“Humans First. That’s the real story. I’ve been cultivating Friar for months, and it’s working—he called me when he wanted a reporter to give you two a hard time. You’ve read that statement of his by now.”
“Of course.”
“He’s alibied up, down, and sideways for the night Hilliard was killed. What he doesn’t mention is that while he was at a party in San Diego with about a hundred other people, a couple of his lieutenants were here in Del Cielo. One of them lives in Texas, the other in northern California.”
“You think they killed for him?”
“I think they’re capable of it. The two men I’m speaking of are Armand Jones and Paul Chittenden. They stayed here that night, checked out the next day.”
Now that was interesting. “Who’s your source?”
“Uh-uh.” He shook his head. “I’m not about to lose him or her as a source.”
Fair enough. “I’ve got an address for Jones. Chittenden wasn’t mentioned in my file.”
“He’s a recent promotion. Here.” He pulled out his Black-Berry, scrolled around till he found the contact info, then jotted it in his notebook and handed her the sheet of paper.
There was a knock on the door. Rule moved to it, stood quietly, then said, “This time it really is breakfast. I smell sausage.”
“I’ll leave you to your meal,” Evans said, taking a last swig of coffee before setting the mug down. “Just one more thing. I hear there will be a meeting of the local branch of Humans First tonight.” He smiled slyly. “I may be parked near the entrance to Friar’s place. Be interesting to see who attends.”
“Is that so?” Lily smiled. Time for some payback—of both kinds. “You might want to keep an eye out for Chief Daly. I hear he’s a member. Certainly explains why he’s so worked up about my personal life, doesn’t it?”
Evans’s eyebrows went up. “That so? Who’s your source?”
“Uh-uh,” she said, and shook her head just as he had. “And you didn’t hear that from me. You can use it, but I get to be an anonymous source.”
He grinned, gave Rule a lazy salute, and left.
“I like Ray,” Rule said after tipping the waiter who’d unloaded their food, “but now I’m wondering if that’s me, or his Gift.”
“I liked him, too. Don’t trust him, of course.” She piled scrambled eggs on her plate. “Not that I think he lied, exactly. But he has an agenda. That may be just what he said, plus a good dose of ambition, but we don’t know yet.”
“True. What’s on your agenda today?” Rule added the rest of the eggs to his plate, which already held half a dozen sausage patties. “I’ve a suggestion. Why don’t we split up? I can have a little chat with the press, distract them from you.”
“I’ll take you up on that. I’ve got too many places to be today to waste time digging out from a press huddle.” She ate absently, her mind turning over possibilities. “I need to see the place where the body was found, but at least I’ve seen the photos now, so that can wait a little longer. So…Mariah or Adele?” She tapped her fork against her plate. “Mariah first. Maybe I can catch her before the press batters her too badly.”
Rule had finished his eggs while she wasn’t paying attention. He poured more coffee from the carafe that had arrived with the food. “Surely you want to check out those two men Evans told you about. Jones and Chittenden.”
“I’ll do a run on them, sure, and will see if I can confirm what Evans said about them staying here. But they aren’t my first priority.”
“Why not?” he asked sharply.
“My first priority is determining whether I have jurisdiction, remember?”
“The tattoo proves magic was involved.”
“The tattoo proves someone used magic to apply a tattoo. It suggests a lot more, but doesn’t prove it. Not unless Arjenie can tell me those symbols translate as ‘kill this guy.’”
“That can be sorted out later. Clearly Friar is behind this.”
“No,” she said slowly, “that isn’t clear. Hate isn’t enough. Hilliard lived here for years. Why kill him now?”
“There’s a baby,” Rule said tersely. “It isn’t Steve’s, but Friar doesn’t know that. I don’t imagine he’s happy with having what he believes is a lupus grandson.”
“I repeat, why now? The baby is four months old. I can come up with possible motives, like if Steve found something out Friar didn’t want spread around. But that leaves some big holes in the fabric. What’s the tattoo for? Friar might condone killing, but would he condone using magic? Would one of his lieutenants be Gifted?”
“You won’t know until you check.”
“True, but it doesn’t feel right. Why did Steve meet with his killer in that out-of-the-way spot?”
He shoved his chair back. “He could have been tricked, lured there.”
She tipped her head back to watch as he began pacing. He was tied tight all of a sudden. “Maybe. That’s all I’ve got right now, lots of maybes. But if Steve knew something dangerous about Friar, wouldn’t he have passed it on to his Rho right away, rather than jaunting off to this deserted spot for whatever reason?”
“I don’t know. Yes, I suppose he would, if he understood it was important.”
“And once the bad guy got him there, how did he immobilize Steve? If it was wolfbane, that means Steve was relaxed enough to eat or drink something the killer gave him. Surely he wouldn’t be that comfortable with one of Friar’s lieutenants.”
“For God’s sake, Lily, they could get around that. Those men are from out of town. Steve probably didn’t know they were in Humans First.” He waved a hand, brushing that off. “We can figure out how they tricked him later. You’re getting hung up on minutiae.”
Yesterday she’d wanted him to quit hiding behind all that damned pleasantness. Looked like her wish had come true. “That’s how I build a case. Minutiae. Though I like to call it motive, means, and opportunity, and right now, they aren’t adding up.”
“What if he wasn’t killed there? They could have killed him elsewhere and dumped the body where it wouldn’t be found right away. It was their bad luck someone decided to hike that trail when he did.”
“Look, I’m not crossing Friar or his men off the list, but we can’t make the evidence fit what we want. We have to go where it points.” She pushed her chair back and stood. “As for where he was killed, I know you haven’t seen the crime scene photos—” She’d made sure of that. She’d shared the written reports with Rule, but he didn’t need to see pictures of his friend’s corpse—“but they support the idea that he was killed where his body was found.”
“Where’s the blood?” Rule demanded. “If his throat was slashed there, why wasn’t the ground soaked in blood?”
She stared at him, her stomach clenching sickly. “I didn’t tell you that. I didn’t tell you there wasn’t much blood at the scene.”
Another impatient gesture. “I don’t need to be shielded. I appreciate the sentiment, but I don’t need to be shielded. I know what death looks like. I checked out the photos this morning before you were up, and there isn’t enough blood.”
“Shit. Shit. You can’t do that. Those files are password-protected.”
“I’ve lived with you for months now. Of course I’ve seen you enter your password. That’s not the point. If there wasn’t enough blood, why—”
“It’s damn sure the point to me! Some of the documents behind that firewall are secret or top secret! Do you have any idea how much trouble I could be in if someone found out you had access to all that?”
“How could anyone find out?”
“And that makes it okay? Jesus.” She scraped a hand through her hair. “Dammit, Rule, I trusted you!”