Then again, Harding had known he wasn’t going to live long enough to take the full benefit, so maybe he was smarter than she was giving him credit for. Better to die in the Mesa Arms than some government-owned toilet of a nursing home.

Was it irony or just shitty luck that he’d ended up croaking in an abandoned nightclub with a doorknob stuck in his neck?

Not just any nightclub. Marcus Rippy’s club.

She wasn’t ignoring the timing of Harding’s good luck so much as mulling it around inside her head. Marcus Rippy had been accused of rape seven months ago. Harding had hit paydirt approximately one month later. Then there was Angie Polaski caught in the middle. Had she been sent to the club to take out Harding, or had Harding been sent there to take her out?

Faith couldn’t yet add it up, but she knew the math was there.

She fished around in the back seat for the bottle of water her mother had insisted she take with her this morning. It had been baking in the car since 6:30. The warm liquid slid down her throat like cooking oil, but the city was under a code black smog alert and she couldn’t afford to get dehydrated.

Her time hadn’t just been wasted in strip clubs and liquor stores. She had spent a good hour walking up and down the Mesa Arms knocking on doors that were never answered, peering through windows that showed well-appointed, otherwise empty homes. The sign outside the property manager’s office said that they would be back at two, which had already come and gone. The heat-resistant tennis players had shown up ten minutes ago. Faith was headed toward the courts when a wave of dizziness had sent her back to the car. She had tested her blood sugar under the roar of the Mini’s air conditioning because Sara’s lecture about badly managed diabetes had hit home.

Poor Sara.

‘Okay,’ Faith mumbled, psyching herself up for a return to the heat. She cut the engine. Before she could open the door, her phone chirped. She turned the engine back on so she could sit in the air conditioning. ‘Mitchell.’

Amanda said, ‘Will found a Jane Doe in the office building across the street. Junkie. Homeless. OD’d on a giant bag full of blow. Looks like it was on purpose. Her nose and throat collapsed. She’s at Grady. Surgery should be two hours. Do what you can at Harding’s, then go sit on her. I’d bet my eyeteeth she saw something.’

Faith silently repeated everything back in her head so that she could make sense of all the information. ‘Do we know why she wanted to kill herself?’

‘She’s a junkie,’ Amanda said, as if that was as good an explanation as any. ‘I got your text with Harding’s address. The search warrant is being faxed to the property manager.’

‘No one’s there. I called the emergency number, I knocked on doors. Not a lot of people seem to be home, which is weird, because it’s some kind of retirement community. It’s actually really nice. Nicer than Harding could afford, I would guess.’

‘It’s owned by a shell company. We’re trying to trace it back, but we know Kilpatrick owns a lot of expensive real estate that he lets out well below market value.’

‘Smart.’ Faith had to hand it to Marcus Rippy’s fixer. The guy knew how to squirm his way out of a legally binding financial entanglement. She told Amanda, ‘Not a bad way to hide some money. Harding lives in old people Shangri-La for a nominal sum, Kilpatrick keeps him off the official payroll.’

‘Incidentally, Harding bought the car brand new six months ago. Paid cash.’

‘Harding did a lot of new things with money six months ago.’

‘Tell me you have a lead.’

‘Not yet.’ Faith hedged her words so they didn’t give false hope. ‘I mean, I don’t know what I have other than a feeling that something isn’t adding up.’

Amanda sighed, but to her credit she never faulted them for listening to their instincts. ‘Collier heard back from the hospitals. All the stabbing victims are accounted for. Two domestics. One bar fight. Another was self-inflicted, said the knife slipped into her side while she was cooking.’

Faith couldn’t muster any surprise over the number of unrelated stabbings. She had worked this job too long. ‘I should have Harding’s bank accounts and phone records within the hour. I’ll start going through everything as soon as it hits my email. Meanwhile, I guess I can interrupt the tennis players. So far, they’re the only people I’ve seen.’

‘Angie’s blood is all over the crime scene.’

Faith bit her lip. This just kept getting worse. ‘How did Will take the news?’

‘He didn’t hear it. And he won’t. Hold on.’ The phone clicked as Amanda took another call.

Faith picked at the stitching on the steering wheel. She thought about Will, the devastated look on his face when Charlie said the gun was registered to Angie. The only thing worse than his expression was Sara’s. Amanda had sent them all away to give Will and Sara some privacy, but there had been a long line to sign out of the crime scene at the front door and Faith had managed to catch the gist of their discussion.

Sara was a better woman than Faith. If Faith had found out that her lover’s ex was rifling through her things—not just rifling, but stealing—Faith would’ve burned down his fucking house.

‘Faith?’ Amanda had clicked back onto the line. ‘Have you heard from Will?’

‘Yeah, we had a long conversation about his feelings while he braided my hair.’

‘I’m not in the mood for your humor.’ Amanda had let an uncharacteristic edge of concern enter her tone. Will’s weird, Flowers-in-the-Attic-y relationship with Angie paled in comparison to the dysfunctional freak show he had with Amanda. She was the closest thing he’d ever had to a mother, if you were constantly afraid that your mother would smother you in your sleep.

Amanda said, ‘Will left after he found the Jane Doe. Just disappeared. I have no idea where he is. He’s not at home. He’s not answering his phones.’

Faith knew he didn’t have a car at the scene. ‘Did he get a ride from Sara?’

‘She was already gone when the Jane Doe was found.’

‘I suppose that’s one small blessing.’

‘Yes, well, I’m sure he’s working on a new way to screw that up.’

Unfortunately, Faith was equally certain. ‘Do you think Angie’s dead?’

‘We can only hope.’ Amanda sounded like she meant it. ‘I sent Collier to help you search Harding’s place.’

‘I don’t need his help.’

‘I don’t care. Hold on again.’ Amanda’s voice was muffled as she barked an order to an unseen underling. She told Faith, ‘I’ve managed to force a meeting with Kip Kilpatrick’s team at four o’clock. Get Collier started at Harding’s, then head over to the hospital. I don’t want you spending too much time with him.’

Faith felt her hackles rise. ‘What does that mean?’

‘It means he’s your type.’

Faith was too stunned to laugh. ‘Does he drive a sixty-thousand-dollar truck and live in his mother’s trailer?’

Amanda chuckled. The phone clicked again. She had hung up.

Faith stared at the phone. There was not much to recommend having your godmother as your boss. Actually, there was a lot that advised against it.