I looked back at Dutch, who just kept staring at the sketch on the table. I threw my hands up in the air and muttered, ‘‘The scissors are right over here on the counter. I’ll be right back with the towel.’’
Half an hour later Uli was finished with Dutch. His hair was a little shorter than he usually kept it, but I had to admit, he looked damn good. He’d insisted on holding a mirror while she cut his hair, to track her progress so as not to be caught by surprise, and when she was done he gave her a relieved nod of approval. ‘‘You did a great job,’’ he said to her. ‘‘Even better than my barber.’’
Uli smiled as she packed up her pencils and her sketch pad. ‘‘If you want me to cut again for you, just ask. I have small salon in my house.’’ She handed him a business card. ‘‘But don’t tell anyone else. You know how the bureau frowns on these things.’’
‘‘No worries,’’ he said as he stuffed the card into his wallet. ‘‘And thanks again for coming by.’’
Before leaving she turned to him and placed a hand on his arm. ‘‘If you decide to do nothing with the sketch, then I will understand.’’
Dutch nodded. ‘‘Thanks, Uli, but there’s no way I can let it go. I just have to figure out who I should trust with this intel.’’ After Uli left, I stood in front of him with my arms crossed and my toe tapping. ‘‘What?’’ he asked.
‘‘Who’s the guy in the sketch?’’
‘‘It’s better if you don’t know,’’ he said.
‘‘Would you like me to turn on my radar and try a few guesses?’’
Dutch narrowed his eyes at me and finally blew out a sigh. ‘‘The man in the sketch is a younger version of the ASAC, Raymond Robillard.’’
My jaw dropped. ‘‘He’s your boss?’’
‘‘Yes,’’ said Dutch. ‘‘And the fact that you’ve never seen him and couldn’t have just pulled his face out of thin air gives that sketch a lot of validity in my book.’’
‘‘What the heck was the FBI’s ASAC doing with a CIA operative?’’ I asked. ‘‘I mean, how did they even know each other?’’
‘‘Ray is ex-CIA. He switched houses when his boss and the SAC, Dan Winston, came over too. Back in the eighties he was Cynthia’s peer.’’
‘‘Why the hell would he assign you to work a case where he murdered someone?’’
Dutch smiled wryly. ‘‘Two reasons. One, who would ever think of the guy ordering an ongoing investigation as having anything to do with it? And two, since I’m the rookie, he could rest assured that a seasoned agent wouldn’t be assigned. It gives everyone the impression that Robillard is still trying to solve the case when in fact he’s just blowing smoke.’’
‘‘And if you did find something incriminating, he could redirect you or pull the case from you before it went too far.’’
‘‘Bingo,’’ Dutch said. ‘‘I’m absolutely positive that he never counted on Cynthia making contact with my girlfriend and giving an eyewitness account.’’
‘‘You are so lucky to have me in your life,’’ I said smugly.
Dutch rubbed his head. ‘‘And I’m even luckier to have a sketch artist for a barber.’’ I swatted at him and he laughed, then grew sober again. ‘‘This is going to be a hell of a case to prove,’’ he said to me. ‘‘Is there anything else that Cynthia said in the vision? Something that might help me nail Robillard?’’
‘‘She had something on him,’’ I said as my radar began to hum. ‘‘There was a manila folder on the table right before he killed her. He took it after he broke her neck.’’
Dutch sat down heavily on the couch. He looked tired and troubled. ‘‘Any idea what she had on him?’’
Before answering him I came over to the couch and sat down too. I focused hard on that folder and what it might contain. A tiny whisper of a thought floated to me. ‘‘There’s a connection to Las Vegas. And somewhere in Asia—I think it’s Thailand.’’
Dutch reached for the pen and paper on my side table and jotted a few notes. ‘‘Anything else?’’
I nodded. ‘‘Oddly, there’s also a connection to San Francisco here too.’’
‘‘Got it.’’
Goose bumps formed on my arms. ‘‘Dutch,’’ I said quietly.
‘‘Yeah?’’
‘‘Be really careful, okay?’’
He gave me a smile, then set the pen down and pulled me into his arms. ‘‘You got it, doll.’’ And he kissed me long and deep.
The next morning I met Candice at the gym. We were both still very stiff and sore, so most of the paces she put me through involved light weights with lots of stretching in between. I had to admit that as we left the gym I felt a lot better.
