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Twenty

Madison pulled up to the storage facility and realized she rarely saw it in the light of day. She parked her Mazda around back, out of view of the road, just as a precaution. For the same reason, she kept checking over her shoulder as she made her way to her unit, unlocked the padlock, and entered.

She flipped on the light, lowered the door, and walked over to the desk. She waited for her computer to boot up and racked her brain for how she was going to broach the hunt for the mystery woman’s identity. Ideas came to mind, but she didn’t want to run with them unless necessary. One was to go back to Leland King and see if he did know her. He hadn’t told her he did, but knowing the reporter the way she did, it wouldn’t surprise her if he held that tidbit back—to protect her, his mother, himself. A second idea, even more crazy, was to visit the former police chief, Patrick McAlexandar, in prison. He was facing a murder charge and had ties with the Mafia—that wasn’t in question—but if she wanted him to talk, she’d have to offer something, and she wasn’t in the habit of making deals with criminals.

She logged in and opened the photo that Leland King had taken at Club Sophisticated: the one that showed Phelps, Murphy, Wright, and the mystery woman. Madison zoomed in on the woman’s face. She’d learned a lot from watching Cynthia work over the years and made a copy of the file first, then she cropped the picture so it was just the woman and saved that image.

As the woman’s eyes stared back at her, she was unmistakably the woman who had exited the club last night. If only Claws hadn’t interrupted Madison’s getting into position, she might have captured an even better shot, but this was what she had to work with, and it could be worse.

But as she stared at the face on her monitor, she felt something déjà vu-like. As if the woman were someone she knew or had known before, like the whisper of a memory she couldn’t quite tack down.

“Who are you?” she asked out loud, and as her voice echoed back to her ears, she felt like she was going mad. Was she expecting an answer? Lunacy.

Dark hair, just past shoulder-length, and a petite, lean frame. She was well dressed in the photo that Leland had taken, as she was when Madison had seen her outside the club Saturday night. A wise assumption was she had money.

Madison’s gut was screaming she was affiliated with the mob, but how to prove that? She could wait outside the club for her to leave and tail her, see where she went, and conduct a reverse-address search. Assuming, of course, the property where she’d be going would be under her name.

But one step at a time.

She brought up Google Images, clicked on the little camera icon in the search bar, and uploaded the new graphic she’d made with the woman’s face only and waited on the results. She didn’t need to wait long. A page worth of images came up and Madison studied each in turn. These women had similar faces, but none of them were her mystery woman.

She drummed her fingers on her desk. It was Sunday. The woman could return to the club tonight, and Madison could execute her idea to stalk her. But she had Hershey to care for. Still, the woman likely wouldn’t be at the club until late again—if she did show. That would afford Madison plenty of time to go home, feed Hershey, hang around, and then head out.

Surely there had to be an easier way.

Her gaze stuck on the woman’s face, and it clicked. There was another option that just occurred to her, but Cynthia wouldn’t like it—not if Madison came right out and admitted who this woman was and why Madison was interested in her identity. But if she could somehow make Cynthia think the mystery woman was connected to the Carson case…

Cynthia did, after all, have facial recognition databases at her fingertips.

Madison headed to the station after calling Cynthia to confirm she was still there. Apparently not for much longer, but if Madison could “get her butt there yesterday,” Cynthia would see what she could do.

She knocked on the lab’s doorframe and kept going. Cynthia was sitting at her desk, a laptop in front of her.

Madison pointed to it. “Is that Carson’s?”

“Yes. I’m seeing if I can crack the passwords.” She swiveled and clapped her hands together between her knees.

“I’d say you’re not having much luck.”

“Thus far anyway. Grr.”

Madison laughed. Forgetting, for the moment, about her friend’s connection with Garrett Murphy.

“What is it that I can do for you? But make it quick.” Cynthia smiled.

Madison handed her a data stick. “There’s an image on there, and I need you to run it through facial rec.”

“Okay.” Cynthia narrowed her eyes. “Who is it?”

Madison had prepared herself for that question before heading over, and she had an answer. “If I knew that, I wouldn’t need your help.”

