristol office suite was locked. Su-Moon busted the glass with her foot, reached through and unlocked the bolt.
They were in.
She shut the door and relocked it.
“Which way to Bristol’s office?”
“Follow me.”
They ended up in a corner office that faced the street. The windows had blinds but they wouldn’t completely seal the lights.
“We should have brought flashlights.”
“Too late now.”
They moved a banker’s lamp from the top of the desk to under it then turned it on. That gave them enough to see by without overdoing it.
Then they searched.
They weren’t careful.
They weren’t neat.
Ten minutes into it they still hadn’t found anything of relevance. Then Waverly had an idea to pull the drawers out of Bristol’s desk and see if anything was taped on the backside or underneath.
There wasn’t.
Five minutes later they found a hidden compartment under a piece of removable wood in the top drawer. Inside was a black address book together with an envelope.
Su-Moon slapped Waverly on the back.
“Bingo.”
Suddenly a noise came from the hallway outside Bristol’s office.
“Shit!”
Su-Moon flicked off the banker’s lamp.
The room fell into darkness.
The women froze.
They didn’t make a sound.
63
The lawyer, Crockett Bluetone, denied killing Charley-Anna Blackridge. He had a brief affair with her four months ago and took her to San Francisco for a long weekend out of sight of the wifey-poo. Shortly after that the fire went out for both of them. He hadn’t seen her in over three months. “We parted on amicable terms. That was it.”
River had a question.
“Is anyone after you for any reason?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
Yes.
He was.
Absolutely.
“Why?”
“Because sometimes people kill one person not to get to that person but to get at another person.”
The lawyer frowned.
“No one’s after me. If what happened to Charley-Anna was murder, it had nothing to do with me.”
River studied the man’s eyes, found no lies and headed for the door.
“See you around.”
The lawyer stood up.
“There’s a saying,” he said. “Discretion is the better part of valor.”
“Don’t worry about it. I could care less who you stick your dick in.”
River got home to find January in white shorts and a white tank top. She hadn’t come across any mysterious envelopes taped anywhere. No one called. If a hitman was lurking around, she hadn’t seen him.
She ran a finger down River’s chest.
“I’ve been waiting for you.”
He frowned.
“It’s dangerous for you here.”
“Too bad.”
He studied the horizon. The mountains were a dark jagged band against the sky. The sky above was filled with light.
“Let’s take a walk,” he said.
