Stealing the Elf-King's Roses: The Author's Cut by Diane Duane Page A

help him, because I should still be able to tell when he got off, and once we plot the times against the bus schedule, that’ll tell us where.”
    “Assuming it ran on time,” Lee said, with understandable skepticism. No Ellay native ever really believed public transit would do anything so unusual.
    “Night buses usually do,” Gelert said. “Especially the automated ones, and I think this route went auto some time back.” He looked up at Lee. “Did you see the other Alfen?”
    “I did,” she said.
    “Where’d he come from?”
    “Around the corner. He went back that way. I’m going to work on him on the second pass. But I think we need to go up to Parker first to talk to physical forensics and take a little more time to go over the victim’s profile. Oh, and Jim? I’m going to ask the club to stay closed until this evening, so Gelert and I can go over the ground.”
    “Right,” Blessington said. “Tell them to call me if they need authorization. Meanwhile, we need to get this weapon to Parker. Bensen will stay with the site here. Meet you afterward?”
    “Sure, Jim.”
    Blessington and Echevarria got into one of the black-and-whites and drove off: Gelert sat panting for a moment, watching them go. “That didn’t take you long,” Lee said.
    “The trace was pretty strong,” Gelert said. “What I found odd was the way it dropped off as the guy who’d used the gun got to the bus stop. Normally it gets stronger when you stand in one place for a few minutes.” He was starting to frown.
    Lee looked down toward Melrose. “You thinking that someone was helping him hide his trace somehow?”
    “I’m thinking about that second Alfen,” Gelert said.
    “So am I. Bensen?” Lee called. “Have you got any more site tape in the car?”
    “Miles of it. Want some?”
    “Please.” Lee went over to the black-and-white, and Bensen handed her out roll after roll. “Three be enough, ma’am?”
    “Should be. I’m going to block off the sidewalk from the corner to the club dil’Sorden was in: it looks as if our perp came out that way.”
    “Right. I’ll keep an eye on it.”
    Lee headed for the corner, and Gelert got up and came with her. “So what are you thinking of?” she said softly, as they came up to the corner of the side street with Melrose, and Lee fastened the tape to the street sign there. “How do you fade out a lifetrace?”
    “No way that I know,” Gelert said, “unless the person himself is dying. Not having seen the news today, maybe our murderer did die on a bus last night, but frankly, I doubt it. Something else happened. I want to know what. At the very least, I’m going to get a paper out of it.”
    Lee smiled slightly. “I thought you were through with your post-doctorate publication cycle.”
    “One more never hurts.”
    “Yeah, right. Research junkie.” Lee stopped opposite the door of the club. LA VIDA LOCA, said the cold dark neon sign attached to the blind white stucco of the building’s frontage. No window: solid brown wood door. It was one of those “we keep it dark in here for a reason” places: intimate, or secretive, depending on the crowd that used it. “You want to go on with this?” she said to Gelert, holding out the roll of tape she’d just finished looping around the parking meter opposite the club’s door. “Take it on down another couple of shops, say to the dry cleaner’s there.”
    “Right,” Gelert said, taking the tape in his teeth and backing down the street with it. Lee went to the club door, pushed it open.
    After the brightness of the street it took a moment or so for her eyes to get used to the dimness, even though the lights inside the place were on full. The decor was modern enough, but very dark, all reds and hardwoods: if the furnishings had been less well kept, it would have struck Lee as the kind of place where married men went to have dinner with the women they weren’t married to. “Can I help you?” a male voice said.
    Lee