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"I wish. I'd give my right nut to enjoy what that girl's got."
Vanderveer shook his head. "Well, you can see it all in that picture."
"I meant her more liquid assets." He rubbed his fingers together.
"She's rich?"
"Wouldn't know it from that outfit. I've seen twenty-dollar whores with better fashion sense. But that's Jasmine Wills, your vic's frenemy."
"Her what?"
"They pretend to be friends but really they can't stand each other. Frenemy, get it?"
"No," Vanderveer said. "We don't. But we don't read the tabs."
"You just chat with their reporters, huh, Finn? So how'd that go? Did that True News chick promise you an exclusive? Hell, if she'd promise me an exclusive, I'd put on fangs and go bite a neck. Preferably hers. She was one sweet little - "
Vanderveer waved the younger detective to silence. "So what's Portia Kane doing with that picture?"
"She wanted her PR rep to send it to the tabloids."
"Seems the tabs are right - that frenemy thing had slid into full-blown enemy." Scala slapped Finn on the shoulder. "Well, the good news is we just solved your case. Jasmine Wills killed Kane to keep that photo out of the papers. I know I would." He started back to his desk, then stopped. "Oh, could you pass a copy my way? For safekeeping?"
"Sounds nuts, but maybe what started as a simple catfight turned lethal," Damon said as Vanderveer returned to his paperwork. "If people carry guns, it becomes too easy to use them. I know all about that."
Before Finn could respond, the phone rang.
"Detective Findlay?" a man's voice said. "This is, uh, Officer Alec Weston. My, uh, sergeant wanted me to, call you. I'm sure it's nothing, but he, uh, insisted..."
A recent recruit. Finn could tell by the hesitation. Still new enough to view the homicide squad the way freshmen did the senior class. Finn encouraged him with an "um-hmm."
"I think I might have, uh, seen that woman you're looking for. From the Kane case. Robyn Peltier."
Finn's gaze shot to Damon. "You saw - "
"I'm probably wrong," Weston hurried on. "But my sergeant insisted I call."
"Where'd you see her?"
"Well, that's the thing that doesn't make sense, sir. She was in the coffee shop across from our station."
* * *
ROBYN
Miss? You wanted out here?"
"J-just a sec," Robyn said.
She stared at the police station steps. Another precinct, ten miles from the last, chosen at random from a phone book when she stopped to catch her breath, certain she'd finally lost Adele.
As it turned out, she'd only temporarily misplaced her. When Robyn tried to hail a cab, she'd seen Adele step from a side street. She'd changed course then, taking another route into a busier commercial area, cutting through such a crowd she even stopped saying "excuse me" as she shouldered her way past people.
She'd lost Adele then. She was certain of it. There'd been no sign of her for two blocks. Then, seeing people pouring from a matinee, she'd merged with the crowd and jumped into one of the cabs waiting at the curb.
It was then, after she'd given the police station address to the cabbie, that she'd finally relaxed, resting her cheek against the cool window and closing her eyes as her heart slowed.
Adele Morrissey, at the police station, asking to use her cell phone. The cell phone with the photo Hope thought was responsible for Portia's murder. A photo of Adele Morrissey.
