Charlotte surveyed the backyard, envisioning the escape route. “What about dogs barking? Gates squeaking? Did anyone at least hear anything suspicious?”
“Not until Logan’s alarm went off loud enough to wake the dead,” Diaz said.
Charlotte walked around the pool, past the wrought-iron patio chair where she’d interviewed Kira Vance. She remembered the shell-shocked look on the woman’s face.
She studied the concrete apron, looking for any clues they’d missed around the pool.
“Shame about the rain,” Diaz said behind her. “Would have been good to get some footprints, at least.”
Charlotte walked through the side yard, where the pool pump hummed softly. The air conditioner was going, too, and she walked past it to the gate. She dug a latex glove from her pocket and tugged it on.
“No prints. We looked,” Diaz said. “And no footprints, either.”
“I like to double-check things.” Charlotte carefully opened the gate, studying the way it glided back without resistance or noise. It should have been locked, but evidently, Logan and his rich neighbors trusted one another too much to bother.
She walked into the neighbor’s side yard, where she heard the hum of more pool equipment. She peeked around the corner of some sort of side building, maybe a cabana, and caught a glimpse of a vast blue pool shimmering in the sunlight.
“Must be nice,” Diaz said.
“Bet they never swim in it.”
No security cameras that Charlotte could see. No vicious guard dog that might have run down their perp for them, saving them a big investigation. She followed the path from the animated video through the side yard to the fence the killer had scaled in the video. The fence was at least seven feet high and looked new.
“Tall fence,” she mused.
“So we know he’s athletic. Not everyone could get over this thing. Could you?”
“Not with a heavy duffel bag,” she said. “And not without falling on my ass.”
She scanned the length of fence, making sure there wasn’t a gate Lacey had missed seeing.
A scrap of yellow fluttered atop one of the fence boards.
“Well, shit,” she muttered, stepping closer.
“What is it?”
“No way.”
“What?”
Charlotte’s pulse quickened as she pulled out her phone and snapped a picture. And another. And another.
Diaz stepped closer. “What the hell is it?”
“I don’t know.” But she did know. Or at least, she hoped. She reached up and carefully tugged the scrap of material loose from the fence board.
“Is that latex? Like, from a glove?”
Charlotte held it up, smiling. “Look at that, Diaz. I told you it pays to double-check.”
CHAPTER TEN
THE SIDEWALKS were eerily empty for a clear summer day. When Kira had started working downtown, it was the first thing she’d noticed as she zipped between courthouses and office buildings. Every street was choked with cars, but the sidewalks were nearly deserted, even during lunch hour. It had taken her a full week to figure out where everyone was, and she’d had to get off her bike to do it.
The downtown tunnels were one of the city’s best-kept secrets. The subterranean labyrinth included more than six miles of winding passageways connecting Houston’s soaring skyscrapers to a climate-controlled underworld of restaurants, shops, and theaters. When the air outside hit triple digits or a crackling thunderstorm rolled in from the Gulf, people took refuge under the city.
Kira and Jeremy reached Brock’s building, which had one of the few parking garages connected to the tunnels. “Pull in here,” she directed. “Get as close to the elevators as you can. We’re running late.”
Jeremy found a space and backed in his pickup, setting up a quick departure. “Where are we meeting her?”
“Café Lu. Best Vietnamese coffee in the city.”
He lifted an eyebrow at that but didn’t comment, and Kira headed straight for the elevator bank. Instead of tapping the call button, she pulled open an unmarked door leading to a long corridor that sloped down. Jeremy walked alongside her without a word.
She glanced at him, still struck by how different he looked from yesterday. His wide shoulders filled out the suit to perfection, and he could have passed for a GQ model or a high-priced lawyer. His face was touchably smooth now, but Kira missed the beard. She’d wanted to touch that, too.
He looked at her. “What?”
“You ever been down here?”
“No.”
“These tunnels connect everything downtown. Except the courts. That’s a separate system.”
“How come?”
“I don’t know. Maybe security?”
They reached the juncture where the corridor emptied into a spacious lobby with a fountain at its center. People sat along the fountain’s concrete edge, munching snacks and scrolling through cell phones as traffic streamed around them. The occasional armed security guard scooted around on a Segway.
Kira led Jeremy through the lobby and into a tunnel. The lunch rush was over, but it was still busy with people running errands or grabbing an afternoon caffeine fix. Kira moved briskly, slicing through crowds, and Jeremy, with his long strides, had no trouble keeping up.
The tunnel branched in two directions. She veered right, then left again when they reached another fork. At every juncture, there were at least a few people standing stock-still, paralyzed with indecision as they tried to get their bearings. The tunnels weren’t laid out on a grid, and without street signs and landmarks, it was easy to get lost. Kira took another turn.
“You know your way around,” Jeremy said.
“I navigate by food.”
“How’s that?”
“Restaurant signs. And smells. That empanada place we just passed has amazing chimichurri sauce. And we’re coming up on a popular smoothie shop.”
Kira veered left at Juices Galore, where the whir of blenders echoed off the narrow walls. The next quarter mile was a straight shot. They passed a shoe-repair place, a drugstore, and multiple clothing shops before reaching a Mexican café, where piped-in mariachi music lured people for an early happy hour.
One last turn, and there it was. Café Lu had small tables out front, and Kira immediately noticed the woman scanning the crowd with a nervous gaze. Shelly Chandler? She had a coffee at her elbow and looked to be waiting for someone. The woman was young and petite, with long chestnut-colored hair and black-rimmed glasses. The glasses looked oddly out of place on her, like one of those eyewear commercials where you can tell all the models have twenty-twenty vision. Kira wondered if she wore the glasses to look older or smarter.
“You want me to hang out or disappear?” Jeremy asked.
Kira glanced at him. “Hang out. I want to get your impressions.” She approached the table. “Shelly Chandler?”
The woman nodded.
“I’m Kira Vance.” Kira turned to Jeremy, and Shelly’s eyes widened when she realized they were together. “This is Jeremy Owen, who works with me.” Kira pulled out a chair. “Mind if we . . .?”
“No, please.”
Kira took a seat as Jeremy asked a woman at a nearby table for a chair, snapping her out of her phone trance. She gave him a dazed nod as he commandeered the seat.