Body of Shadows (17 page)

“One thing,” Drift said. “Just so you know, I had second thoughts about what I did after I did it. I never looked at the files. I burned them. They’re history.”

Condor exhaled.

“That’s admirable,” he said. “Unfortunately, this is one of those genies that you can’t put back in the bottle. I really hope that nothing ever happens to September and we can both go about our business in peace.”

“Let’s hope so.”

“By the way, this file is being kept under lock and key,” he said. “September hasn’t told anyone else and neither have I.”

“I appreciate that.”

Silence.

“One more thing,” Condor said. “If there’s anything the firm can do to help you find Jackie’s killer, just let me know.”

“I will.”

Drift called Sydney
for the tenth time and got dumped into her voice mail for the tenth time. This time he left a message.

“Call me,” he said. “You can hate me, you can be disappointed in me, you can think anything you want. I won’t bother you about it. I can’t let the case suffer though. I need you back and I need you now.”

He hung up.

Five minutes passed.

Sydney didn’t call.

She would have picked up the message by now.

The fluorescent light
directly over his desk hummed with all the subtlety of a jackhammer, no worse than it had for the last two weeks but suddenly intolerable. He took his shoes off, got up on his desk and muscled it out.

Then he swapped it for one in the chief’s office.

There.

Better.

He walked over to Sydney’s computer and pulled up her emails. Two were from detective Adam Coulter of the New York homicide unit, with attached videotapes from two security cameras, one from a bank and one from a hotel.

They weren’t long but they were long enough.

There was no question that the man on the street, the one Kelly Ravenfield thought was Michael Northway, was indeed Michael Northway.

Drift paused a frame then enlarged it.

The man was smiling, happy, smirking even, with his surfer-boy hair and his big white grin.

“Got you,” Drift said. “Even if I get fired, I’m going to come out there and get you.”

51

Day Three

July 20

Wednesday Night

Yardley called Cave
shortly after dark and said, “We need to call a truce. When I shot at the house, I wasn’t shooting at you. All I was doing was trying to get you to abort and head off with me in the trunk. All I was trying to do was get Deven back to safety.”

“You’re certainly the clever one, I’ll hand you that.”

“Look,” she said, “we both know that I could have shot you ten different times out there in the sticks. I didn’t. For that, you owe me.”

“You should have killed me while you had the chance.”

“Maybe but the fact remains that I didn’t,” she said. “Here’s my proposition. We call it even. You go your way and me and Deven go our way.”

Silence.

“The one who hired you to send me to Miami is that lawyer, Madison Elmblade, right?”

“Right. I didn’t know anything about it being a setup. I thought it was just business as usual. If I had any inkling it was anything other than a hundred percent legit, I would have tipped you off.”

“For the moment, let’s assume that’s true just for the sake of argument.”

“It is true.”

“If it is then prove it by helping me get her,” he said. “Do that and then we’ll be even.”

A beat.

“Look, we’re already even on account of the fact that I didn’t kill you,” she said. “If it wasn’t for that, we wouldn’t even be having this conversation.”

Cave exhaled.

“Let me make it clear,” he said. “My way or no way.”

“Damn it.”

“Decide.”

“What exactly do you want me to do?”

“I’ll give it some thought,” he said. “Meet me in one hour at the Rikki. Come alone and don’t do anything stupid.”

“Okay.”

The line went dead.

Yardley powered off
and looked at Madison, who had been listening to the exchange, pacing.

“He wants to meet me in an hour at the Rikki,” she said.

Madison tapped two cigarettes out of a pack, handed one to Yardley and lit them both up with a gold lighter. She flicked the lid closed harder than necessary.

“It’s a trap,” she said. “He’s trying to flush you out.”

“So what do we do?”

“Simple. We oblige him.”

52

Day Three

July 20

Wednesday Night

The Concrete Flower Factory
turned out to be a large creepy building buried between an industrial complex and railroad tracks. A spiraling dark parking lot out front was packed sardine-tight with everything from shiny new euros to rusty old pickups. Renn-Jaa found a spot at the end of the line and killed the engine.

“Popular place.”

“Yeah, I’m surprised.”

The entry was an unceremonious red door with the name stenciled in black paint. Immediately inside was a riveting blond dressed in black accents—black stilettos, a short black skirt, black cuffs on her wrists and ankles and a black collar around her neck.

She fixated on Pantage, kissed her on the lips and then did the same to Renn-Jaa.

“Yummy,” she said. “Are you here for a session or the Gathering?”

Pantage shifted feet.

“A friend of ours comes here,” she said. “His name is Evan Starry. He uses someone and recommended her, but I can remember her name.”

The blond wrinkled her nose.

“Evan Starry,” she said. “That doesn’t ring a bell.”

“He’s about six four and built like a gladiator.”

Her face lit up.

“I know who you mean,” she said. “He mostly uses Secret. Hold on.”

She checked a notebook and said, “She’s in a session; she’ll be free in about forty-five minutes. The Gathering’s a fifty dollar donation, but since you’re getting a session, you can wait in there for free if you want.”

