Fair Warning (Jack McEvoy #3)(9)

“They asked me about anything unusual with her lately and I couldn’t really think of anything except some asshole she hooked up with in a bar a few months ago seemed like he knew too much about her, you know? It freaked her out a little bit.”

“Knew too much how?”

“Well, she didn’t really say a lot. She just said she met this guy at a bar and it was supposed to be some rando hookup but that it felt like a setup. Like they were having drinks and he said stuff that made her realize he already knew who she was and things about her and it was really fucking creepy and she just got the hell out of there.”

I was having trouble tracking the steps of the story so I tried to break it down into pieces.

“Okay, so what was the name of the place where they met?” I asked.

“I don’t know but she liked to go to places up in the Valley,” Hill said. “Places on Ventura. She said the men up there weren’t so pushy. And I think it had something to do with her age.”

“How so?”

“She was getting older. The guys in the clubs in Hollywood, West Hollywood, they’re all younger or looking for younger.”

“Right. Did you tell the police about her preferring the Valley?”

“Yeah.”

I had met Tina in a restaurant bar on Ventura. I was beginning to understand Mattson and Sakai’s interest in me.

“She lived near the Sunset Strip, right?” I asked.

“Yes,” Hill said. “Just up the hill. Near the old Spago’s.”

“So would she drive over the hill to the Valley?”

“No, never. She got a DUI a while back and she stopped driving when she went out. She used Uber and Lyft.”

I assumed that Mattson and Sakai had gotten Tina’s Uber and Lyft records. They would help identify the bars she frequented and determine her other movements.

“And so, getting back to the stalking thing,” I said. “She just went to the club on her own and met this guy, or was it prearranged like through a dating app or something?”

“No, she was doing her thing,” Hill said. “She just went there to get a buzz on and hear music, maybe meet a guy. Then she sort of bumped into this guy at the bar. From her standpoint it was random, or it was supposed to be.”

It seemed that what had happened between Tina and me wasn’t a one-off. Tina had a habit of going alone to bars to maybe meet a guy. I held no old-fashioned beliefs about women. They were free to go wherever and do whatever they wanted, and I did not believe that a victim was responsible for what happens to her. But along with the DUI and prior drug possession, I did have an angle on Tina now as a risk-taker. Going to bars where men were less pushy was not enough of a safety edge. Not by a long shot.

“Okay, so they meet at the place and start talking and having drinks at the bar,” I said. “And she had never seen him before?”

“Exactly,” Hill said.

“And did she tell you what he specifically said that creeped her out?”

“Not really. She just said, ‘He knew me. He knew me.’ It was like he somehow let something slip and it wasn’t random at all.”

“Did she say whether he was already there when she got to the club or came in after?”

“She didn’t say. Hold on, I have another call.”

She didn’t wait for my response. She clicked over to the other call and I waited, thinking about the incident in the club. When Hill came back on the line her tone and words were completely different. She was harsh and angry.

“You motherfucker. You scumbag. You’re the guy.”

“What? What are you—”

“That was Detective Mattson. I emailed him. He said you’re not working a story and I should stay away from you. You knew her. You knew Tina and now you’re a suspect. You fucking asshole.”

“No, wait. I’m not a suspect and I am working on a story. Yes, I met Tina once but I’m not the guy from the—”

“Don’t fucking come near me!”

She disconnected the call.

“Shit!”

I felt like I had been punched in the gut, and my face burned with humiliation over the subterfuge I had used. I had lied to Lisa Hill. I wasn’t even sure why, or what I was doing. The visit from the detectives had tipped me into a rabbit hole and I wasn’t sure of my motives. Was it about Christina Portrero and me, or was it about the case and the story I might write about it?

Christina and I were one and done. That night she had ordered a car and left. I had asked for another date and she had said no.

“I think you’re too straight for me,” she said.

“What does that mean?” I asked.

“That it wouldn’t work.”

“Why?”

“Nothing personal. I just don’t think you’re my type. Tonight was great, but for the long haul, I mean.”

“Well, then, what is your type?”

It was such a lame response. She just smiled and said her car was arriving. She went out the door and I never saw her again.

Now she was dead and I couldn’t leave it alone. My life had somehow changed since the moment the two detectives had approached me in the garage. I was down the rabbit hole now and I sensed that what was ahead of me in this place was only darkness and trouble. But I also sensed that it was a story. A good story. My kind of story.