“Thanks.” I realized I could have used a shower, too, but I didn’t want to waste the time going upstairs to my apartment. Jekyll probably assumed I had dissolved out at the landfill like Mel (at the very least, he thought he’d run me over with the truck). He was sure to be spooked, although he wouldn’t necessarily think he’d been caught, wouldn’t need to panic. But it was only a matter of time. We had to catch him before it was too late.
I buckled my belt, straightened my slacks; the new shirt was a little tight, so I left the top button open. I looked cleaner, but I still felt soiled by the whole matter. I couldn’t stop thinking of how Mel had collapsed into biological ooze before my eyes.
McGoo was waiting for me in front of Sheyenne’s desk. “So are we rolling? Come on, Shamble, let’s get him.”
Robin fidgeted awkwardly. “To make sure this is done properly, I’m going with you.”
“No, it’s not safe,” I said.
“I’m going.” Again, I saw the determination in her that won so many cases, and I knew I couldn’t stand against that.
“Let’s not argue about it—we’ll all go,” I said.
Before we headed out the door, I made a call from Sheyenne’s desk. “We need to tell Miranda Jekyll what’s happening. Who knows how far-reaching the indictments will go? It is our duty to protect the client.”
When Miranda answered the phone, I could hear loud music in the background. It was just sunset—she couldn’t possibly be at a nightclub already. I heard someone talking and laughing, then the music swelled again. “Oh, hello, sweetheart!”
After I explained what I had discovered, she gave a cool click of her tongue. “That Harvey! I knew there was something wrong with him. I’d love to see the look on his face when you march in and arrest him.” She covered the phone, and I heard her muffled voice, then a sultry giggle before she came back on the line again. “I trust in your abilities, Mr. Chambeaux, and I can’t wait to hear how it all turns out. But I have other plans tonight. Full moon, you know—and some of us werewolves only get to let loose a few days each month.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “Mrs. Jekyll, this could win your entire case, bring down Harvey Jekyll. You could end up with everything, or you could lose the whole company—depending on what happens.”
“And I trust you to do what’s best for me, sweetheart. Don’t worry, I have an alibi with plenty of witnesses! I may stop by the factory later, but some friends and I are at a pre-moonrise party.”
The music swelled, and Miranda hung up.
Chapter 40
Regardless of how much hard detective work I invest in a case, now and then a major lead miraculously falls into place—as if the cases really do solve themselves. That’s terrific when it happens, but sometimes the timing sucks.
We were heading out the door to go after Harvey Jekyll when the phone rang: Fletcher Knowles from Basilisk—and his voice sounded uncertain. “Hello, Mr. Chambeaux? I found something . . . something you should be aware of.”
“I’m busy right now, Fletcher. We’re just about to close a very large—”
He interrupted me. “I had to call you now, before she wakes up. I think I found the gun that was used to murder you.”
That stopped me in my tracks, just like the original bullet did.
He continued, “A big antique revolver—Smith and Wesson. That’s what the ballistics report said, right?”
My voice was a low growl. “Damn right.”
“I found the gun in Ivory’s dressing room. She’s been hiding it in one of her vanity drawers. But you need to get over here right away. It’s sunset, and she’ll be rising soon—you don’t have much time.”
I swallowed hard, thought about McGoo and the big arrest at JLPN, but I knew the choice I had to make. “I’ll be right there, Fletcher.” I hung up and turned to Sheyenne. “The gun that shot me is at Basilisk. Ivory’s been hiding it.”
“That bitch! If I wasn’t a ghost, I’d rip her fangs out, then move on to other body parts. I was going be a surgeon, you know. Hmmm, maybe if I used pliers . . .”
I looked at Robin and McGoo. “You guys have to take care of Jekyll. I need to do this—it could wrap up my own murder case, and Sheyenne’s.”
“We’ve got it, Shamble,” McGoo said. “Scout’s honor.”
“I’ll be there in spirit,” I said.
“I’ll be there in spirit,” Sheyenne said. “I’m going with you, Beaux. That vamp poisoned me and probably shot you to keep you from snooping around.”
“Happy to have you along.” I wasn’t going to prevent her from joining me anyway.
We all left in a rush. I don’t know which of us was in the greatest hurry.
Basilisk was closed for business until well after full dark; the neon sign was switched off. Dusk thickened into downright gloom as Sheyenne and I arrived, and Fletcher opened the door to hurry us into the dim nightclub. “I wasn’t sure what else to do, Mr. Chambeaux.” Nervous, he locked the door behind us. I gave my .38 a reassuring pat.
Fletcher spoke in a hushed voice as he led us toward Ivory’s dressing room in the back, a place to which I’d been invited many times, though I had studiously avoided it. “Ivory’s my biggest star, the best vamp singer I’ve ever heard, and it’s going to ruin business if we have to get rid of her. But if she did kill you . . .” He shook his head. His face looked as pale as his bleached goatee.
“Why would you help us?” Sheyenne asked.
He shrugged. “It’s one way to get you to come back and sing.”
Her translucent face clouded with anger. “Fletcher, if you help put away the vampire bitch that killed both of us, then I’ll come back and sing every Saturday night for free.”
“I hoped you would say something like that.” The manager led us down the hall behind the stage. “And you did me a good turn, too, Mr. Chambeaux, even though you didn’t mean to.”
“How’s that?”
“Remember Harry Talbot, the blood-bar owner who hired you to shut down my under-the-table blood sales? He’s actually a cool guy. Likes progressive-rock music, same as me. He turned me on to some excellent obscure bands.”
“So you’re not trying to drive each other out of business anymore?” I asked. Talbot had paid his fee to Chambeaux & Deyer and closed the case; I’d never heard anything more from him.
“Just the opposite! We’re in business together, my nightclub, his blood bar. We’re opening up another place or two. There’s certainly a market for it.”
We fell into a hush as we reached the closed door to Ivory’s dressing room. Fletcher turned the knob and the three of us entered. The vamp singer had a small makeup table and a chair, a ring of bright makeup lights, but no mirror (which wouldn’t have done her any good). The table was covered with small jars, brushes, facial primer, foundation, powder, pencils, a rainbow of eye shadows and blushes, and her signature glossy red lipstick. A vase held a dozen long-stemmed red roses. The walls were covered with photographs of Ivory nuzzling famous people.
Her double-wide mahogany coffin rested on a riser on the other side of the room. Ivory had spared no expense: This was the best coffin offered in any funeral parlor catalog, about ten times more expensive than the one Robin had bought for me.