‘Maybe the key that starts the car isn’t the same one that opens the door.’
‘Exactly,’ he said, then gestured at the steering column. ‘And why aren’t we finding a broken ignition plate and some loose wires in there?’
Felicia shrugged. ‘We’re dealing with extremely careful guys here. They know if any cop sees a broken ignition, they’ll think it’s a stolen vehicle.’
‘But the stolen plates would already tell them that.’ Striker turned the key-ring over in his hand, looked at the fob. It was a small grey thing. Completely generic. He pressed the button, but none of the doors or trunk unlocked. ‘The fob’s for something else.’
‘Garage?’ Felicia asked.
‘Maybe. Or an elevator. Or a building entrance.’ Striker looked at the yellow key-ring charm. It was connected by a short chain. He flipped it over. On the opposite side was a happy face, though someone had painted a bullet-hole between the eyes, with a red blood trail running down the centre.
Felicia scrunched up her face. ‘How quaint.’
Striker said nothing. He just kept thinking it over and rolling the happy face between his finger and thumb. He was in the same position, still thinking, when a marked patrol car pulled up. The engine was overheated, and it died with a rattle.
Constable Chris Pemberton stepped out, all six foot six and three hundred pounds of the man. Striker was six foot one and worked out hard with weights, yet Pemberton made him look ordinary. Pemberton was a five-year guy, solid for patrol, and soon to be on his way to a specialty squad.
Striker briefed him on the situation. ‘No one comes in or out except us and Ident. Keep a ledger with precise times. If Deputy Chief Laroche shows up and pushes his way in, make sure he signs the ledger. That prick has a pattern of contaminating crime scenes.’
Pemberton nodded.
‘When more units get here,’ Striker continued, ‘I want them to canvass the entire area, north and south. Witnesses, video, everything. Call my cell if you get any hits. It’s always on.’
‘Will do, Boss.’
Striker took one last look at the happy face key-ring. It was part of the solution, he knew. There was a reason for it being there, one he just couldn’t yet understand. He also wondered how Red Mask had lost it in the mud. Had he simply dropped it? Or was he hurt? Making his first mistake?
Striker placed the key in a brown paper bag, sealed it, then left it on the passenger seat for Noodles. He stood back from the Honda and peeled off his gloves, then met Felicia’s stare and didn’t bother to smile.
‘We’ve done all we can do here,’ he said.
She nodded reluctantly. ‘He’s gotten away.’
‘Not for long.’
He strode back to the cruiser, and Felicia followed. They drove out of the alley and headed south. Back to ground zero. Where the nightmare had started. Where they would have to find their next lead in the case.
St Patrick’s High.
Eight
Courtney Striker stood in front of the dressing-room mirror in Warwick’s Costume Rentals and frowned at her reflection. The nurse costume was sexy — and she wanted that, wanted something that would attract the eyes of every boy she met during the Parade of Lost Souls on Friday — but it was a pretty common costume, cliched, and well, just not her.
Besides, Raine had already gotten one. And if Raine was gonna wear one to the Parade of Lost Souls, then there was no way she was going to wear one too. With the exception of Courtney’s abs, Raine definitely had the better body. She was a half foot taller and had long slender legs; Courtney’s were shorter and more muscular.
Raine had bigger boobs that looked ready to pop right out of the costume; Courtney’s were small and perky.
Raine had skin like caramel; Courtney’s was white as milk foam.
And Raine had dark chocolate fuck-me eyes, as Bobby Ryan, the captain of the hockey team, had put it yesterday. Courtney’s eyes were blue. Not radiant blue. Or iceberg blue. Or even winter-sky blue. They were just an ordinary plain blue.
Hell, when it came right down to it, none of her features compared with Raine’s.
The thought soured Courtney’s mood. She reached behind her back and began unbuttoning the dress. She’d barely gotten it halfway undone when Raine tore open the curtain and stuck her head inside the small change room.
‘What you think, Court?’
Courtney shrugged, made a face. ‘Something else maybe.’
‘But we could go as twins. Two nurses — it would be, like, sooo cool. Especially later when we’re at the concert.’
‘No. Something else.’
Raine switched bags. ‘How ’bout this then? That Disney Princess, the redheaded one — Ariel. It’s perfect for you!’
‘You mean the Little Mermaid?’ Courtney looked at the picture on the bag and saw nothing but a low-riding tail and a green-clam bra on the supermodel displaying it. She felt her cheeks get hot. ‘That shows like waaay too much.’
Raine grabbed another bag. ‘Little Bo Peep?’
Courtney felt her cheeks get even redder. ‘Why does it say Adult Fantasy on the corner of the bag?’
Raine looked down. ‘Ooops, this one is crotchless.’ She giggled, then said, ‘Oh, I know! I know for real this time.’ She swished the curtain closed and disappeared again.
Courtney said nothing, she just kept undoing the buttons behind her back and wondered if a push-up bra would help to even her and Raine out. Probably not. It wasn’t fair. Raine was gorgeous. Voluptuous. Everything.
Christ.
Courtney stripped off the dress, hung it on the hook and slumped down on the dressing-room bench, wearing nothing but her bra and panties, and waited for the next costume Raine could dig up.
The change room was small, a cubicle Courtney could barely turn around in, and it had a cinnamon-like smell from some scented candles or perfume or something. It bothered her allergies. She sat there, feeling a little chilled from the store air-conditioning and wishing Raine would hurry up, and wondering if she was ever going to find something that looked hot on her.
‘Try this!’ Raine said as she burst back through the curtain.
The unexpected movement startled Courtney, and she giggled from surprise. She looked at the costume in Raine’s hand and saw dark red satin and black silk.
‘What is it?’
‘Little Red Riding Hood. It goes perfectly with your hair.’
When Courtney held it up and saw how short the skirt was, she swallowed nervously. ‘I dunno, there’s not much to the skirt.’
‘Exactly. And it comes with super-high-heeled boots. Trust me, it’ll be hot.’
‘You sure?’
‘Of course I am. Look at how the red silk sticks to your belly. You got the flattest stomach out of all the girls — the guys’ll love it. They’ll wanna drink margarita shooters outta your belly button.’
The comment made Courtney smile, and she looked at the dress again, this time feeling a little more confident. She was about to try it on when her phone rang. She hoped it was Bobby Ryan — God, he was, like, Jonas Brother hot — and frowned when she read the caller ID.
DAD.
Raine saw. ‘Don’t answer — you’ll have to go home.’
‘Believe me, I’m not.’
She waited for the phone to finish ringing, then scrolled through the missed calls. She saw his number on there four times.
‘Principal Myers must’ve called him,’ she said.
‘So your dad knows you’re skipping.’
Courtney leaned back against the change-room wall, slumped down defeated. ‘I’m dead. I am so dead. He’s gonna ground me for sure. He’ll ruin everything. The party, the concert… I wish Mom was still around.’
For a moment, both girls said nothing. Then Raine took control. She grabbed the dress and held it against Courtney’s chest. Made a whistling sound, and her lips took on a mischievous grin.
‘Deep dark red, baby. Brings out your hair. And red is hot, hot, hot!’
Courtney grinned. ‘You think?’