"Um, no. I wouldn't sue for a clerical error." At least, I wouldn't as long as I was confident I'd get my trust fund on my next birthday.
"I will investigate in any event," he said. "I also have a lead on Pamela's case."
"Where'd that come from?"
"A gentleman never reveals his sources."
"Which is why I'm not asking one."
He tapped his coffee cup. "I have a friend in the state attorney's office," he said finally.
"You mean a contact you've groomed into thinking he's a friend."
"It was his idea."
I smiled. "I'm sure it was."
"In this case, I provided information that he wanted. Information of negligible value obtained through an informant, not a client. Perfectly legitimate. In return, I gave him a very strict set of parameters on what I was looking for in the Larsen case, and he found something. A friend of Peter Evans reported that Peter had learned something shortly before his death. Something that upset him greatly."
"Which was?"
"I have no idea. It was a comment gathered during initial interviews, and the police didn't pursue it because the friend claimed Peter never actually told him what he learned."
"You think the friend lied?"
"I read the transcript. His language suggests he did know and was waiting for the police to get it out of him."
"Make him talk, so he wouldn't be responsible for spilling his dead friend's secrets."
"Precisely. The detectives failed to see that. They'd made a note to return to it later. Then they arrested the Larsens and the interviews weren't revisited."
"Is the guy still around?"
Gabriel sipped his coffee.
"Okay," I said. "Presumably he's alive, but you aren't going to give me anything that might help me find him myself. I probably still could, given my special new relationship with Peter's father."
"Yes, you could."
I watched the cat travel to his food bowl. Then I looked back at Gabriel. "How much did Lores pay you?"
He sighed.
"I'd like an answer, please."
"It was, as you guessed, not a significant amount. The point, Olivia, is that my clients are often the subject of media interest, with or without their permission. If I know a journalist willing to conduct an unbiased interview, then I do not believe I'm committing any ethical violation of my client's trust by accepting payment for finding that journalist."
"No, but you are if the client makes it very clear that she does not want the interview and you push her into it for monetary gain."
"Not for monetary gain. You had agreed before changing your mind at the last minute. I have a relationship with Mr. Lores that I was unwilling to endanger by reneging--"
"Just tell me how much."
He hesitated before saying, "Five hundred."
"I want it. Not deducted from my bill. Not put against my laptop. Cash. Preferably twenties."
He looked to see whether I was joking.
"To you, it's nothing. To me, it's more than a week's wages. Give me the money. Stick to the terms of our original agreement. And don't charge me for getting my medical records. Fair?"
He studied me. He didn't seem to be weighing the offer. He just ... studied me.
"I seem to recall that you have today off," he said finally.
"I do."
"I'll set up an interview with Peter Evans's friend."
"Good. Then we're back in business."
Chapter Fifty
Gabriel called Peter's old friend, a guy by the name of Josh Gray. He got a busy signal. While he waited to phone back, he suggested something else.
"Pamela has been calling my office," he said. "She's back in prison and would like to see you. She says she has new information, but I fail to see how that's possible, given that she's spent the last twenty years in a cell. She simply wants to see you. I am not averse to the idea."
I said nothing, just sipped my coffee.
"Unless you are..." he said.
No. I wanted to see her, had all week and felt guilty for staying away. That was the problem.
"Do we have anything to ask her?" I said.
"I could come up with a few questions."
In other words, he knew very well that I might like to see her and was providing the excuse. Damn, the man was full of gifts today.
I found my gaze sliding to the window. Looking for a sign. I shook it off and pulled my attention back.
"We'll do that after we speak to Gray."
Gabriel phoned back. This time, Gray answered. Gabriel introduced himself and said he was investigating the death of Peter Evans, and Gray hung up on him. Which meant he was about to get an unexpected visitor or two.
Englewood has some decent sections. Gray didn't live in--or even near--any of them.
Gabriel found a monitored lot nearly a mile away, gave the parking attendant a healthy tip to watch the car, and promised to double it if we returned to find the Jag unscathed.
"Would have been cheaper to take a cab," I said.
"I don't take cabs."
I shook my head. Then I stopped. A murder of crows perched on a dead tree. The old rhyme played in my head.
One for bad news,
Two for mirth.
Three is a wedding,
Four is a birth.
Five is for riches,
Six is a thief.
Seven, a journey,
Eight is for grief.
There were eight crows.
Gabriel noticed me staring at the birds.
"Olivia?"
"Sorry." I yanked my gaze away. "So how do you want to handle the interview?"
We continued on, passing people that I'd have normally crossed the road to avoid--even with a gun in my purse. But they all steered clear. That may have had something to do with the big guy in shades walking at my side.
We reached the walk-up apartment. An unconscious drunk lay on the stoop, his hand extended, fingers poised as if he'd been holding something. Probably his keys. They were long gone. So was everything of value in his apartment by now, I'd bet.
As we climbed the stairs inside, I saw a dead crow on a landing. The hair on the back of my neck prickled, but I kept going.
I'd seen the poppies a few days ago, and Pamela hadn't died. Or had it been a warning that she was in danger? I scowled and rubbed my neck again. That's how superstitions thrive--you see a so-called omen, and when it doesn't come true, you find another event that fits ... if you ram that square peg into the round hole.
