Yolanda protested.
“She was whispering,” Kendra said. “For my money, it was you.”
Yolanda shook her head. “Play it again, louder this time,” she asked Paul. As he did, she smiled. “Now I know who it is. That’s Annie, Annie Crenshaw. We used to be friends, but she’s got so many problems now I can’t stand to be around her. I forgot she still has a key to my place.” She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Now I know what happened to some of my Navajo jewelry. I thought I’d misplaced it, but Annie probably ripped me off. She’s hooked on meth and always needs cash to make a buy.”
“Tell us more about this Annie Crenshaw,” Kendra pressed.
“She got clean about six months ago, then her boyfriend dumped her and she started doing drugs again. She ended up losing her apartment. Now she’s working the streets.”
“Where does she hang out?” Paul asked.
“You might try the old brick building where Hensley’s Gym used to be. It’s supposed to be empty now. Last I heard she was sneaking in at night and crashing in one of the old locker rooms,” Yolanda said. “But I doubt she’s there right now. Once she’s on meth, she finds it hard to stay still. Last time she was using she hung out in the alley between the bus station and the free clinic.”
“Do you happen to have a photo of Annie?” Paul asked.
“No, but I’m sure you’ve got a mug shot somewhere,” Yolanda said, looking over at Kendra.
“What about Alex? Does he know Annie? Could they be working together?” Kendra asked.
Yolanda stared at Kendra as if she’d suddenly lost her mind. “No way. They can’t stand each other. Last time they were in the same room, they went at each other major league and she threatened to have him killed.”
“All right, then. We’ll look into this,” Kendra said.
“So, can I go?” Yolanda stood, looking toward the door.
Kendra shook her head. “Not yet. Detective Bowman still wants to talk to you about Alex. What happens after that is up to him,” Kendra said.
They walked to the door, Kendra knocked, and Preston let them out. He’d been standing in an adjacent room, listening and watching through the one-way glass.
Preston nodded to Kendra, then looked at his brother. “So what’s your take on Yolanda? Do you think she’s telling the truth?”
“I do, which means we need to track down Annie Crenshaw. My guess is that she was paid to make that call, and we need to know by whom,” Paul said.
“That person is probably our shooter, maybe Miller, so finding Annie is our top priority now,” Kendra said, glancing at Preston. The man was a hard-assed cop, yet he never questioned Paul’s take on Yolanda’s credibility. Something told her there was more to Paul’s ability than he’d said.
Maybe he’d trained with covert ops somewhere, working closely with their professional con men and other highly skilled consultants. Federal law enforcement agents often had interesting, varied backgrounds.
Kendra looked at Preston, then at Paul. “How about going behind closed doors right now and tossing around a few ideas? Whatever we say stays there.”
Preston nodded. “My office.”
* * *
P AUL FOLLOWED K ENDRA into Preston’s spartan office, which held only a small desk, file cabinets and two folding chairs. There were no photos on the wall, only documents listing Preston’s credentials.
Once they were seated, Kendra began. “What evidence did the crime scene team find at the site where Paul was ambushed?”
“Two slugs from a .45 were found embedded in the bricks of the Murray building.”
“I was standing with the building at my back when the shooting started,” Paul said.
“The shots were grouped tightly, the sign of an experienced marksman,” Preston said.
Kendra leaned forward, resting her forearms on her legs. “My theory is that the gunman who came after Paul is probably someone with a personal grudge, maybe someone linked to his P.I. business. With a rifle, Miller can hit a target at a thousand yards. With a .45, he can make a head shot at one hundred feet. The only reason he failed to kill the judge last November was because two U.S. Marshals got in his way. This can’t be his work.”
“I get what you’re saying,” Paul said. “When I got shot at last night I was the only target around and I was less than fifty feet away from the gunman. Miller’s weapon of choice is the rifle, but he shouldn’t have missed at that distance with a handgun either. I’d just been illuminated by a lightning flash—like I was standing beneath a flare. It was an easy shot for anyone with his level of training.”
“Maybe he choked,” Preston said.
Kendra shook her head. “Professional hit men don’t choke and still group their shots that tight.”
“Well, if it wasn’t Miller, I have no idea who it could have been. Grayhorse Investigations primarily handles routine video and electronic surveillance,” Paul said. “The reason I got involved in this last case was because a police officer was allegedly involved in domestic abuse.” He paused, then added, “Anyone who wears a badge should be held to the highest standard.”
She heard the barely concealed anger in his voice and realized the case had clearly struck a chord with him. Another idea suddenly popped into her head. What if the shooter had known Paul would react exactly as he had and used that knowledge to set him up as a target?
“Who would know that’s how you feel about those who carry a badge?” she asked.
Preston answered her instantly. “Anyone who knows Paul or has worked with him.”
“That’s not going to narrow things down much for us,” Kendra said.
“To track down whoever set me up, we’ve first got to find Annie,” Paul said.
“I’ll get you a booking photo of Annie Crenshaw. If you need backup, call,” Preston said.
“Do you know the alley that Yolanda spoke about?” Kendra asked Preston.
Preston looked up from the computer screen and nodded. “Downtown, between Third and Fourth streets. Strictly small-time dealers hang out there, but they watch each other’s backs and usually see our people coming. It’s hard to set up a sting there.”
“I hear you,” Kendra said, then glanced at Paul. “Street people are usually unpredictable and half the dealers are high themselves. You want to sit this one out? Someone’s likely to pull a weapon once I show a badge.”
“A lot of people around here know I’m private, not a cop, and I’ll get farther than you can flashing your badge. Let me help out.”
“All right, then. Let’s go,” she said, leading the way out of the building.
“Unless we actually see
