“Is there a problem?” I asked.
“Yes.” He sighed heavily. “It’s not your problem, though. It’s mine. Sorry.”
“That’s okay. You want to call me back, or…”
“No, no. I’m fine. What’s going on?”
I exhaled. “I’m assuming you know that Sky Farley was shot.”
“Yes,” he said.
“Okay, well, I’m afraid that Dylan Welch may have done it. I think he may have shot Trevor Weiss, too.”
“What? Wait. Have you found him?”
“No, I haven’t,” I said.
“Damn,” he said.
“Whydamn?”
He sighed again. “Tell me why you think he shot Sky Farley and Trevor Weiss.”
I told him about Elspeth, how she’d shown up at my apartment terrified. I told him about the phone calls, the texts, the audio messages she’d received over the past few days—all from a blocked number. I told him how he’d ordered her to goto his apartment and fetch his gun. How he’d forced her to call someone and tell that person he was dead. I told him how he’d made threatening comments, how he’d sent images of her, taken though windows, letting her know that he could kill her at any moment—and that he was capable of doing so. “In one of the messages,” I said, “he all but confesses to killing Trevor.”
“Uh-huh,” Lee said.
I frowned. That wasn’t the reaction I’d been expecting. I told him about the money stolen from payroll, and how the CFO suspected Dylan and how a sizable amount of those funds had gone missing following his disappearance. I even told Lee how the Mob was after Dylan for drug money and how I nearly got run off the road by some goon, just because I’d been in possession of Dylan’s phone.
“Uh-huh,” Lee said.
I pressed on. “I don’t know if you saw this on the phone, but right before he left, he got a bunch of texts from an anonymous number.”
“Murderer,” he said dully. “Yeah, I saw those.”
“Lee, I’ve gotta tell you,” I said. “Considering the information I’m giving you, you’re sounding pretty underwhelmed.”
“Sorry,” he said.
“What’s going on?”
“Sky Farley came out of surgery,” he said. “The bullet missed her vital organs. She lost some blood, but she’s going to be fine.”
“Yes,”I whispered, thinking of Lydia, how much she’d been through already. “That’s wonderful news.”
“Uh-huh,” he said. “It would be more wonderful, though, if she would give us any information about who shot her.”
Traffic started to speed up, the way it so often did around here—suddenly and inexplicably. Several cars honked. I moved forward. “What do you mean? She won’t talk?”
“Oh, she’s talking. But she’s notsayinganything.”
“Why not?”
“Apparently, she’s traumatized. She doesn’t remember the shooting. She’d turned off the lights in her office when he came in, so she couldn’t get a good look at him, or if she did, she honestly can’t recall anything about him. Other than he’s male and taller than her. Which means he’s over five feet tall. And she’s not even entirely sure he was male.”
“She said all of that?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said. “She did.”
