His gaze first locked on black leather loafers. Glancing up, he saw a pair of tan Dockers, a navy sports jacket with a matching tie over a blue shirt. He met the wary scrutiny of Detective Alan Lefevre. Fair-skinned and blond-haired, the cop always appeared slightly sickly under fluorescent lights. While no friend, Blade had helped him solve a few cases—a significant one only last month.
“Slow morning?” he replied. “You’re usually out hustling by now.”
“One of my cases is going to trial today,” Lefevre replied.
“That explains the conservative attire.” Usually a flashy dresser, today Lefevre could pass for a discount department store manager.
“The defendant is Sonny Lykstra, the asshole who raped and murdered his ex-girlfriend’s daughter. I’m not taking any chances on this case. You got something for me?”
“When was I designated your personal bloodhound?”
“You said you had a lead on Longo.”
Ferrell Longo was another rotten apple in a depressingly bottomless barrel. “His name has come up a few times. If the roach crosses my path, I’ll step on him for you. I’m here to talk to Snow.”
“He’s out in the field.”
Probably interviewing the Holms family, Blade guessed. Since the hallway remained empty, he lingered. “What’s the consensus about the kid found shot last night?”
“They’re looking for a boyfriend, though they haven’t discounted an attempted carjacking. Depends what all comes up on the computer from the fingerprints lifted off the vehicle.”
The rain would have hurt there, but forensics should have something from the interior already. Either Lefevre didn’t know what or didn’t care, not being the case detective.
“Stacie Holms had a record.”
Although annoyed by the cop’s smug expression, Blade encouraged him with a lift of his eyebrows.
“Let me think what they said in this morning’s meeting…two misdemeanors and a felony. Shoplifting and vandalizing private property.”
As bad as the shoplifting was, it didn’t interest Blade. The vandalizing was another matter. He would bet anything it was the most recent charge; the question was, had it been a prank that got out of hand, or an escalation of violent tendencies? “How long ago?” he asked.
“I forget. Before Labor Day last year. My head is swimming with dates thanks to those goddamn lawyers. Snow did say the felony involved messing up some guy’s boat.” He snickered and his face grew flushed. “Little bitches must have downed a case of beer beforehand to do that kind of damage, if you catch my drift.”
Blade figured he might eat something after leaving here, so he chose not to ask for details. Still, stupid stunts were a far cry from murder.
A patrolman who used to work the night shift passed and shot him a condescending look. Blade decided it was time to move to a less-visible location. “Thanks for the update. If I can’t see Snow, I’ve gotta find a lonesome computer.”
As he began to pass, Lefevre asked, “Are you sure you don’t have anything for me?”
“Let me use your machine for five minutes and I might remember something.”
Lefevre swore. “You’d charge your own mother for toilet paper.” But he gestured for Blade to enter his office.
By the time he closed the door, Blade was sitting behind the detective’s desk and typing in Lefevre’s password.
“Feel free to help yourself,” the detective muttered.
“Just thought I’d save us both time.”
“I’m gonna change my password and then you’ll show more respect.”
“I doubt it.”
Lefevre pushed at a cuticle with his thumbnail. “Don’t be too sure. Even you may find yourself needing backup one day.”
“Not likely. Just tell the EMTs to bring an extra body bag.”
The cop’s taunting eyes lost their competitive gleam. “Doesn’t anything hit a nerve, Blade?”
“Not anymore. Relax, Lefevre. That also means I don’t have any plans to challenge you for lieutenant.”
“Like you’d stand a chance.”
Lefevre seemed buoyed by the reassurance, but already bored with the conversation, Blade was glad when the newest homicide file came up on the screen. “Stacie Rayann Holms. Born—an Aquarius. Figures.”
“You believe in that crap?”
“Uh-uh.”
“Then why did you—” The detective swore again. “You complain about wasting time. I don’t know why I bother with you.”
“Because having an extra pair of eyes and ears on the street pays off. Or have you convinced yourself that you found that murdering swine Pollard on your own?”
“Okay, okay. Why don’t you find me the Brown brothers instead of sticking your nose in this,” Lefevre said, nodding to the computer. “I suspect Snow will bring in her murderer before you hit the streets tonight.”
Blade barely heard him; he was absorbing new data on the deceased. “This could be interesting…there’s a father but no mother.”
“So? Maybe she’s dead.”
Possibly. Knowing for sure would shed some light on the situation. For instance, her car wasn’t something a father would buy a daughter when he was constantly being called down to the police station to pick her up. Had he been generous because she’d achieved good grades and had straightened up her act—at least at school—or was it to cover his own neglect? Or some abuse? The kid had managed to amass five speeding tickets since receiving the car, three of them remained unpaid. Blade didn’t like the vibes that came along with this information.
He also learned a .380 casing had been removed from the car. The initial consensus was that Stacie had exhibited little resistance to her attacker, but the autopsy report would confirm or refute that. At the moment, though, it did suggest she had known her killer, which would encourage Snow to grill her family, as well as her closest circle of friends. Or, could be that she’d picked up someone else after she dropped off the other girls.
“Come on, Blade, give me a break,” Lefevre said, checking his watch. “I’m due in court at one-thirty and I have to stop at the hospital for one of my own investigations, not to mention grab something to eat.”
Deciding he had the few facts available at the moment, Blade exited the file and the program and thought about what lay ahead. The other three of the Four Musketeers’ DNA had to be all over the car, making evidence analysis tedious for Forensics. And for Snow also, since it was logical to assume if Stacie had a record, they did, too. What a media field day this would turn into—kids who reject
