Stirred

I watched her eyes closely. “Have you ever used the screen name ALONEAGAIN?” I asked, referencing those messages I’d seen on Thomas’s website message board.

“Huh?”

The confusion I saw told me she had no idea what I was talking about.

“Are you familiar with a man named Luther Kite?”

Violet’s face hardened. She turned and spit over her shoulder, a glob of mucus ru

“I have Luther Kite to thank for this,” Violet said.

“I don’t remember reading anything about your involvement with Kite.”

“And you won’t.”

“Did that happen after the Ki

“I don’t talk about it.”

“We believe Luther Kite is the one who murdered Jessica Shedd.”

“I wouldn’t doubt it.”

“Any information you give us could be helpful. It could save lives.”

“I’m afraid I’m not going to be helpful.”

McGlade leaned forward. “So you and this writer guy were knocking the boots?”

“Excuse me?”

“Was he parting the pink curtains?”

Violet looked at me for some interpretation, but I could only close my eyes and shake my head.

“Was he slipping you the bloatwurst with the special sauce? Had Captain Wonder Worm invaded Panty Land?”

“Were you sleeping with Andrew Thomas?” I finally translated.

She drained the beer and let the empty drop to the carpet. “That’s none of your business.”

“That means yes,” McGlade said. “And since he’s still giving you money, I bet you probably have some idea where he is.”

“I want him to leave my house right now.” She pointed at McGlade. “Neither of you are cops. You’re here at my invitation.”

McGlade leaned forward, opening his coat, showing Violet the butt of his revolver. “Maybe I’ll just look around anyway.”

She folded her arms. “You won’t find anything. Go ahead.”

“Really?” McGlade said. He apparently hadn’t been expecting that answer any more than I had.

“I’ve got nothing to hide. Andy and Luther were from a lifetime ago. I haven’t seen either of them since I got burned. Just because I don’t like to talk about a terrible part of my past doesn’t mean I’m covering for anyone. You can search wherever you want, waste all the time you’d like. Just try not to mess my house up.”

McGlade and I exchanged a glance, me wondering if it was even worth looking around. But he stood up and immediately began to snoop. I stayed seated. Not because I believed Violet would suddenly open up, but because I wanted to keep an eye on her. She was probably armed, and I didn’t want her doing anything to us or to herself.

McGlade started in the kitchen.

I heard him open the fridge, say, “Mother of God, the smell is unbearable,” and slam the door shut.

I realized he was the wrong person for this job. What was he looking in the fridge for? What clues did he expect to find there? Bologna and Cheez Whiz?

McGlade opened and closed a few kitchen cabinets, making a lot of racket, and then eventually worked his way upstairs.

After ten minutes of me watching Violet light one cigarette after another, McGlade returned, carrying a stack of CDs.

“Where did you get these?” he asked her.

“What are they?” Violet said.

“Bootleg Rolling Stones concerts.”

“I don’t know. I used to be really into music.”

“Can I borrow them?”

“Excuse me?”

“I’ve been looking for some of these for years. I promise to return them in good condition.”

I rolled my eyes.

“You can keep them,” Violet said. “I already ripped them to my computer.”

“Really? Thanks!”

“That’s all you found?” I asked, incredulous.

“Are you kidding? This is an epic find. You know how rare this one is? From 1997, taken directly from the soundboard.”

“That’s a great concert.” Violet began to beam. “I was at that show. Front row. Jagger actually sweated on me.”

“That’s awesome. So where’s your baby?”

Violet’s expression went from soft to pained.

“There’s a nursery upstairs,” McGlade continued. “It’s the cleanest room in the house. But no baby food in the fridge. No bottles in the cabinets. This house boasts a wide variety of unpleasant odors, but dirty diapers aren’t a part of the bouquet. So where’s the kid?”

Violet said nothing, but her eyes had begun to glaze over.

“Dead?” McGlade asked.

I glared at him. This was taking good cop/bad cop too far. I didn’t feel a threatening vibe from Violet. The only emotion she stirred up in me was pity.

“Now I’m going to insist that you leave.”

“Was it the writer’s baby?” McGlade pressed. “Is the royalty thing really child support?”

“The state took my baby, Mr. McGlade. Some neighbors made false accusations. I’ve spent close to a million dollars on lawyers trying to get him back.” Her voice was cracking. “They won’t even let me see him.”

“How old is he now?” I asked gently.

“Almost seven.”

“What’s his name?”

“Max. After his father, my husband, who was murdered by Luther Kite and his family.” Violet gave me an imploring look. “If I knew anything that would hurt Luther, I’d tell you. I swear I would. He destroyed my life. But there’s nothing I can say that will make my situation any better. Not a damn thing.”

“Maybe what you know can help save someone else,” I offered.

Violet sat silent for a moment before answering. “There’s no saving anyone, Jack. I’m surprised you haven’t learned that by now.”

I fished a business card out of my purse and handed it to her. “If you change your mind or think of anything, call me. Anytime.”

“And thanks for the CDs,” McGlade said, smiling and holding them up. “You can also call that number if you find any more Stones bootlegs.”

We let ourselves out. The rain had stopped, and it felt colder than before.

“Well, that was pretty much a waste of time,” I said, heading for the car.

“Are you kidding? I’m going to make a few hundred bucks selling these CDs on eBay.”

I sca

My iPhone buzzed.

A text from Herb.

Just four words, but they hit me like a slap across the face.

THERE’S BEEN ANOTHER MURDER.

March 31, 5:45 P.M.

Movement in her peripheral vision, such as it was, pulled Lucy’s attention away from the Juke. Two thirteen-year-old boys—one tall and scrawny, one fat as a little doughboy—stood ten feet away, staring at her through the glass, their mouths hanging open, a look on their faces caught between ridicule and disgust.

They approached, and one of them knocked on the window.

Lucy looked over at Donaldson, who said, “Just tell them to get lost.”

She turned and stared at the boy through the glass. “Go away.”

“Holy shit, she’s only got one eye!”

“And this dude looks like Freddy Krueger!” the other boy yelled.

“Give me the gun,” Lucy said. “I’m killing them both.”

“We don’t have time.”

“How about just one of them?”

The taller of the two boys, a white kid wearing a black parka with a banda

Lucy lowered her window. “I was hanging out with my stupid friend, and we asked these very bad people too many questions.”

The tall boy’s friend punched him in the arm. “Damn, dawg, let’s skate.”

“Sure you don’t want to have a little fun?” Lucy asked. “I’ve played with boys like you before. I would do things to you that would blow your minds.”