Born to Die - Lisa Jackson [129]
Alvarez and Pescoli shared a look; then Pescoli said, “She said she would call us later, after she’d thought it through.”
No wonder they’d called, Trace realized. “The place needs to be swept of those microphones. Either you or me. But as soon as we do that, somebody’s going to know it.”
“You brought up Shelly Bonaventure,” Pescoli said. “She was in L.A.”
“But she’s from around here. Born in Helena. Kacey has a theory that there might be more victims and they all could be related.”
“Related,” Alvarez repeated.
Trace found himself growing impatient. Kicking back his chair, he stood. “I really do have to go. Let Kacey tell you more herself when she calls back.”
“You think she’s off on some wild tangent?” Pescoli asked, and Alvarez’s lips tightened.
“I don’t know about that,” he said truthfully. “But something’s really wrong here, and I’m worried about Kacey.”
“And what about your ex-wife? Are you worried about her?” Alvarez asked.
He made a sound of disgust. “Hell, no. One thing I know about Leanna—she can take care of herself.”
CHAPTER 27
“ O’Halleran’s not our guy,” Pescoli said as she shrugged into her coat and met her partner in the hallway.
“I know.” Alvarez nodded. “It couldn’t be that easy.”
“Never is.”
Together they stepped around a shackled man being shepherded by Trilby Van Droz, one of the road deputies.
“I ain’t got nothin’ to say!” the man with stringy hair and half a week’s growth of beard insisted. “I didn’t steal no goddamned truck, and that was my shotgun. I don’t know how that pipe got into the backseat, but it wasn’t mine! I don’t know what the fuck you’re trying to pull here!”
“Keep movin’ it,” Trilby said, her voice world-weary.
“Give me a fuckin’ break, will ya?” the guy wheedled. “It’s the holidays.”
“In here!” She opened a door to one of the interrogation rooms. “Merry Christmas!”
Pescoli smothered a smile, which faded as they passed the reception area, where winking lights were strewn around Joelle’s desk and a fir tree, complete with tinsel, lights, and presents tucked beneath its fragrant boughs, actually spun slowly in one corner. “There’s fruitcake in the lunchroom,” Joelle called as they reached the front door. Today an elf was tucked slyly into the platinum strands of her hair. “My great-great-great-grandmother’s recipe!” She offered them a bright smile just as two teenagers swept inside, a gust of arctic wind swirling behind them, along with a wet smack of snow.
“A maniac tried to run me down!” The girl, in braids and huge glasses, was obviously shaken. “Near the Safeway store. He had to be drunk! He just sprayed snow everywhere!”
“He was drivin’ a green Honda. Sweet lowrider, and he came around the corner too fast and slid all over the place,” her companion, a boy in a frayed stocking cap, said. “Everyone saw it.”
“I was in the damned crosswalk! He just took off!”
“Fishtailing,” the boy said, moving his hand from side to side.
“If Lanny hadn’t pulled me out of the way, I’d be dead now!” the girl cried. She was about to hyperventilate, and Pescoli would have stepped in to help, but Joelle was already pushing a tissue box in the girl’s direction and picking up the phone. She made little scooting motions with her fingers, indicating Pescoli and Alvarez could move along.
“Calm down, honey,” Joelle said with a motherly smile as the girl dissolved into tears. “It’ll be okay. Let me get someone to help you.”
Since the situation was under control, Pescoli pushed the door open, felt the sting of the cold air against her face, and walked