Harlan Coben - The Innocent

"Time of death?"

"It's still being worked on, but sometime tonight between eleven P.M. and two A.M. The stairwell had no air-conditioning, no windows, no ventilation- it had to be over a hundred degrees in there."

"That's why Investigator Muse here looks like that," Steinberg said, gesturing with both hands as if he were presenting a soiled prize. "From being in that sauna."

Loren shot him a look and tried to hold back from smoothing her hair. "The heat makes it more difficult for our ME to pinpoint a better time frame."

"What else?" Thurston asked.

Loren hesitated. Her guess was that Thurston and Yates probably knew- or at least, could readily learn- most of what she'd already told them. So far, this had all been about getting up to speed. All that she really had left- all that she'd have that they probably wouldn't- was Matt Hunter.

Steinberg held up a hand. "May I make a suggestion?"

Thurston turned toward him. "Of course, Ed."

"I don't want to have any jurisdictional hassles here."

"Neither do we."

"So why don't we just pool our resources on this one? Totally open communication both ways. We tell you what we know, you tell us what you know. No holding back."

Thurston glanced at Yates. Adam Yates cleared his throat and said, "We have no problem with that."

"Do you know the real identity of Sister Mary Rose?" Steinberg asked.

Yates nodded. "We do, yes."

Loren waited. Yates took his time. He uncrossed his legs, tugged at the front of his shirt as if trying to get some air.

"Your nun- well, she's not even close to being a nun, believe me- was one Emma Lemay," Yates said.

The name meant nothing to Loren. She looked at Steinberg. He, too, had no reaction to the name.

Yates continued: "Emma Lemay and her partner, a cretin named Clyde Rangor, disappeared from Vegas ten years ago. We did a fairly massive search for both of them but turned up nothing. One day they were there, the next- poof- they were both gone."

Steinberg asked, "How did you know we found Lemay's body?"

"The Lockwood Corporation had her silicone implants marked. The NCIC now puts everything they can into the national database. Fingerprints, you know about. DNA and descriptions, those have been in there for a while. But now we're working on a national database for medical devices- any kind of joint replacements, surgical implants, colostomy bags, pacemakers- mostly to help identify Jane and John Does. You get the model number, you put it in the system. It's new, pretty experimental. We're trying it out on a select few that we're very anxious to locate."

"And this Emma Lemay," Loren said. "You were anxious to locate her?"

Yates had a good smile. "Oh, yes."

"Why?" Loren asked.

"Ten years ago Lemay and Rangor agreed to turn on a nasty perennial RICO top-ten asswipe, guy named Tom 'Comb-Over' Busher."

"Comb-Over?"

"That's what they call him, though not to his face. Been his nickname for years, actually. Used to be, he had this comb-over going. You know, when he started going bald. But it just kept growing. So now he kinda twirls it around and around, looks like he stuck a cinnamon swirl on top of his head."

Yates chuckled. Nobody else did.

Thurston said, "You were talking about Lemay and Rangor?"

"Right. So anyway, we nailed Lemay and Rangor on pretty serious drug charges, pressed them like hell, and for the first time, we got someone on the inside to flip. Clyde Rangor and Comb-Over are cousins. They started working with us, taping conversations, gathering evidence. And then…" Yates shrugged.

"So what do you think happened?"

"The most likely scenario was that Comb-Over got wind of what was up and killed them. But we never really bought that."

"Why not?"

"Because there was evidence- lots of it, actually- that Comb-Over was searching for Lemay and Rangor too. Even harder than we were. For a while it was like the race was on, you know, who'd find them first. When they never turned up, well, we figured we lost the race."

"This Comb-Over. He still on the streets?"

"Yes."

"And what about Clyde Rangor?"

"We have no idea where he is." Yates shifted in his chair. "Clyde Rangor was a major whack-job. He managed a couple of strip clubs for Comb-Over and had a rep for enjoying the occasional, uh, rough session."

"How rough?"

Yates folded his hands and placed them in his lap. "We suspect that some of the girls didn't recover."

"When you say didn't recover-"

"One ended up in a catatonic state. One- the last one, we think- ended up dead."

Loren made a face. "And you were cutting a deal with this guy?"

"What, you want us to find someone nicer?" Yates snapped.

"I-"

"Do I really need to explain to you how trading up works, Investigator Muse?"

Steinberg stepped in. "Not at all."

"I didn't mean to imply…" Loren bit back, her face reddening, upset with herself for sounding so amateurish. "Go on."

"What else is there? We don't know where Clyde Rangor is, but we believe that he can still provide valuable information, maybe help us take Comb-Over down."

"How about Charles Talley and Detective Max Darrow? Any idea how they fit in?"

"Charles Talley is a thug with a record for brutality. He handled some of the girls in the clubs, made sure they kept in line, didn't steal much, shared their, uh, tips with the house. Last we heard he was working for a dump in Reno called the Eager Beaver. Our best guess is, Talley was hired to kill Emma Lemay."

"By this Comb-Over guy?"

"Yes. Our theory is that somehow Comb-Over found out that Emma Lemay was pretending to be this Sister Mary Rose. He sent Talley here to kill her."

"And what about Max Darrow?" Loren asked. "We know he was in Lemay's quarters. What was his role?"

Yates uncrossed his legs and sat up. "For one thing, we think Darrow, though a fairly solid cop, might have been crooked."

His voice drifted off. He cleared his throat.

"And for another," Loren prompted.

Yates took a deep breath. "Well, Max Darrow…" He looked at Thurston. She didn't nod, didn't move, but Loren got the impression that, as she had done with Steinberg, Yates was looking for an okay. "Let's just say that Max Darrow is connected into this case in another way."

They waited. Several seconds passed. Loren finally said, "How?"

Yates rubbed his face with both hands, suddenly looking exhausted. "I mentioned before that Clyde Rangor was into rough trade."

Loren nodded.

"And that we think he killed his last victim."

"Yes."

"The victim was a small-time stripper and probable hooker, named… hold on, I have it here…"- Yates pulled a small leather notepad from his back pocket, licked his finger, flipped through the pages-"named Candace Potter, aka Candi Cane." He snapped the notebook shut. "Emma Lemay and Clyde Rangor disappeared soon after her body was found."

"And how does that fit in with Darrow?"

"Max Darrow was the homicide investigator in charge of the case."

Everyone stopped.

"Wait a second," Ed Steinberg began. "So this Clyde Rangor murders a stripper. Darrow catches the case. A few days later, Rangor and his girlfriend Lemay vanish. And now, what, ten years later, we get Darrow's fingerprints at Emma Lemay's murder scene?"

"That pretty much sums it up, yes."

There was more silence. Loren tried to digest this.

"Here's the important thing," Yates continued, leaning forward. "If Emma Lemay still had materials pertinent to this case- or if she left information on the whereabouts of Clyde Rangor- we believe that Investigator Muse is in the best position to find it."

"Me?"

Yates turned toward her. "You have a relationship with her colleagues. Lemay lived with the same group of nuns for seven years now. The Mother Superior clearly trusts you. What we need you to concentrate on is that angle- in finding out what Lemay knew or what she had."