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“That was either an Oscar-worthy performance or genuine grief,” I affirm. “Did you see his face when we told him the baby was his?”
“There’s no way he was faking it. Men like Sascha would rather die than willingly cry. And in front of cops? No way.”
“Yeah.”
“Fuck!” Mani shouts, slamming his hand down again.
“We got enough,” I tell him, trying to give myself distance too. “We planted the bug. That gives GHU thirty days to listen in. We got his statement. The last time he saw Elizabeth was the night of June tenth. We got the video proving he was in the club the night of the murder. We can move him to the back of the file for our murder. That’s a good outcome.” I don’t know who I’m trying to convince, Mani or myself. “So, where are we now?”
Mani takes a long while to calm down and collect his thoughts. “All of the girls last saw Elizabeth that evening, around five. We know she and Lyla got into it and that Elizabeth left the house in a rage.”
I pick up from Mani fluidly. “The club’s tapes show her at the door at five-thirty-five on June tenth, so she came straight here from Clementine Lane. Video corroborates Sascha’s story, that they spoke for only twenty minutes before she left again.”
It’s not good, I think, right before Mani says, “So we have over twenty-four hours of her time unaccounted for? From approximately six p.m. on the night of the tenth to when she missed her date on the night of the eleventh—according to Antoinette—to when her body was found after seven in the morning on the twelfth.”
“Okay, so if you’re a girl-”
“Hooker.”
“Escort,” I argue back. “You get into a fight with your roommate. You head over to your main man’s place but he’s busy and doesn’t have the time to listen to you bitch.”
“IfSascha is telling the truth,” Mani interjects.
“Let’s assume that he is. So? Where do you go next?” I ask Mani.
“I’ma dude,” he replies, clearly exasperated. “I hit the nearest bar and I don’t leave until I can’t remember, and somebody kicks me out at closing time.”
I think about it. “That’s not a bad bet actually.”
“A bar?” Mani asks skeptically.
“Hold on.” Pulling out my phone, I dial Catherine.
She answers on the first ring. “Aiden!” Her voice is bright and happy, and there’s a part of me that hopes she’s happy because I called. “I was just thinking about you,” she says.
“Miss Beauchamp,” I cough, hoping that I sound remotely professional even though my face is twitching with the compulsion to grin. “I’m hoping to ask you a quick question about Elizabeth.”
“Oh, you’re on the clock?”
“This time,” I reply.
“Okay. Shoot.”
“If Elizabeth had spare time but didn’t want to go home, where would she go?”
“The Mousetrap,” she replies without hesitation.
“And, after that?”
“Mnnn,” she makes a frustrated sound over the phone, and I imagine her sitting down, her brow furrowed as she thinks. “Maybe the Moonlight Lounge? In Culver City. Lizzie liked the live music. She’d often head over there after a date. To unwind, you know?”
“Yeah. I know the place. Thanks.”
“Sure thing.”
“Hey…” I realize Mani’s in the cruiser too late and trail off awkwardly. I was going to ask her what she’s doing later. Instead, I say, “Thanks,” again.
“You have a job to do, Lieutenant. I get that.”
