out jeans, gold badge and gun. None of it good for my shaky libido.
I realized he planned to join the investigation.
Ever observant, I made another deduction. "Your civilian clothes were in Dinah's private bathroom."
"Yeah." His expression said, "what's your point?"
"I doubt you're having an affair with her under her husband's nose, especially with you dressed in drag, so I can only conclude you're working undercover."
"That is not for public consumption."
"Okay, but since homicide detectives don't normally operate undercover, it begs the question of why you're going the extra mile on this case?"
"I'm doing this on my own time."
I nodded. "Why?"
"As a favor to Dinah."
"What favor?"
"Not your business."
"Is your chief aware of your unofficial, undercover—?"
"Yes, damn it." His neck reddened. I was treading thin ice.
"Do your fellow cops know?"
"Stop asking questions."
"Can I go now?"
"No." There was something in his eyes I didn't like. A "how-the-hell-am-I-going-to-tell-her-this? look. I sobered. Was he going to arrest me and charge me with murder after all?
I took a bracing breath and gave him my bravest face. "What's going on? Just tell me."
He led me to the red velvet chaise, and sat me down like my mother used to when I was in trouble. The bottom was dropping from my stomach faster than the stock market in 2009. "Are you really going to read me my rights?"
"No, but you will need to make a formal statement."
I could see in his eyes that that wasn't the worst. "What else?"
"I couldn't tell you before, not when I was tricked out like a damned... well, you know... but the DB..."
Panic rushed me.
"I know it's not Apollo, I saw him from the window." I pointed, then doubt snatched hold of my panic and married it. Maybe I hadn't actually seen Apollo, just someone who looked like Apollo because I wanted to see him so badly. Maybe that was why Stone had taken my phone, so I wouldn't find out the truth.
I looked at Stone, tears filling my eyes.
He shook his head, his gaze gentle, his rough fingers finally stroking my face. But now I was too terrified to feel anything but bone deep dread. "Jack, I swear the DB is not Apollo."
"Then w-why did you take my phone? Why didn't you let me talk to him?"
"We're taking him in for questioning as a person of interest."
I went stiff, still. This was totally crazy nuts. "Why?"
He held up a plastic evidence bag. Inside was a length of fabric. A bead of light shone on something glittery in its center. A starburst. The deadman's tie. Oh. My. God. I gave that to Stone. I told him Apollo was wearing it. I had gotten Apollo busted for murder. I shook my head. "No. He didn't... he couldn't... he wouldn't. He doesn't even know who it is—"
"He does if he killed the vic." Vic, cop lingo for victim. "And I didn't want him giving you the DB's ID."
The way he said this caught me in the gut. Stone wanted to break the news to me personally. That meant I knew the DB. My air passages were constricting. I couldn't find enough breath for whatever he was about to say. "W–Who...?"
He sighed. "It's Lars."
CHAPTER SIX
I grew up in Renton, a city at the south end of Lake Washington. Once a lush green valley of farms and wetlands, dairy cows and wild birds with small towns where everyone knew everyone else, this section of King County is now a mass of freeways and industries, asphalt and concrete, high-rises and smog, where there are more strangers than friends.
Except today.
Renton had lost one of its own, an international author, a genuine celebrity, and sorrow reigned in the packed Methodist church. Reverence, however, was lost on this crowd. I remained silent. Everyone else seemed bent on chattering — exchanging condolences and memories and conjectures. Each time the organist increased the volume of the dark dirge, voices rose to be heard above it.
I tried shutting out the noise, gaze glued to the altar, to the ornate gold and silver casket that appeared to be
I realized he planned to join the investigation.
Ever observant, I made another deduction. "Your civilian clothes were in Dinah's private bathroom."
"Yeah." His expression said, "what's your point?"
"I doubt you're having an affair with her under her husband's nose, especially with you dressed in drag, so I can only conclude you're working undercover."
"That is not for public consumption."
"Okay, but since homicide detectives don't normally operate undercover, it begs the question of why you're going the extra mile on this case?"
"I'm doing this on my own time."
I nodded. "Why?"
"As a favor to Dinah."
"What favor?"
"Not your business."
"Is your chief aware of your unofficial, undercover—?"
"Yes, damn it." His neck reddened. I was treading thin ice.
"Do your fellow cops know?"
"Stop asking questions."
"Can I go now?"
"No." There was something in his eyes I didn't like. A "how-the-hell-am-I-going-to-tell-her-this? look. I sobered. Was he going to arrest me and charge me with murder after all?
I took a bracing breath and gave him my bravest face. "What's going on? Just tell me."
He led me to the red velvet chaise, and sat me down like my mother used to when I was in trouble. The bottom was dropping from my stomach faster than the stock market in 2009. "Are you really going to read me my rights?"
"No, but you will need to make a formal statement."
I could see in his eyes that that wasn't the worst. "What else?"
"I couldn't tell you before, not when I was tricked out like a damned... well, you know... but the DB..."
Panic rushed me.
"I know it's not Apollo, I saw him from the window." I pointed, then doubt snatched hold of my panic and married it. Maybe I hadn't actually seen Apollo, just someone who looked like Apollo because I wanted to see him so badly. Maybe that was why Stone had taken my phone, so I wouldn't find out the truth.
I looked at Stone, tears filling my eyes.
He shook his head, his gaze gentle, his rough fingers finally stroking my face. But now I was too terrified to feel anything but bone deep dread. "Jack, I swear the DB is not Apollo."
"Then w-why did you take my phone? Why didn't you let me talk to him?"
"We're taking him in for questioning as a person of interest."
I went stiff, still. This was totally crazy nuts. "Why?"
He held up a plastic evidence bag. Inside was a length of fabric. A bead of light shone on something glittery in its center. A starburst. The deadman's tie. Oh. My. God. I gave that to Stone. I told him Apollo was wearing it. I had gotten Apollo busted for murder. I shook my head. "No. He didn't... he couldn't... he wouldn't. He doesn't even know who it is—"
"He does if he killed the vic." Vic, cop lingo for victim. "And I didn't want him giving you the DB's ID."
The way he said this caught me in the gut. Stone wanted to break the news to me personally. That meant I knew the DB. My air passages were constricting. I couldn't find enough breath for whatever he was about to say. "W–Who...?"
He sighed. "It's Lars."
CHAPTER SIX
I grew up in Renton, a city at the south end of Lake Washington. Once a lush green valley of farms and wetlands, dairy cows and wild birds with small towns where everyone knew everyone else, this section of King County is now a mass of freeways and industries, asphalt and concrete, high-rises and smog, where there are more strangers than friends.
Except today.
Renton had lost one of its own, an international author, a genuine celebrity, and sorrow reigned in the packed Methodist church. Reverence, however, was lost on this crowd. I remained silent. Everyone else seemed bent on chattering — exchanging condolences and memories and conjectures. Each time the organist increased the volume of the dark dirge, voices rose to be heard above it.
I tried shutting out the noise, gaze glued to the altar, to the ornate gold and silver casket that appeared to be
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