We knocked on Gray's door. A woman answered, and I was glad I'd suggested Gabriel stand back. I'd worked at the shelter long enough to recognize an addict--the haunted expression, the gaunt face, the telltale tracks. Despite the obvious wear and tear on her body, she was decently groomed and had some color in her cheeks. A recovering addict? Either way, she wouldn't respond well to a guy who could pass for DEA.
"Hi," I said, flashing my friendliest smile. "I'm looking for Josh Gray. I'm a friend of his sister, Terri." Gabriel's background check had turned up a half sister in her early twenties.
"The college brat?" The woman looked me up and down. "If she sent you to score from him, Josh don't do that no more."
She started shutting the door. My hand shot out to stop it.
"It's not that. She said he might be getting back into graphic design"--that was his college background--"and I was hoping to hire him."
"I dunno nothing about that."
"Could I speak--?"
"He's not here."
She gave the door a sudden shove and I stumbled back. The door didn't close, though. A big Italian loafer stopped it.
The girlfriend looked down at that shoe, then up at the rest of Gabriel.
"No," she said as she backpedaled. "No, no, no. I don't know nothing. Nothing."
"About what?" he said smoothly, stepping into the apartment.
"You're the guy who called Josh, pretending to be some lawyer."
"
Pretending?"
She pointed a trembling finger at him. "You're no lawyer. I know what you are. Josh told me what you guys did to his friend."
"I thought you didn't know anything," Gabriel said.
She ran--straight for the balcony door, which was wide open. I tore after her. She lunged through and yanked it shut behind her. Then she scrambled over the rusted railing and dropped one floor to the ground.
I raced back to Gabriel. "Come on. We need to catch her."
"Do I look as if I'm dressed for an alley chase?"
I glowered at him and started for the door, but he caught my shoulder.
"She'll come back eventually, and we will, too. Perhaps by that time, Mr. Gray will also be home."
"Do you think he bolted after you called?"
"If he was that worried, he wouldn't have left his girlfriend behind. He may have gone to speak to someone after hanging up on me." He pulled his shades down. "We'll return later."
Chapter Fifty-one
I'd just stepped out of the building when I saw eight crows on a power line. Not the same ones, I was sure, but there were clearly eight. I kept glancing up, as if my gaze was magnetized.
"What's wrong?" Gabriel asked.
"Nothing."
He peered up at the crows. "Do the birds mean something?"
"Death," I blurted before I could stop myself. I sighed. "Yes, I'm superstitious."
"Crows are a death omen, too?"
The hair on my neck rose. There was something about the way he said it. Death omen.
"Only when there're eight of them."
"Then everything's fine, because there are only six."
I looked up. I counted eight out to Gabriel, pointing at each.
"There are only six birds up there, Olivia."
A chill stabbed my gut. I muttered something about one of us needing our eyes checked, then hurried on. Gabriel caught up with me in a few long strides.
"You saw eight, Olivia. Earlier, too, didn't you? I noticed crows in a tree outside the parking lot. You were staring at them."
"I'm tired. Stressed out. We've lost a viable lead--"
He gripped my elbow, turning me to face him. "My aunt is a psychic. Most of what she does is a con, but there's something there, too. Something real. The second sight. Runs in my family, apparently. It passed me, for which I believe I should be grateful. But I know she has it. I've seen her use it. And I've seen how intrigued she is by you."
"We share an interest in spiritualism."
"It's more than that. Last week, you saw poppies, and your mother escaped a potentially fatal stabbing."
"Escaped. If poppies are a death omen, she shouldn't have escaped."
"But an omen is a warning, is it not? That's how Rose's powers work. She sees possibilities, nothing preordained."
"I don't--" I shook off his hand. "I don't know. I just ... I don't want to talk about it."
"Then humor me. Pretend it really is a death omen. Now what?"
"Now what?"
"If you did see omens, there would be a reason." He gazed around the street. "What else do you see?"
"Nothing," I mumbled. "That's it. Just the--" I stopped as something caught my eye down the road. A flash, like light reflecting off a window.
"All right," he said. "We'll go that way."
"I never said--"
"I cheated you out of an exhilarating chase down filthy alleys. Let's play follow-the-omens instead."
He started off. I stayed where I was until two guys at the corner began calculating the distance between me and Gabriel. I hurried to catch up with him.
"You lied," I said.
"Undoubtedly. Which particular instance are we talking about?"
"Your aunt told you something about me."
"Only that I should trust your hunches, even when you don't." He stopped at the corner. "Now which way?"
I felt something tug my attention to the left, and he noticed.
"Excellent. Off we go, then. The game's afoot."
"I don't believe you just said that."
He smiled down at me and picked up his pace.
"Is that...?" I whispered.
I stared at the foot protruding from a pile of moldy cardboard. I kept telling myself it was a coincidence. Another passed-out drunk.
Lying facedown.
Covered in cardboard.
Gabriel hauled off the moldy pieces and tossed them aside without so much as a fastidious wipe on his trousers.
When he was done, we were staring at a man with a bullet hole through his back.