‘‘Feel like breakfast?’’ she asked as we got to our cars.
‘‘I always feel like breakfast,’’ I said to her. ‘‘I could go for an omelet at Spago’s.’’
‘‘Cool,’’ she said. ‘‘I’ll see you there.’’
Candice pulled out of the parking lot ahead of me and we traveled northbound on Woodward Avenue. As we approached Thirteen Mile I got a prickly sensation along my arms and my radar began to hum a warning. I glanced in the rearview mirror and saw something that made my breath catch. A black Hummer with some front end damage was weaving through traffic, accelerating in our direction. ‘‘Shit!’’ I said as I noticed the scratches and dents to the Hummer’s grill.
I grabbed my gym bag and with one hand on the steering wheel, I tried to open the zipper to get my purse and cell phone out. I glanced again in the rearview mirror and saw that the Hummer was gaining ground. ‘‘Dammit!’’ I swore when the zipper on my bag wouldn’t easily open. I glanced back up to the road in front of me and jumped on the brakes. I’d nearly rear-ended the car in front of me. My heart was pounding hard in my chest, so I inhaled and exhaled deeply.
Glancing back up, I noticed that the Hummer had disappeared. I almost breathed a sigh of relief when I watched it whiz by me. Candice was several car lengths in front of me and she ducked under a yellow light just as it turned red. The Hummer accelerated and bolted through the intersection. ‘‘No!’’ I shouted as I braked in front of another car at the light. To my horror I noticed that I was blocked in on all sides.
Reaching over to my gym bag, I used both hands to get it open and haul out my purse. With trembling fingers I rummaged around, trying to locate my tiny cell phone. When I glanced back up, I could see Candice’s rental car and the Hummer gaining ground on her. I looked back to my purse and finally found the cell. I quickly flipped it open and dialed Candice. Her phone went straight to voice mail. ‘‘Candice! Look in your rearview mirror! The Hummer! It’s right on your tail!’’ I yelled as much into the phone as into my windshield.
In front of me the light turned green and cars began to move. I dropped the cell phone in my lap and concentrated on driving. I could see the Hummer and Candice, about half a mile up the road. Spago’s was off to the left, and as I wove through traffic, punching the accelerator, I could see Candice’s car make the turn, followed by the Hummer. I picked up my cell again and hit redial. Again, Candice’s phone went straight to voice mail. She must have turned it off when we were working out.
I tore up the street at increasing speeds, both hands on the wheel as I focused on getting to Spago’s. Finally I was at the turn, but I had to wait for four lanes of oncoming traffic to clear before I could go. I kept looking into the parking lot, trying to catch a glimpse of Candice or the Hummer, but Spago’s parking lot is in the rear of the building and I couldn’t get a good view of it.
Just then a break in traffic opened up and I punched the accelerator hard. Behind me I heard a horn—the hole had been a wee bit tight—but I didn’t look back as I zoomed into the parking lot and took the sharp corner with a squeal of my tires. I spotted Candice’s blond head right away. She was over in the corner of the lot, her car blocked in by the Hummer. A gargantuan man was towering over her, shaking his finger.
I headed straight for them, and for a mome
nt I had the lovely idea of ramming my Mazda into his Hummer. Granted, my SUV was decidedly smaller, but I might at least distract him enough for Candice to get away. Still, as I approached it was clear that Candice was too close for me to risk it.
The gargantuan must have heard my car coming, because he turned slightly as I approached. I stamped on the brakes and skidded to a halt not five feet from him. He grabbed Candice roughly and jerked her over to the side with him.
Jumping out of my car, full of adrenaline and bravado, I yelled, ‘‘Let her go!’’
Gargantuan looked somewhat confused, but then he said, ‘‘Stay outta this!’’
It was then that I noticed he had a gun pointed at Candice’s chest. The look on her face pleaded with me not to push it. I raised my hands into the air and said, ‘‘Don’t hurt her!’’
‘‘Get back in your car and drive away,’’ said Gargantuan. ‘‘Now.’’
I glanced at Candice. She gave me a curt nod, but I found it hard to breathe and even more difficult to move. ‘‘Let her go,’’ I pleaded.
‘‘I said get outta here!’’ yelled Gargantuan, pulling the gun away from her and pointing it at me.
