Lonergan sneered at her. “What? You’re not bringing Li along?”
Foster was already halfway to the door. “Grow up.”
CHAPTER 23
Amelia had a sense that the other side of her bed was occupied but hadn’t for the life of her any idea who was doing the occupying. She rolled over, saw the naked man there. Black. Lean. He took up most of the length of the queen-size platform bed. Amelia rose up on one elbow and just stared at him, enjoying the view, despite the pounding headache, which was courtesy of a fading high. She had a faint recollection of a night of cosmos or Thunderbird or something that would need to come back to her gradually after time, along with the naked man’s name. Something with a T. Tony? Tommy? She gave up. It wasn’t that important anyway, was it? This was a one-off. She’d never see him again.
She shook him, then took a lascivious peek under the rumpled top sheet. It all came back to her then—the night, the guy. A pickup in a bar at almost closing. She peered at the clock on the bedside table, almost twelve hours ago now. She shook Mr. Handsome again, harder this time—fun time was over. Half the day was gone already, and she had things to do. Preparations.
“Hey, good looking. Rise and shine. Time to go.”
He groaned awake, turned groggily, blinked bleary eyed a few times, trying to focus. It didn’t appear that he recalled the night any better than she did. It was definitely Thunderbird, now that she thought about it. She had the faint taste of it, akin to cheap gasoline, coating her tongue.
She rolled out of bed and found a pair of sweats and a T-shirt slung over a chair and put them on. “Gotta go, lover boy.”
He sat up on the side of the bed and searched the floor for his pants. “Some night, huh?”
Amelia flicked on the television to the midday news while she watched Mr. T dress and hunt for his shoes. She spotted them kicked under a chair and pointed the remote to guide him to them. “There.”
She turned back to the TV, hoping there was something new on the body they’d found on the Riverwalk. Nothing on that so far, but plenty on the overnight body count. Fourteen shot around the city, three fatally. What a violent town. Who knew how many bodies lay scattered around unclaimed, tossed away like trash, moldering in abandoned buildings or buried in a forest preserve? The possibilities were too dark to even imagine.
“I’m out,” her date announced on his way to the door.
“Hey,” she said. “What’s your name again?”
“What’s it matter?”
He had a point. “You’re right.”
“It’s been real,” he said as he walked out the door.
She locked the door behind him. “I might agree if I could remember it.” She stretched, then padded back to the news. Seriously, she thought, what a violent town.
CHAPTER 24
They were back at Teddy’s with Giles Valentine before noon, looking for information on the blonde. A lunch crowd was beginning to form, mostly tourists who’d wandered off the Riverwalk looking for a place to sit and eat before hitting the Mag Mile to get their pockets picked, legally, at the high-end stores there.
Lonergan held up the photo from the security footage and pointed to the blonde. “Who’s this, and before you get cute and start dancin’ around playin’ with us, this shows you straight up talkin’ to her when you shoulda been workin’。 And on top of that, we’ve got a dead girl across the river, so this isn’t some game.”
Foster cleared her throat to let what Lonergan had said die down a bit. “We’re hoping she’s in here often enough that you may know who she is?”
“Since you never forget a face and talk up all the ladies who come in here.” Lonergan sat the photo on the bar, tapped it with a finger. “We need a name and where we can find her. Now.”
Valentine reached up and adjusted his tie. “What’d she do?”
Lonergan shook his head. “That’s a question. Want to try again?”
Valentine’s face colored. He really didn’t like Lonergan. “Or?”
Lonergan stepped forward, glancing up at Valentine’s hat and then down at the bow tie. He didn’t answer the question, but the look he gave the man had him backing away from the bar.
“I hate cops,” Valentine mumbled.
“Neither here nor there, pal,” Lonergan groused.
For a moment Valentine said nothing; then he turned his attention from Lonergan to Foster. “Her name’s Kate. She’s a bit of a regular. She lives in the area. We’ve been out a couple times.”
“That’s all you know about her?” Foster asked.
Valentine’s brows lifted. “How much do I need to know?”
Lonergan grimaced. “She have a last name, Casanova?”
Valentine wouldn’t even look at him. He addressed Foster instead. “I got better than a name, but only for you, because a woman’s dead, and I want him out of here.”
The man pulled out his wallet and slid out a business card, handing it to her. Foster eyed the card. There was a name on it and a telephone number. She flipped it over, but there was nothing on the back. Foster read aloud. “Katherine Samuels-Key. She’s married?”
Valentine’s face lit up, his tongue wetting his lips proudly. “I didn’t ask. She didn’t tell.” He slid a contemptuous look at Lonergan, who was staring daggers back at him. “That’s how it’s done this century, Pops.”
Lonergan took a step forward to apparently show Valentine just how much of an old man he was, but Foster broke in with another question. “So she works the bar, goes with anyone here. You watch as she picks up whoever; still you keep her card in your wallet?”
He stared at her, confused, like he didn’t get why she found that strange. “We’re not dating or anything.”
Lonergan leaned forward, his jaw straining. “Dumbass, is she or is she not a pro?”
Valentine backed up to the shelves, the contact rattling the bottles on the ledge behind him. He couldn’t put any more distance between himself and Lonergan, but it sure looked like he wanted to. Valentine was all mouth. Lonergan knew it. Foster knew it too. She suspected that even Pike, his boss, knew it, but if Pike found out he’d been letting professionals work the bar on an odd night, Foster was sure his days were numbered here at Teddy’s. That might have accounted for the sweat on his forehead and the attention to his tie.
“I don’t know, okay? Her business is her business,” Valentine said.
Foster suspected that the name on the card was as bogus as a three-dollar bill, but the number was good, otherwise Valentine wouldn’t be carrying it around in his wallet. She waited to see if Lonergan had anything more to ask, but it looked like he was going to let the conversation die there, which, for him, was probably for the best. They had a number and an unreliable name. It was something.
“Anything else?” Foster asked Valentine.
He picked up his bar rag, wound it around his hands. “What more do you need?”
Outside the bar, Foster slid her notebook back into her bag and looked up at Lonergan next to her. “Why do you terrorize people like that?”
Lonergan sniggered. “I was right takin’ you for a bleedin’ heart. Look, you want to make an omelet, you got to break some eggs. A little in-their-face cuts the bullshit by half.”