Next, she reads a summary of the events leading up to Amy’s murder. Of course, the newspapers hash out her relationship with John ad nauseam. They go into great details about how she would disappear for days on end and the rumors that she was sleeping around on John—Freddy. It was common knowledge, apparently, that Amy was bipolar and when she was off her meds, there was no predicting what she would do. She may have thought she was being discreet during her dalliances, but she was often spotted around town with this young man or that—and the young man was always young—some even as young as her brother. She would always stop and chat if she ran into someone she knew, but she never introduced her paramour.
“Wait a minute.” Leslie frowns as she recounts what Rose had told her John had said. Amy had talked about powerful men. How powerful could a boy in his twenties be? She files away this tidbit for further study and continues reading about Amy’s tumultuous relationship with Freddy.
“She loved him,” Candace Brighton, Amy’s sister, the next sibling down, informed the papers. “My sister had her difficulties, but she didn’t deserve to be murdered like that. I hope he goes to hell.” When she was asked if she thought Freddy was the one who had killed Amy, Candace had responded, “I know he is. She called me the night she was killed.”
“Amy, calm down. I can’t understand what you’re saying.” Candace cradled her newborn to her chest as she struggled to hold her cell phone to her ear with her shoulder. She was tired from not getting enough sleep, and she had little patience for her older sister’s ramblings. It was late, and the baby was fussy. Candace wasn’t feeling so sanguine herself. She wanted to get off the phone with her sister, but she couldn’t just hang up on her. “You say Freddy’s stalking you?”
“I see him out there. He’s following me everywhere I go. He’s afraid I will tell what I know. That’s why he won’t leave me alone.” Amy was spitting out the words as if they were on fire. “He thinks he’s so clever with his fancy degrees, but I have more street smarts than he does. How stupid does he think I am?”
“If he’s stalking you, then call the police! That’s their job.”
“Damn. He’s outside my house right now. I have to go.” Amy hung up the phone with a bang.
“Auntie Scar, are you leaving again?” Her voice was reproachful, and I turned to find an upset Banana staring at me.
“Ms. Hsu! Ms. Hsu!” Someone was calling to me from a great distance away. I wanted whoever it was to leave me alone so I could sleep. I was so fucking tired. Soon, I was being shaken awake, and I opened one eye to see who was disturbing me. It was Detective Martinez, and he looked concerned about me.
A horrible feeling washed over me. No, not that Danny was dead, but that Kayla knew exactly who had taken Danny and why. If she didn’t know for sure, she could make a pretty educated guess, but for some reason, she was choosing not to share. I knew that Matt was going to have to sweat her to get the information we needed, but I had a feeling that it was going to take a lot to get her to spill her guts. For some reason, and I wasn’t sure why, she was more afraid of telling what she knew than she was of losing her son. I knew Matt wasn’t going to like hearing that, but I couldn’t lie to him. This was too important for massaging egos and tiptoeing around hurtful truths. Matt was a big boy; he could take care of himself.
“Kayla, where the fuck are you?” He burst into her bedroom without knocking. Kayla was bending over something, her body hiding whatever it was. “Fuck it, Kayla!” Matt strode over to her and knocked her gear to the ground.
“Scarlett, thanks so much for doing this.” Kayla’s eyes were reddened as she greeted me, but that might be because of whatever she was on.
“Trixie, get your ass in here!” Eddie bellowed at me from inside his office the minute I showed up for work the next morning. He was looking particularly repulsive as he had bits of egg clinging to his once-white t-shirt. I stepped into his office, and he slammed the door behind me, causing my hackles to raise several inches. I didn’t like being enclosed in a small space with a man I didn’t trust, but he was the one paying my checks. As long as he kept his greasy paws to himself, I would put up with his odious self.
He wasn’t able to find Billy Matthews, either, as the latter wasn’t at the gym today. Lyle tried to get an address or a number, but couldn’t charm it out of anyone. It’s a good thing, really, as it’s for the client’s protection; it just makes our task of hunting down Matthews a bit more difficult. I think about how I’m going to find him, but I can’t come up with a better plan than to go to the gym again in the morning—or have Lyle do it—and repeat until we get our man. Too bad I’m not V.I. Warshawski with her plethora of cunning ideas. I put it firmly out of my mind because it’s just giving me a headache to think about the case. I deserve a break after all the hard work I’ve been doing. I reach for my sandwich again, suddenly famished. We all gobble sandwiches as fast as we can.
