Hide (Detective Harriet Foster #1)(41)

At her desk, Foster called downstairs to the desk sergeant. No sign of Ashley Tighe, Stella Dean’s study partner. Foster had obviously been stood up. When she hung up, she pulled up Tighe’s driver’s license and ran her address and number.

“What’re you doin’?” Lonergan was watching her from his chair, his fingers laced across his belly.

“Stella Dean’s whereabouts are still unconfirmed. Ashley Tighe was the name she gave us. Her study partner? While you were out, I called her. She agreed to come in and talk.” She looked over at him. “She didn’t show.”

“Dean? You really think she could stab somebody over twenty times?”

Foster stood. “Anybody could, if properly motivated. You coming?”

“Where to?”

“To Teddy’s for the blonde, then Tighe’s for Dean.”

Lonergan sneered at her. “What? You’re not bringing Li along?”

Foster was already halfway to the door. “Grow up.”





CHAPTER 23


Amelia had a sense that the other side of her bed was occupied but hadn’t for the life of her any idea who was doing the occupying. She rolled over, saw the naked man there. Black. Lean. He took up most of the length of the queen-size platform bed. Amelia rose up on one elbow and just stared at him, enjoying the view, despite the pounding headache, which was courtesy of a fading high. She had a faint recollection of a night of cosmos or Thunderbird or something that would need to come back to her gradually after time, along with the naked man’s name. Something with a T. Tony? Tommy? She gave up. It wasn’t that important anyway, was it? This was a one-off. She’d never see him again.

She shook him, then took a lascivious peek under the rumpled top sheet. It all came back to her then—the night, the guy. A pickup in a bar at almost closing. She peered at the clock on the bedside table, almost twelve hours ago now. She shook Mr. Handsome again, harder this time—fun time was over. Half the day was gone already, and she had things to do. Preparations.

“Hey, good looking. Rise and shine. Time to go.”

He groaned awake, turned groggily, blinked bleary eyed a few times, trying to focus. It didn’t appear that he recalled the night any better than she did. It was definitely Thunderbird, now that she thought about it. She had the faint taste of it, akin to cheap gasoline, coating her tongue.

She rolled out of bed and found a pair of sweats and a T-shirt slung over a chair and put them on. “Gotta go, lover boy.”

He sat up on the side of the bed and searched the floor for his pants. “Some night, huh?”

Amelia flicked on the television to the midday news while she watched Mr. T dress and hunt for his shoes. She spotted them kicked under a chair and pointed the remote to guide him to them. “There.”

She turned back to the TV, hoping there was something new on the body they’d found on the Riverwalk. Nothing on that so far, but plenty on the overnight body count. Fourteen shot around the city, three fatally. What a violent town. Who knew how many bodies lay scattered around unclaimed, tossed away like trash, moldering in abandoned buildings or buried in a forest preserve? The possibilities were too dark to even imagine.

“I’m out,” her date announced on his way to the door.

“Hey,” she said. “What’s your name again?”

“What’s it matter?”

He had a point. “You’re right.”

“It’s been real,” he said as he walked out the door.

She locked the door behind him. “I might agree if I could remember it.” She stretched, then padded back to the news. Seriously, she thought, what a violent town.





CHAPTER 24


They were back at Teddy’s with Giles Valentine before noon, looking for information on the blonde. A lunch crowd was beginning to form, mostly tourists who’d wandered off the Riverwalk looking for a place to sit and eat before hitting the Mag Mile to get their pockets picked, legally, at the high-end stores there.

Lonergan held up the photo from the security footage and pointed to the blonde. “Who’s this, and before you get cute and start dancin’ around playin’ with us, this shows you straight up talkin’ to her when you shoulda been workin’. And on top of that, we’ve got a dead girl across the river, so this isn’t some game.”

Foster cleared her throat to let what Lonergan had said die down a bit. “We’re hoping she’s in here often enough that you may know who she is?”

“Since you never forget a face and talk up all the ladies who come in here.” Lonergan sat the photo on the bar, tapped it with a finger. “We need a name and where we can find her. Now.”

Valentine reached up and adjusted his tie. “What’d she do?”

Lonergan shook his head. “That’s a question. Want to try again?”

Valentine’s face colored. He really didn’t like Lonergan. “Or?”

Lonergan stepped forward, glancing up at Valentine’s hat and then down at the bow tie. He didn’t answer the question, but the look he gave the man had him backing away from the bar.

“I hate cops,” Valentine mumbled.

“Neither here nor there, pal,” Lonergan groused.

For a moment Valentine said nothing; then he turned his attention from Lonergan to Foster. “Her name’s Kate. She’s a bit of a regular. She lives in the area. We’ve been out a couple times.”