“I know,” he said.
“Costume shop records might let us know about a spike in purchasing if he’s using a certain place,” she suggested.
“Larue’s already tried that. No credit card records to tie either of our suspects to the costumes the killer’s used, and no one shop has sold all three recently. Whoever he is, he’s smart enough not to go to the same shop every time. Anyway, I’m going to run surveillance today.”
“Surveillance on who?” Danni asked.
“Gus Epstein.”
“I’m going with you.”
“Danni...”
“I’m going. And you won’t have to be worried about me, because I’ll be with you.”
He smiled. “Actually, it has nothing to do with me being worried. I was going to tell you that it’s usually the most boring job in the world.”
“And I’m not going to start an argument, but I suggest we drop in on Shamus. He was the one who went to confession, so we should see what we can get him to confess to us.”
“Good idea. We’ll stop by his place on the way to Gus’s.”
*
He’d fucked up. He’d fucked up big-time last night. He should have known. Fucking Arnie, he always had everything. First he had the magic sax, and now it was obvious that he’d also had Jessica. And when he found her purse one day and saw pictures of the kid—well, he’d known. He’d known then. Even so, he’d followed Jessica, just to be sure.
He’d barely kept his facade in place, he’d been so stunned. No wonder she’d never brought the damned kid around. No wonder she’d never shown pictures around. He was angry—and anxious. He needed that sax. Needed it now.
For a moment frustration almost overwhelmed him. This was a big city. It was filled with musicians. Any one of those bastards could have the sax.
No. It had to be someone with a connection—a strong connection—to Arnie.
He pulled out the picture again and studied it. Who else had Arnie known? Who else had he played with over the years?
It should have been one of the big guys, one of the top guys, but...
He studied the picture more closely. The Survivor Set, huh? Well, they weren’t all survivors anymore, were they?
He drew a deep breath and willed himself to be calm. It was all in the facade.
He had to choose a new facade.
And he had to get that sax.
*
Quinn called Shamus to tell him they were on the way over. Danni watched him as he spoke into the phone. He glanced her way as he repeated what had obviously been Shamus’s question. “Why? We just want to catch you up on last night.”
They could see Shamus watching through the window as they arrived. He opened the door as they reached the front steps, looking nervously up and down the street. A boy was riding a skateboard past his house, and an old woman was walking by with her groceries.
“Get in, get in,” Shamus said, sounding stressed.
The minute they were inside, he quickly closed, locked and bolted his door.
“I may get caught by this guy eventually,” Shamus said, “but I’ll be damned if I’m going to make it easy for him.”
“It’s always smart to be vigilant,” Quinn said.
“You guys want coffee or tea?” Shamus asked.
“Sure,” Quinn told him. “There’s never enough coffee to keep me awake these days.”
Shamus led the way into the kitchen. He lived in an old shotgun house; the parlor led right into the dining room, which led into the kitchen, where two bedrooms broke off to the side. The decor was Bohemian and retro hippie. He had drapes for doors and strings of Mardi Gras beads hanging from archways. A drum set took up most of the back bedroom. Danni could also see amps and mikes, along with several guitars set in stands.
“I don’t even own a sax,” Shamus said, reaching into a cupboard for mugs. “So while Arnie and I were friends, I don’t know why anyone would think I have his sax. But this guy is crazy, so I’m not taking any chances. I mean, why the hell attack Jessica’s mom then leave her alive and let her kid out and all?” he asked. “They’re both all right, aren’t they? Nothing’s happened to them since Billie filled us in last night, has it?”
“No, not that we know of,” Danni said. She perched on one of the stools by his counter. “Shamus, do you have any idea who could be doing this? Are you suspicious of anyone—did anyone ever say or do anything odd around Arnie before he died?”
“We all teased Arnie. We all said we could be just as good as he was if we had magical instruments, too,” Shamus said.
He already had a pot of coffee ready. He filled mugs for them and topped off his own. Then he reached up and pulled a bottle of Jameson Irish Whiskey from the cabinet and offered it to them. They shook their heads, but he added a liberal portion to his own mug then took a sip.
“I don’t. I don’t know anything,” he said.