Elizabeth Lowell - Blue Smoke and Murder

“We’d like to ask a few questions about this shooting,” said a cop as he walked in the open front door.

“Talk to her first,” Zach said, jerking his thumb at Jill. “I’ve got to call the next of kin.”

TAOS

SEPTEMBER 16

2:30 A.M.

Zach started up Frost’s old Travel-All. The engine fired with a smooth rumble. Frost still kept his vehicles in good repair.

“Do you think the cops believed us?” Jill asked.

It was the first time they’d been alone since the guesthouse.

“Close enough,” he said.

“I got real tired of repeating the same answers to the same cop, over and over again.”

“Standard. The cops have a shooting and an arson to solve.” Maybe a murder, too. But, God, I hope not. “A prominent citizen is involved. Until Frost corroborates our story, we’re as close to a suspect as the cops have.”

“Why would we call them if one of us shot Frost?”

“Why wouldn’t we?”

Jill opened her mouth, then closed it with a sigh. “Forget I asked. My brain isn’t in top form.”

He lifted his right hand and ran it down her cheek. “You did fine, Jill. Better than I had a right to expect of a civilian. You kept your head and helped instead of getting in the way.”

“With that and four hundred dollars…” She made a sound that could have been laughter, but probably wasn’t. “Do you think Frost will make it?”

“He’s tough.” Way too much blood. Damn near bled out in the hall. “If they get blood into him quick enough, he’ll be up and swearing in no time.”

“What did his daughter say?”

“She’s on her way. It will be two hours, maybe more.”

Jill watched streetlights slide by either side of the windshield. There were few people out, and fewer still were sober.

“Why?” Jill asked after a minute.

Zach knew what she was asking. “It wasn’t a hot prowl gone wrong. The car was the target, which meant the shooter was after the paintings.”

“They’re in the house.”

“The shipping cartons were in the car. Add paraffin, gasoline, and light it off. Step back before it explodes in your face.”

“But why shoot Garland Frost?”

“He was home,” Zach said grimly. “And he’s a maverick. The thought of Lee Dunstan pissing all over his appraisals wouldn’t bother Frost a bit. Hell, he’d enjoy it.”

“Then you think Frost was actually the target?” Jill asked, her voice strained.

“I’ll ask the shooter just as soon as I get his neck between my hands.”

She looked at Zach’s profile. In the random illumination of streetlights and dashboard lights, he looked like a bleak stone carving. He might have argued a lot with Garland Frost, but he still cared about him.

“How did the shooter know we were here?” she asked.

“That’s the problem with flight plans and rental cars. You leave a paper or electronic trail that any decent computer hacker can follow.”

“All the way to Frost’s house?”

“That’s what I said to Faroe. He’s trying to get through to the rental company, find out if our rental had a locater beacon in it, and if so, was it active.”

“Why would they-never mind, Mexico.”

“Yeah. A short run to the border and the thief is several thousand bucks richer.”

“You think the shooter is still around here?” she asked uneasily.

She didn’t like thinking about how close Frost and Zach had come to dying a few hours ago.

“We’ve got guards on Frost. And I’m going to stay with him until his daughter gets here. I want you with me.”

He turned into the hospital parking lot and stopped close to the emergency entrance.

Jill saw two patrol cars and hoped the questions wouldn’t start all over again. She didn’t know if she had the patience for it.

When Zach saw the plainclothes unit next to the patrol cars, he wondered who had been assigned the case. The answer came as soon and he and Jill walked through the automatic doors into the hard-shelled sterile waiting room. Three uniformed officers were conferring with a tall, redheaded man in jeans, boots, and a hooded sweatshirt.

“Well, there’s a break,” Zach said under his breath. “Alton Corrigan is still in town.”

The redheaded man turned and looked at them, then shook his head wearily. He crossed the waiting room, hands in the belly pocket of his sweatshirt.

“Zach, you should have stopped by to say hello before you got yourself involved in a shooting,” Corrigan said. “It would have saved me a lot of trouble. Now I can’t even shake your hand until my men have cleared you.”

Zach nodded. “Sorry about that. How’s Frost doing?”