Renn-Jaa looked at Pantage and shrugged.

“Sure.”

“I’ll come and find you when Secret’s free.”

“Sounds good.”

The Gathering
was down a long hallway to the left, which emptied into a large space that must have housed manufacturing of some sort back in the day.

Smoke and perfume and sex permeated the air.

Rap dropped from ceiling speakers.

Bodies were everywhere.

Not just men, either, plenty of women too.

Most of the guys were normally dressed, some up, some down, but not too much that would raise an eyebrow on the street.

The women were the opposite.

They were flaunting skin and tattoos and panties and hair and attitude.

Drinks were being served from makeshift bars.

At first it looked like an ordinary rave.

When they got a few steps inside, however, they saw a rack with a woman stretched out tighter than tight, naked except for a black thong. Her mouth was open and another woman was licking her tongue.

Not far down was a second setup.

A woman was hogtied on a table with her face in the crotch of a second woman.

Pantage and Renn-Jaa bought glasses of white wine, five dollars each, and made their way around the room.

There were ten or twelve stages all told.

Most had at least two or three women in line, waiting their turn.

Someone came up behind Pantage and wrapped their hands around her stomach. Lips nibbled the back of her neck. She turned to find the blond from the front door.

“I’m on break,” she said. “I’m up next on the rack. I want you to be the one to dominate me.”

“Me?”

The woman nodded.

“Yeah, what do you think?”

“What am I supposed to do to you?”

“Whatever you want,” she said. “You can tease me or tickle me or make me come or put clothespins all over my body or whip me or whatever you want.”

Pantage pictured it.

“You don’t have to get naked or anything,” the woman added. “You can if you want but you don’t have to.”

“What would you like the most, if I agreed?”

“The most? Stretch me out tight and make me come.”

Silence.

Then Pantage shook her head.

“I’ll do that if you want, but it would need to be in private.”

The woman looked at Renn-Jaa.

“How about you? Are you up for it?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“No.”

“No meaning no, or no meaning you’re not sure?”

“No meaning I’m not sure. To be honest, I’m half tempted.”

“Then say yes.”

Renn-Jaa exhaled, deciding.

The woman grabbed her hand and pulled her towards the rack. Over her shoulder she said to Pantage, “You can join her if you want. Do a tag team on me. Pain and pleasure at the same time, or whatever you want.”

Pantage wandered
around the room then made her way over to the rack. Renn-Jaa and the blonde had their arms around each other’s waist, waiting for the device to free up.

Pantage put her face next to the blonde’s ear.

“I’ll make you a deal,” she said. “This is confidential so don’t repeat it.”

“Okay.”

“I might be getting into a relationship with the guy I told you about, Evan Starry.”

“The gladiator.”

“Right, the gladiator,” she said. “That’s why I came down here tonight, to find out what he does down here. Are you privy to that information?”

“Yes.”

“Well, if you fill me in, I’ll join in on that tag team.”

“Stick your tongue out.”

Pantage obeyed.

The woman sucked it, wet and deep.

Then she said, “You have a deal.”

53

Day Three

July 20

Wednesday Evening

The glare of the sun
gave way to shadows, which gave way to long shadows, which gave way to all shadows. Full night was next, not more than 45 minutes away. Pantage left a message; she was safe with Renn-Jaa and would call him later.

Today had been the worst.

Drift still hadn’t identified the longhaired man who saved Pantage and could identify Jackie Lake’s killer.

He had zero information on the gladiator.

His little trick at September’s office was about to drag him down into an eternal black abyss.

As far as Michael Northway went, the videotapes were golden but that’s all there was. Drift’s counterparts in New York couldn’t get Northway’s image on the news since the case didn’t involve a child or a missing person in imminent danger. Also, they didn’t have time to try to identify the woman who had been walking with Northway. The FBI profiler, Leigh Sandt, was more of the same, sympathetic and willing but overworked and unavailable.

His phone rang.

“Are you at home?”

The voice belonged to Kelly.

“Yeah, why?”

“Do you have a woman with you?”

“No.”

“I’m coming over.”

The line died.

When she showed up,
Drift was showered and in fresh jeans with a white cotton shirt rolled at the cuffs. Towel-dried hair, damp but not dripping, hung over his face. A cold blue can was in his left hand, half empty from two long swallows.

Kelly looked good.

No, not good, way beyond.

She wore Daisy Dukes and a minimal cerulean tank, with white ankle socks and Sketchers down below. Her hair was loose and ruffled.

Drift handed her a glass of white wine over ice, then ran an index finger around her bellybutton.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi back.”

Behind Drift’s house, Green Mountain dropped into his yard, almost to the back door. Up that incline at the top of the property was a redwood deck that looked over the roof and onto the billion city lights that twinkled to the east. That’s where they ended up.

The talk was light.

The temperature was nice.

Drift filled her in on the Michael Northway tapes, the fact that it was definitely him that Kelly saw, and that no one was available to run down the lead.

“Go yourself,” Kelly said.

“Can’t,” he said. “I’m working that Jackie Lake case.”