"Seabright's going to stick by his own flesh and blood," I said. I put on a white tuxedo shirt and a pair of black cigarette pants. "He isn't going to allow for the possibility Chad might be involved somehow."
"That's assuming the father is the one providing the alibi. It works the other way too."
I tied the shirt at the waist and escaped the bedroom. Landry stood leaning back against the kitchen counter, a scotch in hand. He took in the outfit with hooded eyes.
"You didn't have to dress up for me," he said.
"I didn't. I can't see Bruce Seabright actively participating in the kidnapping. Even if he wanted Erin gone, he wouldn't get his hands dirty. Too risky. So why would he need an alibi?" I asked. "Chad was the one involved with Erin."
"And Erin is the one with the juvie record," Landry said. "Shoplifting. Possession."
"Of what?"
"Ecstasy. Busted at a party. She got a slap on the wrist. I've got someone in the Juvenile Division checking out the pals she was arrested with," Landry said. "And I reached out to a guy I know in Narcotics to get a line on the dealer."
"Who in Narcotics?"
"Brodie. You know him?"
I looked at my feet and nodded. I stood across from Landry, leaning back against the other counter, my arms crossed over my chest. The room was so small, my bare feet were nearly toe-to-toe with his shoes. Good quality, brown leather oxfords. No tassels for Landry.
Matt Brodie had been a friend once. Or so I had thought. I wished I hadn't asked the question. Now Landry was waiting for me to elaborate. "He's good enough," I said.
"I'm sure he'd be happy to have your approval," Landry said with a dry edge of sarcasm.
I wondered what Brodie might have said about me, not that it mattered. Landry would think what he wanted.
"Jade is the one who claims the girl just up and left," he said. "He's the last one who saw her. I think it goes this way: Erin knew something about the dead horse. Jade wanted her out of the way. He set up the kidnapping to make some extra money for his trouble. The girl is probably as dead as the one in the shit pile."
"I'll hope you're wrong about the last part," I said, knowing he could well be right. I'd had the thought myself.
"Look, Estes, I owe you an apology," he said. "That's why I'm here. Maybe if I'd listened to you the first time you came in, Jill Morone wouldn't be dead. Maybe we'd have Erin Seabright back by now."
I shrugged. "I don't know what to say to that."
He was right and we both knew it. I wasn't going to offer platitudes like some good wife excusing a husband's minor transgressions. Nor was I going to grind the truth in his face. He had made a judgment call, a bad one. I was the last person with a right to criticize on that count.
"It's not all about you," I said. "I was there ahead of you. I didn't stop that girl getting killed. I didn't find Erin. Sometimes things just play out the way they play out."
"You believe that?"
"I have to. If I didn't, then I'd be to blame for every rotten thing that ever happened, and I know for a fact I'm only to blame for two-thirds of them."
He looked at me for a moment that stretched on. I wanted to turn away or move, but I didn't.
"So, did Jade have an alibi for last night?" I asked.
"A woman. A client. Susannah Atwood."
"She confirmed?"
He nodded.
"And did she have anyone to corroborate her story?"
He rolled his eyes. "Sure. Jade. Why? Do you know her?"
"I know of her. Sean knows her. She has a reputation as a social dragonfly."
"Don't you mean butterfly?"
"No."
He raised his brows.
"I know her type," I said. "Susannah might just think providing an alibi to a murderer is the oral sex of the new millennium. I wouldn't trust her. Then again, I don't trust anyone."
I checked my watch and moved away from the counter. "I'm going to throw you out now, Landry. I've got a dinner date with the devil."
"Which one?"
"Van Zandt."
As I went in search of a pair of shoes, I told him what I'd learned through Sean and through Interpol via Armedgian. I had told Van Zandt I would meet him at The Players at eight. I had wisely declined his offer to pick me up.
Landry stood staring into the closet, hands on his hips. "You're telling me you think this guy could be a sexual predator, but you're going out to dinner with him?"
"Yes."
"What if he killed Jill Morone? What if he's got Erin stashed somewhere?"
"Hopefully, I'll learn something to help nail him."
"Are you on crack?" he asked, incredulous. "Are you stupid?"
"He won't try to pull anything with me," I said, coming out of the closet one heel on, one in hand. "First: He knows he doesn't scare me and can't control me. Second: He thinks I'm worth money to him as a client, not as a victim."
"And if he's just a fucking pervert who wants to rape you and slit your throat?"
"Then I will have made a gross misjudgment of his character-which I haven't."
"Estes, he may have killed that girl last night, for all you know. He lied about seeing her. He was there at The Players. The bartender and the waitress said he was there, drooling all over the girl. We'd have hauled him in by now, but we don't know where he is."
"What time did he leave the bar?"
"No one could say for certain."
"So pull him in and rake him over the coals if you want," I said. I stepped into the bathroom and looked at my hair. There was nothing to be done about it. "I'll gladly spend the evening in the tub reading a book. But if he's got Erin stashed somewhere, he's sure as hell not going to tell you about it."
"And you think he'll just up and tell you?" Landry asked, blocking the doorway. "Like that's some kind of smooth line: wanna come back to my place and see the girl I kidnapped? Jesus Christ!"
"So tail us! What are you getting so upset about?"
He shook his head and turned around in a circle, moving back into the bedroom. "This is why I don't want you involved in this," he said, pointing at me as I came out of the bathroom. "You've got your own agenda, you run off half-cocked-"
"So look the other way," I said, pushing his finger out of my face, my temper rising. "I'm a private citizen, Landry. I don't need your permission and I don't need your approval. If I turn up dead, you'll know who to arrest. I'll make your fucking case for you. You'll be a hero in the Sheriff's Office-getting rid of me and catching a killer all in one fell swoop."
"It's not my job to let you get yourself killed!" he shouted.
"Believe me, if I haven't done the job myself by now, I'm not about to let some hump like Van Zandt do it for me."
We were nearly nose to nose, the air in the scant inches between us charged with electricity. Landry held whatever it was he wanted to say tight in his chest. Maybe he was counting to ten. Maybe it was all he could do to keep from strangling me with his bare hands. I didn't know what he was thinking. I was thinking I was standing too damn close to him.
"I was good too, Landry," I said quietly. "On the job. I know that's not what anyone wants to remember about me, but I was good. You'd be a fool not to take advantage of that."
Another eternity came and went. We stood there staring at each other like a couple of angry porcupines-all defenses up. Landry blinked first and took a step back. I thought I should have been proud of that, but what I felt was more like disappointment.
"Van Zandt wants to impress me," I said. I went back into the closet and found a small clutch purse to stash my microcassette recorder in. "He wants to come across like a hotshot, but his mouth is bigger than his brain. I can get him to say things he shouldn't. I'll tape the conversation. I'll call you after."