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— LORD BYRON
EAST BROADWAY,
DOWNTOWN
12:41 P.M. PDT
“Damn right I think something’s going on,” Carmella said. “I don’t know what it is yet, exactly, but it’s there. And somehow, it feels big.”
Outside, walking around the streets, people just going about their day, oblivious to what was going on all around them. People of all shapes and colors and all of them shambling trance-like through their lives like lambs led down to slaughter.
And Carmella thought to herself, Goddamn, sister, you gotta clear your head of this negativism.
Then thought, Like hell I will . . . These people LIE.
She said then, “They’re sneaky, Elmond, that’s what I’m saying. They’re sneaky and they lie.”
“All right,” Elmond said, like he was sizing her up . . . Got about a two minutes til we’re there. Until then, talk all you want. After that, though, we’re done. So talk to me, Carm. What is it you think’s going on?”
Carmella took a deep breath, collecting her thoughts . . .
“Okay, what I think happened is, Christian Ducroix left that party at Lord Bletchly’s. First off, was the woman in the car when he left” And if so, who is she?” Carmella shook her head, watching a business woman in power-suit and running shoes tackling a quick urban hike on her lunch-hour, something Carmella never seemed to have time for, not working the dead body beat and raising a kid. Who had time for such luxuries? “Funny, isn’t it, word coming down Lord Bletchly is completely off limits to police on grounds of diplomatic immunity? We’ve got multiple what can now be classified as homicides, we can’t even ask questions over there.”
Elmond nodded, eyes still on the road, but said nothing.
Carmella said, “Alright, so, figure Christian Ducroix drives up Sweetwater Road a mile east of where Jane Sorenson was struck while jogging. The cars are, what, two minutes apart? What if the Suburban was following Christian and got behind?”
Elmond glanced over at Carmella and back at the road. “You know that’s pure speculation. We don’t have evidence that’s the case.”
Carmella shrugged. “Yet. But I bet it’s out there. We just have to find it.”
Elmond studying her now, serious, before looking back to the road and saying in his be cool mode, I’m just letting you talk mode, “All right. So you can go on— we still got another minute or two.”
Carmella had been waiting for this, and was curious to hear Elmond’s response to her hypothesis.”
“I think the driver, who we are told matches Christian Ducroix’s description, may have been kidnapping her, maybe even to kill. Which would make him a murderer. Now what we have is, the State Department swearing the kid was in Tibet the day Evie Chambers was murdered, when maybe he wasn’t. Maybe Jimmy Francisco really did have it right it was Ducroix who killed Evie, he just had the wrong Ducroix.”
Elmond glanced over at Carmella and back at the road. Glanced over again and said, “So you think we can pull a decent image off that videotape? It looked pretty bad. I don’t even think your little pet can get it to look good.”
Carmella agreed, it was bad. But she also knew Raymond Cho was brilliant and dedicated. And, to top it off, had it very very bad for Carmella. She didn’t know if it was the puppy dog eyes, or the geeky romantic awkwardness, but she usually found it sufficient to give Raymond a hug and a pat on the back, and he would work like a dog, dusk til dawn, to please her.
Deciding it was of exceptional importance, Carmella reached in her purse, to touch up her lipstick a little.
Pulling into the parking stall, Elmond was shaking his head as she applied a little red. “You know, you’re awful to that boy. He’s ridiculous. And the things you get him do for you.”
Dabbing a little perfume on each wrist, “I never ask, Only suggest. It is always Raymond offers.”
“More like begs.”
Carmella smiled. “You’d be surprised at how easily a man can be made to beg.”
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