“Surgery,” Corrigan said. “One of the nurses came out a minute ago to tell us that the bullet nicked an artery. If you hadn’t gotten him here quick, he would have died.”

“That’s her doing,” Zach said, nodding toward Jill. He introduced her and added, “Alton used to be chief detective, but if he’s talking about ‘my men,’ I’m guessing he made chief of police.”

Corrigan looked hard at Jill, then back at Zach. “You two are both friends of Frost?”

“She’s my client,” Zach said. “We were researching some family paintings she owns. Frost was an obvious place to start.”

“First time you’re back in, what, five years?” he asked, looking at Zach.

“Something like that.”

“And Frost didn’t kick your ass right out on the street?” Corrigan shook his head. “Must be pretty special pictures you brought him.”

“That’s what we were trying to find out,” Zach said.

“Are those pictures related to the fire-bombing of your car?”

“One minute I was asleep and the next I heard a gunshot and was up and running,” Zach said. “That’s all I know for sure.”

“Why do I feel like you aren’t telling me everything?” Corrigan asked.

Zach’s smile was as weary as it was real. “Because I’m not. I’m working as an investigator for an attorney named Grace Silva Faroe. Ms. Breck is Judge Silva Faroe’s client, so there’s privilege attached to some of this.”

Corrigan grunted.

“I’ve told the cops everything I know for a fact,” Zach said.

“What do you suspect?” Corrigan shot back.

“Last time I checked, New Mexico law doesn’t require that I tell you any or all of my speculations. But I can guarantee that I want to find out who shot Garland Frost even more than you do.”

“I don’t much care for it,” Corrigan said bluntly, “any more than I care for hard-assing you or Ms. Breck. But if I have to, I will.”

“No news there.”

“Do you really think you shot the perp?” Corrigan asked.

“Not enough to send him to a hospital.”

Corrigan grunted again. Then with a curt nod to Jill, he went back to his men.

HOLLYWOOD

SEPTEMBER 16

8:00 A.M.

That’s right,” Score said into the phone. “The six shipping cartons are charcoal, and so is anything that was inside them.”

“Stay with them anyway.”

Score bit down hard on his temper. He really didn’t have the patience for stakeouts, short sleep, and twitchy clients.

“How long?” he asked through clenched teeth.

“Until after the auction.”

“It’s your money.”

“Keep that in mind.”

He looked at the dead phone and slammed it into the cradle in disgust.

“Yo, boss,” a voice said from outside his locked office door.

Score hit the button to release the lock. “Get in here.”

“You look like hell,” Amy said as she walked in. She tossed a printout on his desk.

I should fire the mouthy bitch.

“I work hard on it,” Score snapped.

But not as hard as Amy did. Today her hair was pink and silver.

Score tried not to notice. He was used to the studs and rings she wore in painful places, but the ever-changing hair colors still threw him. It was like employing a chameleon.

“I was up all night with a client.” He rubbed grainy eyes and tried not to wince. His right biceps felt like he’d been branded. Nothing burned like a kiss from a bullet.

Wish that auction was over. I haven’t had a decent night’s sleep since the bloody JPEGs went out.

He flicked a finger at the printout. “Anything good?”

“Something went down at the other end of the bug. Heard sirens, shouting, what sounded like gunfire.”

Score swallowed a yawn. “Yeah? Anyone hurt?”

“Either it’s real cold there or a dude named Frost bit the big one. The name came up a lot.”

“Huh. He die?”

Amy didn’t bother to hide her yawn. “The last time I heard anything, the female subject was on the way back from the hospital. Frost was stable, but drugged to the max. It’s all in the printout.”

Left-handed, Score flipped through the printout. “Looks like the bug is picking up more than it did before.”

“Yeah. Must have taken the phone out of whatever was wrapped around it. But it’s on and off. The subject doesn’t exactly wear her sat phone as a fashion statement.” Amy yawned again. “Oh, there was some talk about being followed.”

Score’s hand hesitated, then resumed flipping through the printout. “Who?”

“They don’t know. Or if they had any ideas, they didn’t discuss it in range of the bug. All they talked about was how easy it is to get flight plans and if the rental car had some kind of locater system since New Mexico is so close to that great chop shop south of the border.”