Private (Private 1)

I said, “Hang on.”

There was a gas station coming up on the corner of Sunset and Fairfax. I pulled in.

“We’ve got almost a full tank,” Del Rio said.

“Use the restroom. Wash the blood off your face. Justine? You still there?”

“Blood? What happened to Rick? What’s going on? Why aren’t you in the office? What’s this about a spa?”

I got out of the car and walked to a secluded part of the Chevron’s concrete lot. I told Justine about the pool party at the “spa” and that Glenda Treat had confirmed that Shelby had worked there but not why.

“You’re a shrink; explain this to me,” I said. “Why was she a working girl?”

“Without knowing her, I don’t think I can.”

“Pretend you’re doing a profile. Just starting one.”

There was a pause. Then she said, “Shelby was a comic, right?”

“A good one.”

“Okay. Well, if you combine equal parts narcissism and self-hatred, you might come up with a stand-up comic. You might also come up with a prostitute.”

I must have groaned.

Justine said, “Was I too rough, Jack?”

“Shelby must have found out something she wasn’t supposed to know. Maybe about the Noccias.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not over.”

“I know. Jack?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Are you coming to the office? Sci and I have two very different approaches to the Schoolgirl case. I need another opinion.”

“Sounds like we’re making progress,” I said. “I’ll be right there.”

Chapter 48

FOUR PAIRS OF eyes looked up in dismay, and maybe even shock, when Del Rio and I entered the war room.

“No one died,” I said.

“Because there were too many witnesses,” Del Rio added as a charming note.

Colleen came in to take orders for lunch as I was winding up my theory of the Shelby Cushman–Noccia family connection. She looked at me, wide-eyed and stunned. My jaw was bruised pretty b

adly. I had a nice laceration on my cheekbone. And those were just the injuries she could see.

“We were outnumbered,” I said.

“The usual?” she asked me.

“Extra fries,” I said. “Extra ice.”