Murder was better than caffeine. “Another broken window! We have another murder!” Leda nearly leaped out of her seat.
“Don’t get ahead of yourself. She fell down some stairs and broke her neck. There’s always the possibility that this was an accident.”
“It’s also possible that her death has nothing to do with our cases. I mean, technically it’s possible. But if you thought that’s what happened, you wouldn’t be here, and I wouldn’t be out of bed before the sun comes up.”
“Correct.” He squeezed the steering wheel, his knuckles tight and pale.
“Can we stop for coffee?”
“Not yet. We can grab some when we’re done. For now, you’re on your way to an active criminal investigation again, and you’ll stay there by the grace of whoever’s working the scene. I know this sounds weird and strange and probably awful, too, but I want you to see this woman’s body. I want you to touch it, if you can.”
“Oh my God,” Leda said again.
Grady shot her a fast look, then looked at the road again. A stoplight ahead was turning yellow. He drew up to a halt, even though he probably could’ve gunned the engine and made it through. He dropped his head down onto the steering wheel and let his forehead rest there. “Oh God, our first conversation… it’s the only thing you made me promise, that I wouldn’t show you any dead bodies.”
“I mean… yeah. We’ve had this talk.”
“I’m so sorry, I just got caught up in the whole thing, and when my partner, Sam, called me an hour ago and said this was going down, I didn’t even think. I just ran with it. I had this wild hare up my ass, this crazy thought… like, if I could get you there. If I could get you to see, and touch, and… and flash, or whatever it is you do. With a fresh body? If anything’s ever going to give you a hit, surely…” He trailed off. “Surely this would be it, right?”
They sat there, silent in the dark car, parked at the now-red light. There were no other cars at that moment, though a flicker of headlights behind them suggested a few were coming. Morning rush hour wouldn’t start for another hour.
Leda said, “I’ve never actually seen a dead body, except at a funeral. I guess… I guess it’s fine. I think I told you, I didn’t see Tod’s. His mother identified him, and they closed the casket. And it’s not like I knew Janette. I only met her the once, so, no big deal. Yeah, I can do this,” she concluded. “Let’s go. Come on, the light’s green.”
He looked up and saw that she was right, and he was about to get honked at by the cars that were coming up behind him. “Only if you’re sure.”
She was not sure. “I’m sure. I can do this.”
As if to soothe himself, Grady said, “There’s always a chance that you won’t get close enough to the body to make anything happen, anyway. This isn’t exactly standard procedure, and odds are better than fair that we won’t get away with it. Either way, when we get there, stick close to me. Err on the side of too quiet, instead of too friendly. If anyone asks, you’re a consultant I’ve been working with, on a case related to Ms. Copeland’s dead husband. Do not volunteer which dead husband. Don’t do it.”
“Got it.”
“If you ever change your mind, at any time, all you have to do is say so—and I’ll have you out of there so fast, it’ll make your head spin. I realize now that I am a terrible person for asking you to do this. I am truly the worst man who ever lived, and just say the word—I’ll run you home and we’ll pretend like this never happened.”
But things were happening anyway. Tod’s murderer was within her grasp, she could feel it. Even if that feeling was more “strong desire” than “intellectual certainty.” If she turned back now, she might never get another chance.
“No,” she told him. “I don’t want to go back home. I want to go catch this creep.” In fact, she desperately wanted to go home. But she more desperately wanted the person who killed Tod.
“You mean it?” he asked nervously.
“I mean it. Let’s go.”
Before long, they were on the interstate, and from there it only took another thirty minutes to reach Janette Copeland’s office building. It was crawling with cops and cop-affiliated personnel. An ambulance sat at the ready with its rear doors opened, its interior empty.
Leda saw it at the same time Grady did. She said, “They haven’t removed her body yet.”
“No, but it looks like they’re about to.” He discreetly crooked his index finger at two guys in uniforms with an empty gurney between them. The gurney’s wheels weren’t cooperating, or else the steep, damp, busted-up Seattle sidewalk wasn’t cooperating. Either way, their progress was reassuringly slow. “Let’s head inside,” he added. “Hurry, before they pick her up.”
The Murtree, Hanglesworth, and Smith Financial Services offices occupied the bottom three floors of a smallish high-rise at the edge of the downtown core. Leda noted that she was within walking distance of Castaways, if she felt truly motivated and didn’t mind hoofing it directly, steeply uphill for a few blocks.
Not that she had any intention of doing so. It was early, she was confused, and she was trying to orient herself in the downtown tangle.
Obediently, she followed Grady, sticking to his shadow almost closely enough to be inconvenient—but he didn’t fuss at her, and nobody stopped her. Several cops gave Grady a head bob of recognition, and Leda a scrunched face of confusion; but together they made it into the lobby without any trouble.
Inside, the building looked exactly like Leda had expected. It matched the mirrored-glass-and-steel exterior, with lots of shiny surfaces and hard, flat right angles that gave the place a modern, expensive feel—if a rather unfriendly one. Not so much as a foyer rug or a fluffy potted fern softened the place.
The sun was still only just thinking about coming up, so the lights within the building were blinding. Leda wouldn’t have said no to a pair of sunglasses, but maybe she was only tired. And a smidge hungover.
But only a smidge—which was admirable, considering Ben’s “free drinks for singers” policy. A mild case of morning cottonmouth was evidence that she was a responsible adult.
She squinted around and saw crime tape, some of it still in rolls, lying on counters. A puffy-faced night guard in a polyester uniform gave earnest details to two official-looking women with serious faces. All the elevators in a bank along the wall were open, paused that way, and Leda didn’t know why; but there was no one to ask except for Grady, and he was on a mission—leading her through the scene with a swift, formal pace that said he totally had permission to be there.
And so did anybody who was with him.
Two sets of escalators were stopped, same as the elevators. One was marked out of order, which was silly, since that only meant stairs, but Leda kept that thought to herself. Contrary to her personal nature, she kept all her thoughts to herself, all the while resisting the urge to take the back of Grady’s jacket by the hem—purely to make sure she didn’t lose him like a kid in a busy mall.
They were most of the way through the lobby when someone stopped Grady with a quizzical “Merritt? What are you doing here?” She was a tall, slender woman with yellow hair that was long enough to put up in a clip. She looked tired and hastily dressed in street clothes—Leda thought she must be another detective—but she was carrying a cup of coffee that was big enough to drown a cat.