They all rose, everyone taking a moment to pat Killer on the head. Meg smiled as she watched and wondered what it was about a dog...
“What?” Matt said, and she realized he was watching her.
“Killer,” she replied. “What a name—but he makes people smile.”
“Hmpff,” he muttered.
He was full of it, she thought. Matt liked the dog.
Did he actually like her, too?
She stepped away, wondering how she’d come to feel so drawn to the man. She was just a fledgling agent to him. He could be decent, but the work always came first. And yet, if she was honest, she’d have to admit she’d been attracted to him from the start—frightening though that attraction could be. He had a certain magnetism. Was it because of his strength? Because she wasn’t as strong as she wanted to be and needed that strength?
No, she was dangerously attracted to the man. And she had to stop feeling that way. If she could...
Supplied with copies of the sketch Jane Everett had drawn, the two of them headed to the address where the latest victim had been working, at the intersection Wong had given them. For the first few hours, they could find no one who claimed to recognize the dead woman.
They had Killer with them, and he was an invaluable asset. While the women they wanted to talk to tended to scurry away from anyone who looked official, they were captivated by the ugly little dog and stopped to pet him.
Finally, a tall brunette in very short shorts and a leopard halter top glanced at the picture—and her face crumpled.
“It’s Marci,” she said. “Marci Henning.”
“You’re certain, and she was your friend?” Matt asked.
The woman nodded, big tears appearing in her eyes, rolling down her face. “Of course I’m certain, and yes, she was my friend. Such a good kid. She came here with stars in her eyes and then she drank too much one night, got into drugs...and wound up with an arrest record. After that, she couldn’t even get a job in a coffee shop. Me, I’m out here because I’d rather be doing this than dealing with jerks in a crappy, low-paid job in the service industry. Marci...she wanted something more.”
“I’m sorry,” Meg said. “But...this is important. We desperately want to catch her killer. Justice for her, and for the other victims. What can you tell us? Did you see anything? Do you know anything about her last customer?”
“I wasn’t with her. I was at the bar over there. Drunks are easily seduced,” the woman said. She offered her hand. “I’m Ollie. Olive Warner. And I do know who was with Marci around the corner. Hold on. I’ll find her.”
“Thank you.”
“Now no one can work the street,” Ollie muttered as she started walking.
She was headed toward a seedy bar, and they followed her in.
The place fell silent, except for the old jukebox wheezing out a country tune as they entered. Meg could feel the distrust all around them.
Matt stepped forward, holding up his badge. “We’re not here to bust anyone for anything. We’re searching for a murderer, someone who gets off on chopping up women. We need your help.”
Killer let out a woof that sounded almost like the word please. Meg lifted him in her arms, not at all sure about bringing the dog into a dive bar. Later, she wondered whether it was Matt’s request, Ollie’s plea or Killer’s woof that changed things.
There was silence for another moment and then Ollie Warner spoke up. “Marci is dead. This horrible killer is attacking us now. I know one of you was with her—one of you saw something.”
The bartender, a grizzled man who looked as if he hadn’t seen water or soap in a week, was the first to respond. “Marci was here until about one in the morning.”
“Thank you,” Meg said.
A slim woman in a skintight blouse rose from a bar stool. “I saw her after that. We were...we were on the same block. I saw her get into a car.”
“What kind of car?” Matt asked.
“I’m not sure of the make, but it was black,” the woman said.
“A black sedan?”
“Yeah, you know. They’re all over the city,” the woman said. “Everybody uses them.” She sniffed. “And you’d be surprised just how many we see trolling the streets around here.”
“Did you see who was in the car?” Meg asked hopefully. “Can you describe the driver?”
The woman shook her head. “Sorry, no, I can’t. But...”
“But what?”
“I saw it drive away and I noticed that the license plate was all...covered in mud.”
*
Before they’d driven away with their witness reports, Matt was on the phone with Jackson, who was going to plan a press conference to make sure women were on the alert for a black sedan, even though they knew that if he saw the news, the killer might change his vehicle. At the very least, they’d force his hand. It was a small victory—with the dead piling up and Lara still missing.