It happened so fast no one could stop it. Crane slapped the microphone away. Then he pulled back his fist and landed an uppercut right into Ken-doll’s jaw, sending the reporter staggering backward into his cameraman. Somewhere across the parking lot someone screamed. There was the sound of people running, and then four officers in Sheriff’s Department khakis came pushing out the doors. A moment later, Lamb came striding behind them. He must have sensed an opportunity to posture in front of the media—he wore mirrored aviator shades that he no doubt grabbed the moment he heard raised voices.
“Stay away from my fucking sister,” Crane screamed, fists clenched at his sides. Behind him, Ella was crying silently, big blobby tears rolling down her cheeks. Mrs. Dewalt ran to her, pulling her close and staring wildly around. The reporter was on the ground, a dazed and distant expression on his face. A deputy touched Crane’s arm, and he jerked away.
Other reporters sprinted across the parking lot as they scented blood, and already, cameras were flashing. One deputy helped the fallen reporter to his feet while Lamb himself stepped in front of Crane. “I’m going to have to ask you to step inside, Mr. Dewalt.”
“Oh, you got off your asses for this, huh?” Crane sneered. The veins on his forearms strained against his skin, Hulk style. He stood, shoulders back, ready to take another swing if he had to. “I finally figured out what it takes, then.”
A deputy kneeled down to inspect the reporter’s injuries. Another gently led Ella and her mother back toward the glass double doors. Crane’s chest heaved visibly. For a horrible, wonderful moment, Veronica thought he might swing a punch at Lamb. Then he seemed to collapse, the rage dissipating all at once. He held up his hands, both a surrender and a mark of disgust. Lamb watched one of the remaining officers lead him to the doors. Mr. Dewalt followed, flushed beet red.
“It’s all under control, everyone.” Lamb turned toward the cluster of reporters, whipping his shades off with a flourish. “Just a scuffle. You all right, Langston? Come on, get him inside. We’ll go ahead and take a statement.”
Lamb basked in the camera flashes for a few minutes until the reporters lost interest. As they started to draw away he turned to the doors. That was when he caught sight of Veronica. His eyes narrowed.
“What are you doing here?”
A hundred smartassed answers sprang to her lips. But for once she swallowed them. She forced a smile that could charitably be called “polite.”
“I was hoping to ask Willie Murphy a few questions—”
But Lamb was already shaking his head no. “Forget it, Mars. Even if I wanted to let you in—which, by the way, I don’t—Murphy isn’t taking any visitors.” He smirked. “And I doubt he’d talk to you, anyway. You don’t accuse a man of kidnapping and murder one day, then ask him out for coffee the next.”
“I didn’t … Okay, there are so many things wrong with that statement I’m not even going to bother.” She gave him an exasperated look. Should have gone with the smartassed answer after all. At least then I’d have the satisfaction of a job well done.
“Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go talk to young Mr. Dewalt about his attitude.” He gave her another smug little grin, turned to nod at Oxman, and went back inside.
“They’ll have to book the kid. They can’t let him get away with that,” Oxman said conversationally. He yawned, revealing a mouthful of coffee-yellowed teeth. “Are you still working the case?”
“Yeah, I am. At least until I find out what happened to Aurora and Hayley.”
He adjusted his collar. She caught sight of the sweat stains beneath his arms. “The best thing you can do for the safety of these girls is to step back and let us do our thing.” He lowered his voice. “These cartels don’t play games. I know—I’ve been dealing with them for more than a decade.”
“So you think the Milenios have her?”
“I didn’t say that.” His eyes darted around the parking lot. Veronica blinked. The very word “Milenios” seemed to make him jump. “I don’t know who took Hayley Dewalt, and frankly, I don’t want to know. But I’ll tell you this. Three hours ago Murphy dismissed his public defender. Now he’s got Schultz and Associates representing him.”
“Schultz? They’re huge. And expensive.” She frowned. “How is Willie Murphy affording that kind of firepower?”
“Exactly.” He stabbed at the air with one index finger.
Maybe Weevil had it wrong after all. Schultz and Associates were high profile, and they weren’t always easy to get even if you had the money. You had to be connected, important, and as far as she knew Willie Murphy didn’t even have a permanent home to call his own. Someone wanted him protected—someone with leverage. But did Eduardo and Rico want him protected to cover up murder and kidnapping—or something else?
“Look, I can’t tell you what to do, kid, but proceed with caution.” Oxman rubbed his nose between his index finger and thumb, then sighed. “One of my colleagues got snatched down in Oaxaca last year. Disappeared without a trace while he was working a case. So they’re not above taking the so-called experts in order to keep us out of their business.” He shrugged. “And you might do us all a favor and wait until we have the girls back home before you go stirring up too much shit.”
As he took a few steps toward the parking lot, an idea dawned on her.
“Hey, did you catch the name of the public defender who got fired?”
Oxman shrugged. “Can’t remember. But I understand it was some low-rent local guy.” He thought about it for a moment. “McSomething.”
A slow smile stretched over Veronica’s face. Bingo.