Gabriel didn't check for a pulse. There was no need, I suppose, but I did anyway, crouching and pressing my fingers to the man's neck. He was still warm. But dead. Definitely dead. Blue eyes stared at the ground.
Gabriel checked the man's pockets. "No wallet. No cell."
"Robbery then," I said.
Gabriel didn't seem to hear me. He was tapping away at his phone. After a moment, he turned it to face me. On the screen was a photo of the man lying in front of us.
"Josh Gray?" I said.
Gabriel nodded.
"But the killer took his cell phone and wallet...?"
"To delay identification."
"Right." I inhaled and collected my thoughts. "He hung up on you and came out to call someone without his girlfriend overhearing. Whoever he called told him to wait. He did."
"That's a plausible theory, yes, but--"
"Leave it as a theory until proven otherwise. I know."
I looked around. There was a Dumpster ten feet away. I walked over and climbed up until I could see inside.
"It's less than half full. If you're trying to hide the body, why not dump him in here?"
"Lack of time. Or lack of strength. I could manage it, but it would be difficult, and it would leave me covered with blood."
"Okay, so now we call the police."
I took out my cell. He plucked it from my hand.
"Once the body is discovered, it's only a matter of time before Mr. Gray's girlfriend learns of his fate. Given that she was frightened enough to vault over her balcony, I don't think news of his death will loosen her tongue."
I looked down at Gray. Leaving a man dead in an alley was wrong. But that woman was our only hope of finding out what Peter Evans told Gray twenty-two years ago. Besides, did I really want to get pulled into a murder investigation?
"Should we put him in the bin?" I asked.
Gabriel's brows shot over his shades.
"I just meant ... Maybe we could buy some time. He hasn't been dead long. Time of death is a vague science. If he's found now, his girlfriend would ID us and we'd be suspects."
"Good thinking."
"I'm surprised you didn't suggest it first."
"I was going to return after I got you safely to the car. But if you're offering to help, that will make the task easier."
So I helped Gabriel Walsh move a body. What consumed my thoughts was not guilt, but how I'd found the corpse in the first place. I'd led Gabriel to a dead body based on omens and intuition, and he was as unperturbed as if we'd stumbled on Gray during a random shortcut.
I didn't know what to make of that.
I remembered Rose asking me if I ever saw omens that weren't really there. I had the answer now. I had a lot of answers now. I'd had them for a while and had just kept pretending otherwise.
Apparently, I could ... I don't know what exactly. Read the signs? Interpret omens? See portents? Was there a name for such a thing? Where would the ability come from?
I knew the answer to that--from the woman who'd taught me those rhymes and kept a chest of mystical supplies in her bedroom. The woman accused of murdering eight people in occult rituals.
I needed to speak to Pamela again. And I would, in a few hours. For now I had to focus on getting Gray's girlfriend to talk before the cops found his body.
"So how do we do this?" I asked.
"I believe I know a way," Gabriel said. "I'm going to drop you
off in a better neighborhood, where you can find lunch. I'll call when things are in place."
"That's very considerate, but I'm not hungry."
"Perhaps not now, but--"
"That tone in my voice a moment ago? Sarcasm. I know you aren't being considerate. You're trying to dump me so I don't see how you get this woman to talk. I'm not hiding in a sandwich shop."
He looked at me over the roof of his car. "I'd really rather you did."
I opened the door. "As the song says, we can't always get what we want."
----
We drove through about ten miles of farmland before Gabriel pulled into a wooded lane marked Private Property. The rutted drive made him wince with each bump. After a couple of hundred feet, the drive widened. It was lined with motorcycles. Big-ass motorcycles.
"First you buy me a mocha. Then you let me help you hide a body. Now you take me to a biker clubhouse. Best. Day. Ever."
His lips tightened. "You're staying in the car."
"Hell, no. This is a once-in-a-lifetime experience."
I reached for the door handle. He smacked down the automatic locks. "This isn't a game, Olivia."
"I'm kidding. But I did just move a corpse. I think I can handle this."
"I'm their lawyer. It's a relationship based on mutual respect. I cannot waltz in there with another client."
Damn. Why did he have to make such a good point?
I sighed. "All right."
He hesitated.
"I said all right. Go. I'll wait."
Cleanup Duty
The man looked at the spot where he was supposed to find Josh Gray's body. It was gone.
He peered up and down the alley. Then he walked from one end to the other and checked the GPS coordinates on his phone. This was definitely the place.
He made a call.
"It's not here," he said when his boss answered.
Silence.
"The body," he said. "Gray's--"
"Are you actually telling me this on an unsecured cell line?"
Yeah, because I don't have a secured one, he wanted to snap back. He didn't. He apologized. Then he asked what the boss wanted him to do.
"Find it, of course. She didn't drag him out of there."
The line went dead. The man sucked in breath. This was stupid. If you want someone dead, you just kill them. All these layers of complication. First the old man. Now this. He didn't understand it.
The boss said Gunderson's death was a precaution, in case he decided to help the Larsen girl. Which was bullshit--from what he'd read in the paper, there was no way in hell Gunderson was helping the Larsen girl. And how would he anyway? He didn't know anything.