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“I want to help,” Mila said, grabbing for resolve. “And you shouldn’t be out on your own. Not if this is Manzani related. If I’m in danger for what I said, they won’t like you digging around.”
So far, according to what she knew, the Manzanis wouldn’t be able to pick her out of a lineup. She hadn’t asked questions at the club. Not directly about the murders. And she hadn’t printed anything either… though she hadn’t read The Chronicler that day. Maybe Steeple put something in there. She doubted it; her editor would’ve warned her.
“Let’s go to her apartment.”
Moving targets were harder to hit than static ones. Investigating might help Mila stop dwelling on her own heartache. She’d have to process her grief, that was healthy, but while in fear for her life, focus needed to be on keeping her own, not on those already lost.
They got out of there and into a cab before her phone rang.
Lachlan.
Of course.
“Hey, honey,” she said, widening her smile. “Miss me?”
“Ever think about calling first?”
“I didn’t use your name,” she said. “I didn’t even say your name.”
“Yvonne Ingham’s the only one who matches your victim profile.”
“We came to the same conclusion.”
“Who’s we? The blonde you came in with?”
“Yes,” she said, not surprised he had the details. “We’re backing each other up.” Which should, hopefully, make him feel better about her sleuthing. “We’re going over to Yvonne’s place now.”
“She lived alone,” he said. “She was reported missing on Saturday, hasn’t been seen since Tuesday.”
Except she’d been in Hustle on Friday night. Should she tell Lachlan that? She trusted him and wanted as much help to find Yvonne as possible. But if the cops went poking around Hustle, that could lead the Manzanis to her… and Mila.
“If there’s no one at her apartment, we’ll try her workplace.”
“I have her colleagues’ statements. No one knows anything.”
“Some people don’t like talking to cops,” she said. “They’ll tell me things that they won’t tell you. Do you know if her Bryan boyfriend is the same as Stephanie Weet’s Bryan boyfriend?”
“We’re still trying to trace him. As I said, she lived alone and didn’t tell people where her boyfriend lived. No one’s even sure how long they were seeing each other or how serious it was.”
“Not very serious if it is the same guy,” Imogen said. “Do you know where she was last seen? Who reported her missing?”
“Her mother reported her missing. She’d been trying to call and got no response. Colleagues said she was at work on Tuesday, spoke about meeting her boyfriend for dinner. No one’s seen her since she left work. No one we can trace.”
Bracing, she pushed the boundaries. “Any activity on her cards?”
“Babe,” he warned.
She exhaled. “I know… I know, but you have access to certain things we don’t… I could probably find a computer geek to seduce and—”
“Let us do our job,” he said. “I know you’re worried about this girl.”
“I am worried about her.” With good reason. “You would be too if you knew what I knew.”
“Babe?” he said with more weight in the word. “You can’t keep me in the dark.”
“I won’t. I’ll tell you everything, I just… I need a little more time.”
“Dinner?”
