that him? Did I pick the right one?”
I answered his question with a question of my own.
“The big guy who bought the women drinks at the Bridge. Did he ever get lucky? Did any of those women ever leave with him?”
“Jeez, I don’t know. You think a lot of my powers of observation, Sergeant. And I’m not sure why.”
It was a funny remark, but I didn’t laugh.
My gut told me that Petrović was our killer, but that hunch wasn’t backed by evidence of any kind.
“Let’s go, Denny.”
Conklin and I drove Lopez back to the vicinity of Bud’s Bar and left him on the corner where we’d found him.
CHAPTER 83
Anna was at the Tesla dealership on Bush Street, off Van Ness, inside the office she shared with the copy machine.
At just before 5:00 p.m., she was finishing up the monthly books, entering last week’s expenses onto the spreadsheet. The numbers were facts; sales minus dollars spent on salaries, supplies, rent, advertising, even the birthday parties, including hers.
Anna excelled in this job, but socially she was a disaster. She understood all the reasons why. But setting her own catastrophic damage aside, other people were too peculiar for her. Too not from her world.
She’d tried and failed to explain this to Dale.
Dale Winston was behind his desk in the showroom, doing some paperwork. He liked her, and she liked him, too, but not in the way he wanted. She walked across the showroom floor in time to the bouncy music coming over the sound system.
“Hiya, Dale.”
He looked up. “Anna. Hey. You look good in purple. You know that?”
She thanked him, rearranged her coat and scarf, then said, “Dale, I need a favor.”
“Anything. I’m all yours.”
She smiled and said, “Seriously.”
“What do you need?”
She told him, and he was reluctant, very, but in the end he caved, telling her to bring back the vehicle before the shop opened in the morning.
“Not a problem.”
“It can’t be, or we’re both getting fired—or worse.”
“Do not worry, Dale. You can trust me.”
“I do trust you, Anna. Do you trust me? Wait. Hear me out. Maybe we could have dinner together this week. Just to celebrate your birthday.”
“Uh, you know we’re not allowed to fraternize, Dale. I’m sorry.”
He opened the drawer and took out a key ring. He waited for her to hold out her hand, then he gave her the keys, making a point of pressing her palm with his fingers.
She clutched the keys.
“Before 9:00 a.m.,” he said unnecessarily.
She nodded. “And will you call Roger? Say I’m on my way?”
Anna went back to her office, got her bag, and waved good-bye to Dale. She walked a block to the service department. Roger was behind the counter, phones ringing in the office behind him, the service bays still busy at the end of the day.
Roger looked through her without seeing her—her scar did that to people—but she was glad he didn’t want to make small talk.
She just wanted to go.
“You need pointers on the car, Anna?”
Anna told him she knew the Model X and had taken a couple of test-drives with Dale. That part was a lie, but Roger seemed satisfied. He pointed to the black Tesla Model X parked outside the service center. It was a prototype with a dinged-up front fender, and while Anna usually liked things to be perfect, she only cared that this car was fast and wasn’t her red Kia.
Roger said, “Have fun. But not too much.”
Anna nodded and touched the door handle, and the falcon wing rose silently, majestically, revealing the car’s sleek interior. Wow. Just wow. She took off her coat, placed it with her handbag in the passenger seat, and slipped in behind the wheel.
The car automatically adjusted the mirrors, the seat.
Anna buckled in, touched the button that started up the engine, and was rewarded by a subaudible hum and the sense that the car was alive and attuned to her.
It was magical.
CHAPTER 84
Because it was only 5:15 p.m. and the Butcher didn’t leave his house until 6:30 on weeknights, Anna decided to take the long way to Fell Street.
It wasn’t every day that she got to drive a hundred-thousand-dollar car. In fact, this might be the first, last, and only.
Smiling to herself, feeling self-indulgent and rich, she set her course for the Panhandle and pulled out of the garage. The engine was surprisingly silent, accelerating and decelerating like nothing she’d ever experienced. Like the car was reading her mind.
It did everything fast, so fast.
Anna wished she’d had the Model X that