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I’d told Brady about the homicide in outer Las Vegas and he’d forwarded my screenshots to Chief Belinky of the LVMPD. And now Brady had an idea that might lead us to the killer. He leaned against the windowsill and laid it out for me. I felt conflicted about his plan, but it would be good to partner again with my friend Jackson Brady.
I said, “Count me in.”
I left the Hall before six and picked up noodle soup and a pickled radish salad at the Chinese restaurant two blocks from home sweet home. I took the elevator and when I got to ourfloor, I rang Mrs. Rose’s bell. Her door opened, Martha yipped happily, and Mrs. Rose’s smile spread extra wide. I handed her the noodle dinner, her favorite TV meal.
“You didn’t have to do this, Lindsay.”
“Thank you, Gloria. For everything.”
Martha and I took a nice long walk to the park and with her leash looped around my hand I sat for a while on a bench with a view of the lake. I thought of the many times Joe and I had occupied this very bench, his arm around my shoulders, Martha pulling against the leash, Julie naming the ducks and making up songs.
In twenty-four hours or so, my family would be home and life would be in balance again. Or would it? How would I ever scrub my mind of Blackout’s close-up, eyeball view of cold-blooded murder? I couldn’t shake it but was saved by the bell.
I answered my phone. It was Claire.
“Is this a good time?” she asked me.
“Totally. You okay?”
“Yeah, yeah. I want to release the bodies of Catherine and Josie Fleet to Brad Fleet before he drives me to suicide.”
“Tell me what you found,” I said to my best friend.
“Very little news in the autopsy reports, Lindsay. Both were dead when they were dumped into the bay. Catherine was choked out. She had pepper spray in her eyes and on her face, so I think that’s how her killer got control. Josephina was smothered. Hand over her nose and mouth. I found finger marks on the left side of her face.”
“Toxicology?”
“Nothing there.”
“Let them go with Brad,” I said. “I’ll tell Brady.”
“Good. How’re you doing, girlfriend?”
“Never better,” I chirped.
Claire laughed. “Liar. When’s Joe coming back?”
“This time on Monday. I hope to God.”
“Oh, damn,” said Claire. “I’m getting a call. Gotta go. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
Once the sun had fully set, Martha and I went home to 23 Lake Street.
I made dinners for the two of us and after I’d showered and changed, the phone rang.
Yes, dear God, it was him.
CHAPTER 48
I PICTURED JOE on his mother’s flowered sectional, Julie charming Grandma while eating cookie dough in her large prewar kitchen. I heard Joe’s brothers laughing and a ball game on a TV in the background. I wished I was there.
Joe said, “How’s it going, sweetie?”
I said, “On a scale of one to ten, ten being horrible—”
“Nine,” he guessed.
“Twenty,” I said. “How’re you and Jules?”
