A familiar voice answered.
“Drew Blackwater, private investigator.”
“Drew, this is Waverly Paige. I only have enough money for a minute of talk so this needs to be quick. Someone recently broke into my apartment and stole some of my files, the one you gave me plus a few others like it. He was a lean strong guy with a scar down his forehead and cheek. He had a tattoo on his forearm, maybe a rose or flower or something like that. Does anyone like that ring a bell with you?”
Silence.
“This is weird but it might,” he said. “For some reason it’s tugging at the back of my brain.”
“Can you do me a favor and dig?”
“You mean check into it?”
“Right.”
“Are we talking about being on the clock?”
“Yes, I’ll pay, don’t worry. You can trust me.”
“I know that.”
“Can you do it right away? This is important.”
“Are you okay?”
“I don’t know.”
“I’ll get right on it.”
“You’re a peach. I don’t have a phone where I can be reached. Can I call you tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, one more thing, have you ever heard of a guy named Tom Bristol? He’s an architect out of San Francisco-”
“Doesn’t sound familiar.”
“Do me a favor,” she said. “See if you can find out if he was in Chicago at the time in question.”
A groan.
“That would be about impossible.”
“Try anyway. Please?”
“Sure, why not? It’s your money.”
“Thanks. You’re a double-peach.”
96
River’s chest thumped with less of a panic as Spencer’s vehicle didn’t slam to a stop and the man didn’t jump out to carve his face off right then and there. He wasn’t going to die, not right at the minute anyway. Even if Spencer changed his mind right now this second and doubled back, there was enough distance that River could sprint into the terrain. Spencer wouldn’t be able to run him down in a thousand years. As the car sped farther away, however, to the point of becoming a blur, River suddenly realized why.
Spencer was going to kill January.
That would be his way to make River suffer.
He’d get to January first, put a bullet in her brain, and let River live with the guilt for a day or a week or a month. Then he’d pop out of the shadows one dark night and swing a knife into River’s face.
Damn it.
Damn it.
Damn it.
River should have never made a move. Firing the gun had been stupid, he not only knew that now but even knew it while he was doing it. He’d let his rage get the best of him and now January was the one who was going to pay.
Spencer’s vehicle disappeared over the horizon.
The silence was deafening.
No other cars were in sight, not a one.
River’s body broke into a sprint up the road, almost of its own volition.
How far was January?
Five miles?
Six?
River could run five-minute miles. Even at that though he was still close to a half hour away. Spencer would have more than enough time to slam the car to a stop, trot the two or three hundred yards to where January was, say “Bye-bye bitch. Thank your dumb-ass friend for this,” and stick the barrel in her mouth.
River kept running.
There was no other option.
Getting there in time would be impossible. The best he could hope for was that Spencer got car trouble, or got confused as to where January was.
Five minutes passed.
River kept the speed up but his strength was draining faster than he thought. He had one more mile left at this pace if he was lucky.
Spencer would be to January by now.
She was probably dying even as he thought about it.
97
Wilde needed air, needed it now and needed it bad. He grabbed his hat, cocked it over his left eye and told Alabama he’d be back in ten. Outside, Larimer Street smelled like a bus engine on fire.
He stopped and lit a cigarette next to the water feature, the one with the cherubs that used to spit water into a bowl back when this section of town was the center of the universe.
That was a while back.
The cherubs hadn’t spit for years.
The bowl was still watertight though and had a rancid couple of inches of liquid at the bottom. Floating in that swill were cigarette butts, candy wrappers and at least one broken RC bottle. Wilde tossed the spent match on top of it all and headed down the street.
Secret St. Rain was really Emmanuelle LeFavre.
His first thought was to confront her.
His second thought was to ignore his first thought and not let on that he knew. Whatever it was that she was hiding, he’d be better positioned to figure it out if she didn’t know he was looking.
The Denver sky was crystal blue.
He crossed to the sunny side of the street and let the sun wash over his face.
Five minutes later he had all the air he needed and headed back to the office. He opened the door, took a step inside, got his hat in hand and positioned his body. Then he tossed the hat for the rack.
