R. Jagger - A Way With Murder

“You still have the map, right?”

He put a confused expression on his face and shot her a sideways glance.

“I thought I gave that back to you.”

Her mouth opened.

“Just kidding,” he said. “Yeah, I have it.”

The woman smelled nice.

Her voice was a song.

She was a vision in white-a white skirt, a matching white jacket, a white blouse and white high-heels.

The skirt rode up as they drove.

Wilde kept his eyes off her nylons but it was a struggle.

Her house turned out to be a two-story Tudor in a nice section of town out by Colorado Boulevard. The tree-lawns were wide and lined with shady elms. Vines crept up wrought iron fences. It wasn’t Capitol Hill, but it wasn’t anything to sneeze at.

London led him around to the back.

The door was jimmied.

“This is how he got in,” she said. “From the get-go, he didn’t care if I knew he’d been here. The first time was different-he was discrete. This time he was out for blood.”

Inside, a bomb had gone off.

Everything in the kitchen cabinets had been swept out and smashed on the floor. The drawers were pulled out, tipped upside down and dropped.

Cushions were cut open.

Clocks and TVs were smashed.

Furniture was overturned.

“I have some bad news,”Wilde said. “This was his last chance trying to find the map on his own. You’re next. He’s going to grab you and make you tell him where it is. I’m sorry to be so blunt but I don’t want to sugarcoat it. You need to know what you’re up against.”

She flipped a couch back upright, put the cushions in place and sat down.

“I can’t run,” she said. “I have a job, friends, everything. My whole life is here in Denver. I have a trial starting next week.”

Wilde lit a cigarette.

“In that case we’ll have to go to Plan B.”

“Which is what?”

“There are two options.”

“Which are what?”

“The easiest one is to just give him the map.”

She shook her head.

“That’s not going to happen. What’s the other option?”

“The other option is that we trap him.”

“How?”

“By dangling the bait.”

“Meaning me.”

Wilde nodded.

“You and the map.”

“How do we do that?”

“I don’t know but we need to do it tonight. Like you said, he’s out for blood.”

She stared out the window then back at Wilde.

“What happens if we actually get him trapped? Do we kill him?”

Wilde shrugged.

“Maybe he’ll put us in a position where we have no choice. Self-defense and all that.” A beat, then, “In the meantime, you’ll need to go down to the police department and file a report.”

London shook her head.

“I don’t want anyone to know about the map.”

“You don’t have to tell them about the map,” Wilde said. “Just get the report on file and let ’em come out here and investigate. Then if the guy shows back up and ends up dead, they’ll know it was self-defense.” He frowned and added, “Keep in mind that the guy is probably just a hired gun. If he ends up dead, he’ll get replaced. We need to get to the source.”

“How?”

“I don’t know.”

“You must have some idea.”

“Well, there is one thing,” he said. “The guy probably knows who hired him. If we ask him nice and polite and put a cherry on top maybe he’ll tell us.”

London smiled.

“I’ll pick up some cherries this afternoon.”

“They’re in the produce section.”

Day Two

July 22, 1952

Tuesday Afternoon

With the envelopeclenched in her fist, Waverly got to the stairwell and bounded down three at a time with Bristol no more than a heartbeat behind. With every step she expected a fist to lock into her hair and snap her neck back so hard that her body yanked out.

Two seconds went by.

No fist came.

Then more seconds passed.

She made it to street level and ran with every molecule of strength she could summons.

Her lungs burned.

Her muscles cried.

The streets were crowded. She weaved through pedestrians as best she could.

A cup of coffee flew out of a hand.

An elderly lady tumbled to the ground.

Bristol didn’t let up.

He stayed behind her.

He didn’t care that people were staring.

He didn’t care a damn.

A half block went by.

Waverly swung onto the tail end of a moving trolley, dangled dangerously then got a foot planted. A look back showed Bristol sprinting at full strength but dropping back.

He slammed one fist into the other.

Then he bent over, braced his hands on knees and sucked air.

Waverly checkedthe envelope to be sure the photos hadn’t dropped out.

They hadn’t.

They were all there.

She already knew what she had to do.

She had to find out who they were.

She also had to find out if they were still alive or met a strange death like Kava Every.

She shoved the envelope in her purse.

Got you, Bristol.

Got you by the balls.

Day Two

July 22, 1952

Tuesday Morning

River drank coffeewhile Alexa Blank tended to tables, deciding whether he was angel or demon. It was several minutes before she swung by with an answer. “Let me see your driver’s license.”

“Why?”

“Just do it.”

He obliged.

She studied it and said, “Dayton River, like you said.” She handed it back. “Get your car and pick me up behind here in the alley in ten minutes. You see that other waitress over there?”

River nodded.

“I told her that if I end up dead, you’re the one who did it. I told her your name, Dayton River.”

“You won’t end up dead.”

“I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

Heading out of Denver they didn’t talk much. River concentrated on the rearview mirror, studying every car, looking for a killer behind a wheel. At the edge of the city he made several evasive turns. No one followed. The woman kept a sideways eye on him and had her body pressed against the door as far away as she could.

“Relax,” he said.

“How?”

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said. “My assignment was to abduct you and not let you see my face. I would be contacted later and told whether I should kill you or let you go. My question is why?”

“I don’t know.”

River frowned.

“This is important,” he said. “Think.”

“I am thinking.”

“Do you have any enemies?”

“No.”

“Boyfriends?”

“No.”

“Did you see something you shouldn’t have?”

“No.”

“Do you know something you shouldn’t?”

“No.”

“Are you blackmailing someone?”

“No.”

“Did you steal something?”

“No.”

“Are you a mistress?”

“No, I’m a waitress,” she said. “That’s all I am, just a waitress.”

“That might be true but you’re a waitress who’s on someone’s radar screen.”

She stared out the windshield.

“According to you,” she said.

“Not according to me,” River said. “You are, trust me.”

“I am trusting you but it’s hard.”

River patted her hand.

“I know,” he said. “I wish I could say something encouraging. Unfortunately, it’s going to get harder before it gets easier.”

The city got smaller.

The country got bigger.

Black and white magpies appeared in the sky.

Rabbit brush grew in number and size.

“Where are we going?”