Page 122 of Flames and Blood

“I know what you do.”

“Then you know I’m not going to feel bad about it because you’d like me to.”

“I wouldn’t waste the trip.”

That gets a smile out of her. “Good. Most men who come here want me frightened first and helpful second, and it never works in that order.” She looks at me properly. “What do you actually want?”

“About a year ago, somebody came to you to source a body. Woman’s build, red hair, made to pass for somebody specific. I want to know who.”

She doesn’t flinch at that.

“I remember the work,” she says. “I don’t remember doing business with you. So tell me why I should.”

“I’ll pay your fee,” I tell her.

“My previous client paid a fee too.” Her expression is flat. “Why should I hand them over to you?”

“You don’t like being found,” I say. “I found you anyway. That’s not luck. It’s what I do for a living, and I’m good at it.” I give that time to sink in. “Whoever ordered that body knows your name and your street. This kind of thing comes apart eventually, and when it does, somebody is going to be on your porch asking these same questions. If it’s the authorities, you’re finished. If it’s the man who ordered the work, you’re a loose end. I’m the one person in this who has a reason to make sure nobody else ever finds this house.” I hold her eyes. “That’s the offer. My word that this is the last time your door gets knocked on because of it.”

She considers this.

“That’s something,” she says. “Most men offer me money like I don’t already have plenty. You’re the first one who’s offered me something I actually want.” She sits back. “All right. Ask your questions.”

“Tell me about the order.”

“It took me three weeks. That’s long for me. Most of my work takes a weekend.” She takes her glasses out of her hair and turns them over in her hands.

“What was different about this one?”

“Few things.” She puts her glasses on and peers at me. “Most times, a body is brought to me. This one had to be sourced.”

“Sourced? How exactly do you source a body?”

She chuckles. “I don’t go around killing people, if that’s what you’re worried about. I have a network. Mortuaries, funeral parlors. You’d be amazed how many bodies never get claimed. But it can take time to find one to fit all the requirements. That’s what took so long.”

“He had specific requirements.”

She nods. “This one was exact. He gave me her height and her weight, both of them precise, nothing rounded off. Coloring down to the shade. And a drawing of a ring, done carefully, with notes on the setting. How the stone sat, how high, which way the band was worn thin. He checked my notes twice before he left the first day.”

“Most of your clients are in a panic.”

“All of them are. Somebody’s dead who shouldn’t be, or alive who’s supposed to be dead, and they need it handled before anyone notices. They sweat. They talk too fast. They ask me whether it’ll hold up.” She shakes her head, slow. “He didn’t do any of that. He came in calm, and he left calm. He came back twice to check the work, and both times he was pleasant to me. Happy, even. I’ve never done a job for a man who was having a good time.”

“How did he pay?”

“Cash, both times. Counted it out himself on that table.” She shrugs. “I don’t ask where money comes from. But I’ll tell you this: it wasn’t stolen money, and he had plenty of it.”

“Describe him.”

She taps her lip with a fingertip. “Nice,” she says. “A little younger than you. Short hair, auburn. Tall, good build. He had an easy laugh and a good face. Seemed trustworthy. The kind of man you want to like.” She chuckles. “Ironic, right?”

I am silent as she speaks, but she doesn’t seem to need me to respond in any way.

“That’s everything,” she says. “I never got his real name. People in my line rarely give one, and I don’t ask, like I told you.”

“Thank you.” I stand up to go.

“There’s one more thing.” She says it before I’ve reached the door. “And it’s the part I’ve been deciding whether to tell you since you sat down.”