Flashpoint by Lynn Hightower Page A

asked.
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œHe talk to anyone else?”
    Chita shrugged. “He talked to lots of people. He talked to me. How come? He in some kind of trouble?”
    â€œHe’s dead.”
    â€œDead? Killed?”
    â€œBurned to death in his car.”
    â€œ That guy? I heard that on the news this morning.” She gripped the edge of the bar, eyes wide. “Oh, God, and I just talked to him. He was so young, too. I actually carded him. The news said somebody burned him alive .”
    Ronnie Knapp sat down on a stool, turning it so he faced Sonora. “You think maybe this blonde saw the killer?”
    Sonora kept her voice careful. “It’s possible. Right now we’re trying to reconstruct Daniels’s last hours. This blond woman—you didn’t overhear a name, by any chance?”
    Ronnie and Chita both frowned. Chita’s tongue came out—more help with concentration. Then she shook her head.
    Sonora looked at Ronnie. “You?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œHow’d she pay? Cash? Credit card?”
    He shook his head. “I don’t remember.”
    â€œShe tip?”
    â€œUh, yeah.”
    â€œStingy? Generous?”
    â€œKind of in the middle.”
    â€œCash or on credit?”
    â€œCash.”
    â€œAll right. Gather up all your credit receipts for last night, and make copies. In fact, we’ll need copies of everything that’s come in over the last, say, six weeks.”
    Ronnie nodded glumly.
    Sonora smiled. “We appreciate your cooperation, Mr. Knapp. It would help us a lot if you’d bring the receipts down to our office today and make a formal statement. We’ll make an appointment for you to get with our artist on a sketch of this blonde. We’re on the fifth floor of the Board of Elections building, 825 Broadway. Public parking lot a block away. Just tell the man in the booth out front what you’re there for, and he’ll tell you where to go.”
    Ronnie and Chita acquired the glazed and wary look of people who suddenly found themselves in the middle of a murder investigation.
    â€œAs soon as possible,” Sonora said.
    â€œWhat if she comes back in?” Celia Anders had been left out and didn’t like it.
    Sonora took a card from her jacket pocket.
    â€œShe comes back in, call me, anytime. If I’m not there, be sure and explain to the detective who answers the phone, don’t just leave a message. Here, this is my home number.” Sonora scrawled on the back of the card with a pen. “Any of you see her again, don’t approach her, just give me a call.”
    â€œOut of earshot,” Celia said.
    Sam grinned at her.
    â€œThere a pay phone here?” Sonora asked.
    Celia pointed down a dark hallway to the left of the bar. “Right between the bathrooms.”
    â€œWorks okay?”
    Ronnie nodded.
    â€œGet pretty noisy in here last night? You have a crowd?”
    â€œNot bad for a weeknight. We offer twofers from four to seven and that brings people in on their way home from work.”
    Sonora looked at Ronnie. “Tell me everything you remember about the blonde.”
    Ronnie closed his eyes and his brow furrowed. “She was real blond.”
    â€œReal blond? Like me?”
    He opened his eyes. “Lighter.”
    Sonora sighed. “Look dyed?”
    â€œNot really, but it’s hard to tell sometimes. It didn’t have that fakey, cotton candy look to it. It was very light. Kind of collar length and turned under. Very … kind of … ethereal.”
    Chita Childers made a rude noise. “Ethereal? It was dyed, if it’s the one I’m thinking of.”
    â€œEyes?” Sonora asked.
    â€œBrown. Big brown eyes. Kind of … funny.”
    â€œHow could she have funny eyes?” Chita said.
    Sonora clenched her fist, let it go. Smiled at Chita Childers and looked back at Ronnie.
    â€œBrown eyes,” Ronnie said.
    â€œBlue,”