He said nothing. I heard swallowing sounds, another outpouring of breath. I was pretty sure he’d just finished off another can.
“How about this, Blake?” I said. “I promise I’ll bring Rosie tomorrow. But only if you don’t touch another one of those drinks. If you do, she’s staying home for a month.”
“That’s not fair.”
“Life’s not fair.”
He sighed. “Fine,” he said. “I promise.”
“What do you promise? Say it to me.”
“No more Gonzo,” he said. “For the rest of the day.”
“Thank you.”
I ended the call and checked my email. There was a new one, from Lee, with a photo attachment. The subject line wasBecause I owe you one.
One of the best things about Lee was that he always made good on his word. It was a rare quality, and it made me feelguilty for keeping information from him, even if it was only on occasion.
I opened the photo—a gloved hand holding a baggie that was half filled with a white powder that sparkled slightly. It was Lee’s hand. I recognized the Cartier Tank watch. The email itself read:Call me when you see this.
I called Lee.
“You opened the email,” he said.
“Yes,” I said. “What is the powder and where did you find it?”
“First question: We don’t know yet. They’re testing it in the lab,” he said. “Second question: We found it sewn into the lining of Trevor Weiss’s jacket.”
“The one he was wearing when he was shot?”
“Yes.”
“So…if someone murdered him and searched his body for the stuff—whatever it is—they wouldn’t find it right away.”
“That’s true.”
“But if the meeting had gone the way Trevor had wanted it to, he could have simply given this person his coat, and the powder would be hidden.”
“True as well,” Lee said. “But at this point, it’s all conjecture.”
“A dead man can’t tell you his motivations for sewing a baggie full of mystery powder into his coat,” I said. “Or even if he’d been the one to sew it in there.”
“Exactly.”
I thanked Lee—not just for the information, but forreminding me again not to make assumptions during an investigation.
“I’ll let you know what the lab says,” he told me.
“I’ll let you know what Sky says,” I told him.
“Hopefully between the two of us,” Lee said, “we’ll come up with some real answers.”
Thirty-Two
“Sunny,” Sky said, raising her good arm to greet me. “I’m so happy to see you.” She’d been moved to a hospital room—a very nice one. Private, on a high floor. I wondered if the Welches had pulled a few strings to secure it. They were both in the room with Sky, Lydia hovering around her like an attentive mother, Bill sitting in a chair against the wall, where he was quietly taking phone calls when I came in.
Sky wore a hospital gown, her bloody clothes with police for testing. She was very pale, but otherwise she looked good, considering. The bullet had apparently struck her just below her right collarbone. A few inches to the left and she’d have died as quickly as Trevor, but as it stood, she was in good shape. She was hooked up to IVs, her right shoulder and arm were wrappedin thick gauze, and she was scheduled to be released later in the day—the following morning at the latest.