“Smart-ass.” Cynthia giggled and stuck the drive into her computer. She brought up the image and turned to Madison, her eyes seeking a little more information.

“She’s a person of interest.” Not a lie and something Madison was comfortable in saying.

“Oh, is it someone you suspect of being that con man’s new girlfriend? You think that maybe this girl killed Carson because she was jealous or something?” Cynthia raised her eyebrows.

“It’s possible, right?” Madison tossed out and held eye contact with her friend until she nodded. Is a lie by omission still a lie?

“Absolutely. How you didn’t kill Sovereign is beyond me.”

Toby Sovereign had been her cheating fiancé. “So you’ll help me—”

“Hey, yo.” Garrett Murphy walked into the lab, and Cynthia got up to greet him with a friendly hug. Madison stood in front of the monitor. The last thing she needed was for him to see the woman, apparently an acquaintance of his, on the screen. Best case, there’d be a slew of uncomfortable questions. Worst case, she could put herself and possibly Cynthia in danger.

“Hey, Detective.” Murphy gave her a weak wave to accompany his lame, detached greeting.

“Hi.”

“You’re coming over, right?” Cynthia asked Murphy. “Lou would be disappointed if you canceled.”

“You bet. I’m just dropping in to confirm what time you want me there. I asked Lou, but he said you were here and to check with you. I guess he couldn’t reach you.”

“Sounds about right. I’ve been holed up in here, slaving away.” Cynthia glanced at Madison.

“What time?” Murphy asked.

“Let’s go with six. Sound good?”

“Works for me. See you in—” he consulted his wristwatch “—about an hour and a half. Bye, Detective.” Murphy waved to Madison before turning to leave, and she was quite certain he was trying to see past her to the screen. But maybe it was just paranoia at work.

“That guy’s clueless half the time, but I put up with him because of Lou,” Cynthia said and returned to her desk as Madison shuffled to the side.

“Oh—” Murphy popped his head through the door.

Madison’s heart hammered, and she tried to keep calm, but the mystery woman’s face was right there.

“Does Lou have that beer I like?”

“How would I know?” Cynthia kicked back. “Call him for that.”

“Bye.” Murphy was gone again, and hopefully, for the foreseeable future.

Cynthia flailed her hands. “See what I mean? Clueless.”

Madison had another word float to mind. Corrupt.

“So, yeah, if that’s all you need, Maddy, I’ll get it running through the databases. See if anything pops. She’ll need to have a police record for something to come up, but you know that.”

Madison pressed her lips and nodded. “Thank you. And speaking of popping, anything on Saul Abbott?”

Cynthia shook her head. “Nope. I’m going to try some other photos I have from Carson’s collection and see if any of them work out better, but not today.” She copied the image of the woman to her computer and removed the data stick. As she dropped it into her palm, Cynthia said, “Actually, you and Troy are more than welcome to come over as well. It’s nothing fancy, just some burgers and weenies.” She winked at the last word, Madison not missing the double entendre.

“I can’t.”

“Don’t think about it or anything.”

“No, it’s just Troy’s been called in, and I need to get home for Hershey.”

“Bring him over.”

Madison laughed. “Yeah, I’m sure Lou would love that. Dog crap in his manicured backyard.”

Cynthia and Lou lived in a modest two-story home in the west end of the city that he’d owned before marrying her. It had a rather small yard, but it was Lou’s pride and joy.

“True. Even if you picked it up…”

“Have fun.” Madison stopped at the doorway on her way out and looked back at the monitor. The woman’s face wasn’t up anymore, but at twenty feet away, Madison couldn’t clearly make out what was on the screen now. Hopefully, that meant that Murphy hadn’t noticed his female friend when he popped his head in. She turned and left but couldn’t help but feeling like she was turning her back on her friend in a metaphorical way. Madison didn’t think Murphy had seen the woman’s face, but if he had… No, she was being ridiculous to even consider he’d do anything to hurt Cynthia or Lou. Then again, if the man kept company with the mob, did he have qualms about anything?