Then I saw Candice’s hands move in a blur of speed and precision. With a maneuver far too fast for me to track, she had the man’s hand twisted back and his gun flying skyward. A second later she was holding the gun and he was on the ground, writhing in agony. His palm was facing up and bent back at an angle that had to be painful.
Next, she kneed him right in the nose, but didn’t let go of his palm. He recoiled and she pulled up on the arm as he let out a howl of pain. Pointing the gun at his face with her free hand, she said to me, ‘‘You got your cell phone, Abby?’’
‘‘Yes,’’ I said, stunned at the quick turn of events.
‘‘Call the cavalry and let’s put this slime behind bars for a while.’’
Two patrol cars and one unmarked car arrived at the scene. Milo, dressed in a gorgeous black suit and a crisp white shirt offset by a metallic pink tie, got out of the unmarked car and walked up to us just as they were putting Gargantuan into the patrol car. ‘‘Why is it that when there’s trouble in this town, Abby, I always find you in the middle of it?’’ he asked with a grin.
‘‘Animal magnetism,’’ I deadpanned.
‘‘Miss Fusco,’’ he said to Candice with a nod.
‘‘Mr. Johnson,’’ she said back. ‘‘Abby and I were rammed by another car when we were upstate the day before yesterday, and this is the guy who did it.’’
Milo turned to me. ‘‘Does Dutch know you were rammed by another vehicle the other day?’’
I pumped my head vigorously. ‘‘Of course. I told him we’d been in a car accident.’’
Milo scratched his chin thoughtfully. ‘‘I seem to remember him telling me that you said it was a ‘fender bender.’ ’’
‘‘Absolutely,’’ I said, still nodding my head. ‘‘Our fender was most definitely bent.’’
Milo grinned and gave a wheezy little laugh. Turning to Candice, he said, ‘‘Is there any way I can get a straight answer out of you?’’
‘‘Depends on what the question is,’’ she said easily.
‘‘Great,’’ he said, removing a small notebook and a pen from his pocket. ‘‘Taking a statement from two wise guys is just how I like to start my mornings.’’
Candice and I cooperated fully with Milo, except about questions pertaining to the case that we were working. Candice did most of the talking, and when it came to filling Milo in on the details of who we were visiting up in Jackson and why, she wouldn’t divulge a word. ‘‘That’s confidential, detective,’’ she said when he asked.
‘‘Why?’’ Milo wanted to know.
‘‘Because I don’t need the police butting in on a case brought to me by a private citizen. I have my client’s confidence and privacy to protect.’’ I shot Candice a grateful look.
Milo scratched his head, then eyed me, thinking perhaps I might crack and give up a name. ‘‘Abby?’’ he said. ‘‘Want to elaborate on who you spoke with upstate and why?’’
‘‘Can’t,’’ I said, doing my best to look apologetic. ‘‘Candice has hired me to assist with her investigation, which makes her my boss. And if my boss won’t give it up, then I’m sure not going to.’’
‘‘I see,’’ he said. Behind us we heard a loud rumble and we all turned as a huge tow truck pulled into the lot.
‘‘Did he have any ID on him?’’ I asked, curious about who this guy was.
‘‘Oh, yeah,’’ Milo said as he tugged on his chin thoughtfully. ‘‘He had plenty of ID. We found three different driver’s licenses in his wallet, and one in the car. I figure all four are fake, and the fact that he’s carrying so many probably means his prints are in the system. We’ll take him back to the station, fingerprint him, identify him, then book him on assault with a deadly weapon. And once we tow in the Hummer and collect the forensics to match the damage done to your car, Candice, we’ll get him on attempted murder too.’’
‘‘Awesome,’’ I said happily. I could rest easier knowing the guy who wanted to kill us was off the streets.
‘‘Not so much,’’ said Milo seriously. ‘‘This guy stands a chance at posting bond, and he’ll probably be out within a day or so. I would recommend that you two call your client to tell them this case is too dangerous and you’re dropping out.’’
Candice flashed him a sardonic smile. ‘‘I appreciate that, detective. However, I’d rather not change the name of my agency to Candice Fusco, Chickenshit PI, just yet.’’
I stifled a giggle. When Milo shot me a look, I pushed out my chin and said, ‘‘Yeah. What she said.’’
‘‘Is that the way it’s going to be, Abby?’’
