Living with the Dead - By Kelley Armstrong Page 0,32
those carefree days. One thing this particular kid would regret was being at Bane that night, heading for the bathroom, hearing a hysterical server telling her colleague that there was a dead girl back there who looked like Portia Kane.
Earley hadn’t been too stoned to see an opportunity. He’d snuck back, cell phone in hand, ready to take pictures of the dead celebutante. Then came regret number two—that he’d invested his money in drugs instead of a better cell phone. The pictures had been too dark—Finn could barely make out the shape of a person let alone identify it as Kane.
As Earley had been looking for a light switch, he’d heard people coming and saw, glittering on Kane’s wrist, the second opportunity to profit from her misfortune. Having no idea how to sell a diamond bracelet, he’d gone to the only criminal contact he knew. His dealer was another college boy who knew zip about fencing jewels, but had offered to ask around for a cut. So Neil Earley had ended up in an alley, offering the bracelet to an undercover cop.
Finn would make sure someone followed up on the kid’s story and charge him with theft—maybe that would make him appreciate college more—but he had little doubt Earley was telling the truth. That meant he needed a suspect, and Robyn Peltier had regained her spot as the person he most needed to question.
“We’ve got her family,” Madoz said as they grabbed coffee. “They’re in Philly. Parents still married, still residing in the same house where Peltier grew up. He’s an engineer. She’s a nurse. No criminal records for either.”
“Shit,” said a voice behind Finn. “You’d better get the SWAT team up there, pronto. I’m sure they’re harboring their dangerous fugitive daughter, got the place rigged up like Waco.”
Finn looked over to see Trent sitting on a desk two rows away.
“Good thing I came back,” Trent continued. “Because, man, if you were any farther a field, you’d be standing in the parking lot.”
“If she’s innocent, why’d she run?”
“I . . . don’t know,” Madoz said, eyeing him as if this was a pop quiz. “Do you think she is?”
“Sorry. I was thinking out loud.”
Madoz tried to look as if this didn’t bother him and failed miserably.
“She ran because she’s scared,” Trent said. “She’s never had any trouble with the law and all of a sudden she’s caught over the body of her dead client. She panicked. Now she’s trying to figure out how to fix it, and splashing her photo across the papers isn’t going to help.”
“Finn?” Madoz said as Finn listened to Trent.
“Sorry, you were saying about the parents . . . ?”
Madoz hesitated, making sure Finn’s attention wasn’t going to wander before answering. “I’ve persuaded a couple of Philly detectives to stop by and talk to the parents, save us the trip. Is there anything specific you want?”
“Ask if they know Robyn’s friends. I’m specifically interested in a young woman who might be in L.A. right now. Probably Indo American. Could be a journalist. Maybe high society.”
“Sounds like a gossip columnist.”
“Just tell them to take down information on any friend who could pass for Indo American.”
Trent sighed. “You are so far out in left field, you’re—”
“Can you hold on a sec?” Finn asked Madoz. “Be right back.”
“Rule one,” Finn murmured when he and Trent were in the empty hall. “Don’t talk to me with others around.”
“Hey, you don’t have to answer.”
“Rule two, if you’re going to take off, warn me.”
“I didn’t take off. I tried to get your attention when you left that apartment, and you couldn’t see me. Then I lost you, so I hung around the apartment, seeing if I could find anything you missed before coming to the station to wait.”
Finn had a good sense for when people were telling the truth and when they weren’t, and one glance at Trent told him the split was about fifty-fifty.
Trent hurried on before Finn could call him on it. “While I was at the apartment, though, I saw something. There was a kid trying to break into Robyn’s apartment after you left.”
Finn stopped walking. “Break in?”
“With lock picks, no less. One of your guys spotted him, but he hid those picks and spun a story so fast your officer let him go.”
“I’ll follow up on that.”
“Good, because this woman you seem so set on—”
“Trent?”
“Yes?”
“Did you see me interviewing a kid a few minutes ago?”