CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
“So we’ve got this kid running all over the boat asking everyone he meets for ‘relative bearing grease.’ And of course everyone knows what that means—I mean, it’s one of the oldest gags in the book—so they’re all just stringing him along, telling him stuff like, ‘Oh, yeah, I think they have some over in Maintenance.’ ‘Oh, sorry, we’re out, so you’ll have to go down to Supplies.’?”
It was Friday, a week since Veronica had gotten the call from Rachel Fahy, and she sat at her kitchen counter, Skyping with Logan. It was early evening, and she had the windows propped open so she could hear the low thrum of the ocean a quarter mile away. Pony—now as tall as Veronica’s knee—was sitting at her feet, looking alert and excited at the sound of Logan’s voice. Table lamps gently lit the room and Neko Case streamed at low volume from the iPod dock.
It was just after six a.m. in the Persian Gulf, and Logan had already been awake for a few hours. He was wearing workout gear; after he logged off he was going to the gym to do a few miles on the treadmill before his shift started. Veronica took in his face greedily. It had been hard to find times when both of them could talk in the weeks since he’d left. She felt awkward, almost shy, for the first few minutes of every call, almost like their patter had to warm up for a few minutes before they found the right rhythms.
“Anyway, he spends half his shift looking for the stuff, and he comes back up to the flight deck all excited, and he says to Shepard, ‘This boat needs some organization. You ever think about alphabetizing the different kinds of grease, so it’s easier to find?’ I’d just taken a swig of water. Sprayed it right out my nose.”
Veronica smiled. “Ah, classic. What will you young comic prodigies think of next? Have you tried calling the kitchen and asking if their refrigerator’s running?”
“First of all, it’s called the galley, and second of all, you don’t want to mess with the cooks. They’re already crazy.” He gave a lopsided grin. “Anyway, we’ve all been through it. It’s a rite of passage.”
“I’m glad it’s not just frat boys and Hell’s Angels that get all the fun of hazing,” she said.
Even missing Logan as much as she did, she couldn’t keep her mind from wandering. She was expecting a call from Leo. He’d promised to give her an update. The San Diego cops had gotten a warrant to search Bellamy’s place on Tuesday, but it took time to process a crime scene, especially if there was a computer involved. She tried to stay focused. There’s time to worry about the case later. You don’t know when you’ll talk to Logan again.
“How’s Po?” Logan craned his neck, making as if he were straining to see her. “I thought she’d be wearing a saddle by now.”
Veronica picked up the laptop and angled it down so that he could see the puppy. He cooed her name, and she turned in excited circles.
“Sit,” he said.
Pony sat.
“Damn! I still haven’t been able to convince her that I wield the same authority you do,” Veronica complained. “Pony, sit.”
Pony barked, wiggled her butt, and ran around the living room. Veronica gave Logan an exasperated look.
“You see? Without you, it’s chaos around here.”
“It’s the delicious, fetishistic thrill of military discipline,” he said. “Isn’t it, Pony…isn’t it, my sweet little kinkster?”
The little dog frolicked toward his voice, whining softly. He smiled.
“Hey, listen, I gotta go in a second here,” he said. “My time’s almost up. You sure everything’s okay?”
“Me? Yeah, I’m fine. Why?”
“I don’t know. You seem a little out of it.”
She felt her cheeks get warm. “Sorry. I’ve just got a lot on my mind, I guess. Maybe I need some of that severe military discipline too.” She tried to make it sound light and flirty, but the words fell flat.
He gave her a worried look, but before he could say anything else, the screen went dark. They’d lost their connection.
She sat numbly in front of the computer for another few moments. Sometimes this happened, and he was able to get right back on and call her again just to say good-bye. Sometimes he wasn’t. It was always jarring, frustrating, even scary. It was just one more thing she had to live with if they were going to make it.
She stood up and stretched. Then she looked down at Pony, who seemed to be waiting for more commands.
“Sit,” she said. Pony wagged, her butt nowhere near the earth. Veronica sighed and knelt to pet her.
“I miss him too,” she said.
She sighed again and glanced at her phone. Still blank. Impulsively, she pulled up Leo’s contact info and hit Call.
“Hey. Sorry, I know you’ve probably been waiting to hear from me,” Leo said when he picked up.
“With bated breath,” she said. It was strange how much easier it was to talk to Leo than Logan right now. Is it, though? We’re working this case together. That’s all it is. Still, her voice got a little jauntier as she realized it. “What you got for me, D’Amato?”
“Sorry, Veronica, but we’re coming up empty. There wasn’t any evidence in that house—that we could find anyway.”
The news stung. She drew in her breath a little. “There had to be something.”
“I don’t think so. That house was clean. Bellamy didn’t even have any garden-variety pervert stuff around—no porn, no weird toys, no squicky pictures. And I just got the report back from the computer guy. He hasn’t been able to turn up anything incriminating on Bellamy’s hard drive.”
She closed her eyes. The search warrant had been her last big shot. If they didn’t have any physical evidence it was literally Bellamy’s word—the word of a well-known, well-liked college basketball coach—against those of a handful of prostitutes who’d either lied to or avoided the cops entirely.
He’s going to get away with it. Unless…
“Veronica? What are you thinking?” Leo asked. He sounded slightly worried.
“I’ve got to go. I’ve got some work to do,” she said vaguely. “Call you tomorrow, Leo. I might very well need your help.”
“With what? Veronica, what’s—”
“See you, buddy. I owe you one.” She hung up before he could say anything else.
Veronica sat for a moment, staring out into mid-distance. Then she pulled up the Pacific Southwest basketball schedule and skimmed over the upcoming games: Seattle, Eugene, Las Vegas…And there it was.
The scrap of paper was still tucked into her wallet, slightly crumpled but still legible. She grabbed one of her burner phones out of her bag—she always kept one or two handy, just in case—and dialed.
It only rang once before the baritone voice answered. “Yeah?”
“Sweet Pea. This is Veronica. The woman who was asking about Madelyn.”
“I remember,” he said matter-of-factly.
“I’ve got some information for you.”
“Yeah?”
Her fingers tightened around the phone. She took a deep breath.
“Yeah. It looks like the man you asked me about is going to be in Vegas again in a few weeks. And I know exactly where he’ll be.”