His steely glare made me a bit nervous. ‘‘You’re not going to tell Dutch about this, are you, Milo?’’
Milo gave me a sly smile, obviously smelling a weak spot. ‘‘Oh, I’m gonna tell him all right, and you know how he loves hearing about the antics of his girlfriend from the Royal Oak PD. That’s a phone call I can’t wait to make, Abby.’’
Damn. ‘‘Fine,’’ I said, flipping open my cell phone again. Dialing some numbers, I put the phone to my ear and began speaking after the beep. ‘‘Hey, Dutch, it’s me. Listen, Milo’s got this really funny story to tell you about that fender bender Candice and I were in the other day, and he may feed you a big fat lie about some guy in Spago’s parking lot trying to shoot Candice, but I want you to know that Candice handled it, no problemo, and Milo’s just a big fat fibber. Anyhoozel, we should have dinner again soon. That Thai food last night was da bomb. Oh, and I love the new haircut—it suits you. Okay, gotta go, love-ya-mean-it, buh-bye.’’
I stuck my tongue out at Milo as I pocketed the cell phone.
He shook his head at me and gave another wheezy laugh. ‘‘You know,’’ he said, ‘‘Dutch has handled some serious trouble in all the years he’s been in law enforcement, but you, Abby... well, you just take the cake.’’
Once we’d finished with Milo, or he’d finished with us, Candice and I regrouped by her car. ‘‘You still feel like an omelet?’’
‘‘Now I feel more like a Coney Dog,’’ I said, looking at my watch.
‘‘Let’s get it to go,’’ she said, ‘‘and we can take it over to your place. I’d rather talk to you in private.’’
We ordered two dogs, extra chili and extra mustard, along with two orders of chili cheese fries and two large Cokes, then headed back to my house. When we got inside, Eggy jumped off the couch and hurried over to Candice to sniff the bags. ‘‘Does he like Coney Dogs?’’
‘‘Eggy’s not one to discriminate. If I’ll eat it, he’ll eat it, and the worse it is for you, the more we both like it.’’
We sat down in the living room and unloaded the bags. There is no better scent than a steamy-hot Coney Dog and chili cheese fries. Spago’s has some of the best in town, with a sweet, soft bun and extra-spicy mu
stard. Candice and I chowed down first, not really saying much other than the occasional ‘‘Mmmf, this is good!’’ Afterward we both reclined on the couch, thankful for elastic waistbands.
‘‘So what’d you want to talk to me about?’’ I asked lazily.
‘‘Oh, yeah,’’ she said, straightening up. ‘‘It’s about the guy in Spago’s parking lot. I think our friend Bruce might have sent him.’’
I sat up a little straighter and looked at her. ‘‘You do? Why?’’
‘‘Because when he boxed me in with his Hummer and pointed the gun at me, he said, ‘I got a message from Lutz. He wants you to stay the hell outta his business.’ ’’
I thought about that for a minute. ‘‘I’m not buying it,’’ I said.
‘‘Me neither,’’ said Candice. ‘‘It just seems too easy.’’
‘‘So, what do we do?’’
‘‘We call Lutz to see if we got the message right.’’
‘‘Good thinkin’,’’ I said. Candice dialed information on her cell phone and got the number for Jackson prison. She dialed the directory and asked how to go about getting an inmate on the phone. She was told that a message would be sent to the inmate and that he could call her from a prison pay phone, and all she’d have to do was accept the charges when he called. Candice left her number and hung up.
Both of us were feeling the effects of heavy carbs and full stomachs, so I clicked on the telly and we made small talk. ‘‘I really like your house,’’ Candice said as she looked around.
‘‘Thanks,’’ I said. ‘‘It’s coming together, even though I haven’t spent a lot of time here.’’
‘‘Man, if I had a house like this, I’d never leave,’’ she commented. Just then her cell rang and she answered it. I waited while she took the call, which was short and to the point. When she hung up, she looked at me and said, with eyebrows bouncing, ‘‘Feel like another road trip?’’
‘‘You can’t mean back up to Jackson?’’
‘‘I can and I do,’’ she said. ‘‘Lutz claims that he didn’t have anything to do with that gorilla attack today. In fact, he’s asking to speak to us. He says he’s got some information that he wants to exchange for some help with his hearing, and he insisted we come today.’’