Rule wondered if Sam had told Ruben . . . Lily’s boss at the FBI, the head of Unit Twelve, who was also the creator and first-in-command of the Shadow Unit.
Mika has informed him.
Mika was the D.C. dragon. Rule frowned. Sam was going to an immense amount of trouble for Julia. Rule knew he’d already delayed his departure for some important gathering of dragons. He meant to render himself vulnerable, leave a possible opening for their enemy. If Sam considered that a debt was owed him for all this, it would be one whopping huge debt.
I do this for Li Lei, that cold, crystalline voice said. There is no debt. There can never be debt between myself and Li Lei.
SEVEN
THE coffee in Lily’s cup was black, burned, and bitter. Suited her just fine. Maybe that was because it fit her mood, or maybe it was the comfort of the familiar. How many cups of bad coffee had she drunk when she was a local cop like the man who’d just handed her this one?
“If that doesn’t work, you’re gonna need toothpicks,” Officer Perez said.
“It’ll do. Thanks.” They were in the tiny alcove of a room where visitors to the patients on this floor could get coffee or a soft drink. Scott and Mark—her designated bodyguards, though she preferred to think of them as mobile backup—were just down the hall. Lily had snarled her way into this abbreviated privacy after interviewing the newest vic, needing a moment alone to gather her thoughts.
A moment was all she’d gotten, too.
The second victim, Ronnie Winsome, was being moved up here from the emergency room, but hadn’t arrived yet. Lily sipped nasty coffee. “Your sergeant clear you to help me out?”
“She did,” Perez said. “She cursed, but she cleared it. She wants to be kept informed.”
“She can know what you know. She won’t be brought into the case further at this point.”
Officer Ramon Perez wasn’t quite a rookie, but his big brown eyes hadn’t turned cop yet. He was a patrol officer, but he wanted to be more, and probably would be. Called to the scene of an ordinary rear-end collision with no injuries, he’d realized that the at-fault driver was confused. Lots of cops would have noticed that much, but Perez hadn’t thought he seemed intoxicated, and the man had passed the breath test. Winsome hadn’t wanted to go to the hospital, but Perez had persuaded him he needed to be evaluated.
Meanwhile, unknown to Lily, Ruben had been hit with one of his hunches. He’d instructed the SDPD to put out an alert for all units to watch for “impairment or memory loss of an unusual nature.” They were to report same to FBI Unit Twelve. Perez had heard the alert about an hour after the ambulance carried Winsome away and he’d gone the extra mile, heading for the hospital to reinterview the man.
That was when he discovered that Ronald Ralph Winsome, known to friends and family as Ronnie, didn’t know what year it was.
Winsome had only lost three years, not most of a lifetime. Lily didn’t know of any connection between him and her mother, and the accident had taken place more than ten miles from Uncle Chen’s restaurant, so there was no obvious geographical link. But the time fit. Winsome had rear-ended the car in front of him at roughly 8:15. Julia Yu had started screaming at 8:20.
Lily had just finished interviewing Winsome. He was upset by the memory loss, but otherwise seemed okay. She’d talked to his doctor, too. Amnesia was rare and the MRI didn’t show any head trauma. The ER doctor was mystified, but he would have released Winsome with a recommendation to seek counseling if Perez hadn’t persuaded him to hold off until Lily arrived.
Lily planned to take advantage of Perez’s competence, his big brown eyes, and his bilingual abilities. “Winsome’s wife is with him—Cara Winsome, fifty-one, brown and black, five-five and one fifty. She’s the second wife. First wife is Anna Caraway. Winsome and Number One have one son, thirty-two, named Brian. Brian lives in Santa Ana and is on his way here. Cara has two daughters, both grown, both living here in San Diego. She says he’s been under a lot of stress because of overwork—he’s in management at a national clothing chain—and he worked late tonight. He was presumably on his way home when he had the accident, though of course he doesn’t remember.”
Perez nodded.
“I know that much, and that’s all I know. I need more. Lots more. I want you to talk to the wife. She defaults to Spanish under stress. You said you’re fluent.”
He straightened unconsciously, looking very young and very serious. “You want me to conduct the interview in Spanish?”
“I want her comfortable so she’ll open up. I think using Spanish will help with that.”
“Anything in particular I’m looking for?”
“Connections. You know I’m a touch sensitive, right? When I interviewed Winsome I got his permission to check for magic. Found something, the same sort of something that was on my other vic. At this point, we’ve got nothing to connect the two of them but that vague trace of magic and memory loss. I want you to find out who Winsome knows socially. I need names, addresses, professions, and when and where Cara thinks her husband might have last seen each person. I want to know about his ex, her ex, and casual acquaintances. The guy who mows their lawn. Where they shop for groceries and go to church and fill up the gas tank. Find out where and how Winsome spends his time when he isn’t at the office. Does he read a lot? Work out? Go fishing? Haunt the home improvement center? You get her talking, you’ll get some of this without asking. Take your time. Get her comfortable with you. I’ll send someone else to talk to his boss and coworkers, see if there’s a work connection. You’re going to focus on the personal.”
“Okay. Who’s the first vic? You have someone cross-checking there?”
“Her name is Julia Yu. She’s my mother, so I’ll be cross-checking on that end.”
“Your . . . shit. I mean—I’m sorry, Special Agent. Is she okay?”
“She will be.” Somehow. Getting her to Sam was the first step, and Rule would handle that. Lily didn’t have a clue what the next steps were, but they’d find out. Somehow. “I’m going to—” Her phone buzzed. She glanced at it. “I have to take that. Get busy. You’ve got my number.”
Officer Perez nodded crisply and left. The call was from Ackleford, who’d already conducted the interview with Winsome’s boss. “She never heard of Julia Yu or any other Yu. I got the names of twelve of Winsome’s coworkers from her. My men are calling them.” One of Ackleford’s charming habits was referring to the agents in his command as his men, regardless of their sex.
“Good. I’ve got a local cop digging for more names from Mrs. Winsome. He speaks Spanish, and she’s more comfortable in that language. I’m going to contact more of my family to see if they know of any link to Winsome. I’m also going to alert area ERs to watch for cases of unusual impairment or memory loss.”
“Fuck. You think there’s more?”
“We’ll find out, won’t we?”
“Maybe this isn’t about you, after all.” He hung up.
Lily stood there a moment, holding her phone tightly. She needed to call Ruben, but she wanted to call Rule instead. There was no point in it. If Rule had persuaded her mother to let Sam treat her, he’d have let her know. He hadn’t, so there was no reason to call him . . . but he’d have texted instead of calling, wouldn’t he? Knowing she might be with the victim or a witness, he’d text so he didn’t interrupt, and sometimes texts were delayed. She could call him and check and . . . maybe interrupt him when he was talking to Julia.