Fair Warning (Jack McEvoy #3)(42)

To me there had never been any doubt. Rachel was the one. Her name was on the bullet that pierced me.

We clinked glasses. But then Rachel moved on before any more could be said on that subject.

“Were you charged?” she asked.

“The deputy city attorney kicked the case as soon as she saw it,” I said. “It’s just a new form of harassment in the era where reporters are viewed by some as lower than scum. These cops think they can get away with everything.”

“You really think you’re out in front of them on this case?”

“I do. Have you changed your mind about—”

“What have you gotten?”

I spent the next twenty minutes telling her about Jason Hwang, William Orton, and how my partner on the story, Emily Atwater, had made further strides with a source at UC–Irvine. Rachel asked several questions and offered bits of advice here and there. It was clear that she felt I was onto something that was right in her ten ring. She had once hunted serial killers with the FBI; now she was doing background searches on job candidates. We drank another round of martinis and when the talking ended there was a decision to be made.

“You just leave your car here?” Rachel asked.

“The valets know me here,” I said. “If I’m walking home because I’ve had one too many, they’ll give back my keys. Then I just walk back up in the morning and get my car.”

“Well, I shouldn’t drive either.”

“You can walk with me to my place. We can come back for your car when you’re ready to drive.”

There it was. A half-assed invitation. She gave it a half-smile in return.

“And what if that is not until the morning?” she asked.

“Three martinis … I think it’s going to take at least that long,” I said.

I paid the tab with a platinum American Express card. Rachel saw it.

“You still getting royalties, Jack?”

“Some. Less every year but the books are still in print.”

“I heard that every time they catch a new serial, he has a copy of The Poet somewhere in his possessions. It’s also a popular book in every prison I’ve ever been in.”

“Good to know. Maybe I should’ve had a book signing in Metro last night.”

She laughed loudly and I knew she’d overdone it with the martinis. She was usually too much in control to laugh out loud like that.

“Let’s go before we both pass out,” I said.

We slid off our stools and headed for the door.

The alcohol continued to loosen her tongue as we walked the two blocks.

“I just want you to know that the maid at my place has been on vacation for about a year,” I said.

She laughed again.

“I would expect nothing less,” she said. “I remember some of your places. Heavy on the bachelor.”

“Yeah, well, I guess some things never change,” I said.

“I want in,” she said.

I took a few unsteady steps without responding. I wondered if she was talking about our relationship or my story. She made it clear without my asking.

“I’m making tons of money but I’m not … doing anything,” she said. “I used to … I had a skill, Jack. Now …”

“That’s why I came to see you yesterday,” I said. “I thought you would be—”

“You know what I did today? I presented to a company that makes plastic furniture. They want to make sure they don’t hire any illegals, so they come to me and guess what? I’ll take their money if they want to give it to me.”

“Well, that’s what the business is about. You knew that when—”

“Jack, I want to do something. I want to help. I can help you with your story.”

“Uh … yeah, I thought maybe you’d want to profile this guy—whoever’s doing this. Also, the victims. We need—”

“No, I want more than that. I want to be out there on this. Like with the Scarecrow.”

I nodded. We had worked hand in hand on that.

“Well, this is a little different. You were an agent back then and I already have a partner on—”

“But I can really help you on this. I still have connections in the federal government. I can get things. Find out things you can’t.”

“What things?”

“I don’t know yet. I would have to see but I still know people in all the agencies because I worked with them.”

I nodded. We had gotten to my building. I couldn’t tell how much of what she was saying was the alcohol talking but she seemed to be talking from the heart. I fumbled with the keys to open the gate.

“Let’s go in and sit down,” I said. “We’ll talk more about it.”

“I don’t want to talk anymore tonight, Jack,” she said.





19

I had never been to the courthouse in Santa Ana, nor had I ever driven from the San Fernando Valley down to Orange County on a weekday morning. I left at seven to make sure I got there before nine. That was after I walked up the street twice to Mistral to retrieve my Jeep and then Rachel’s BMW. I parked hers in front of the building, in the same spot Mattson and Sakai had used to arrest me. I then returned her key to the table next to the bed where she slept. I wrote a note asking her to call me when she woke up and left it with two Advils on the bed table.