Sandi’s chin jutted out as she said, “No.” The no wasn’t a denial so much as a refusal to answer.
Jericho likely wouldn’t get her to budge on that, so he said, “Do you know how she kept track of her appointments? We’re trying to figure out who she would have been booked to see that night, but we haven’t found a calendar or anything.”
“She had a little book. It should be there, in the house.”
“Did you actually see it? Could you describe what it looked like?”
“It looked like a little book. You know, sheets of paper, connected together?”
“Color?”
“The paper was white. I don’t know if it had a cover.”
“You know where she kept it?”
“She kept it in the fucking house. Jesus, the place isn’t that big. Just poke around.”
Great. Another line of questioning that was taking him nowhere. “Do you know any of her other clients? Other than the guy from the park.”
“A lady never tells.”
“Meaning she didn’t tell you, oryouwon’t tellme?”
“Meaning fuck off.”
Jericho had a sudden urge to introduce Sandi to Nikki. They’d probably get along. Or else kill each other. “It’s likely that whoever killed her was one of her clients. So if you could give me any names, even just to rule people out—”
“Why are you asking me all that when you already caught the guy? That Will Archer, the retard from the hardware store.”
“Person with a traumatic brain injury,” Jericho corrected; it wasn’t strategic to antagonize a witness, but damn it, Will deserved—Jericho had no idea what Will deserved. He needed to do his job, not get sidetracked. “Will Archer’s a suspect, yes. That’s why I was asking about him.” Was it worth trying again? “Was he a client of hers?”
“I don’t know.” She frowned as if she’d surprised herself by answering this time, then shrugged. “Me and Lorraine weren’t all that close, to be honest. Used to run together years ago, but since I got out of the business, we haven’t spent as much time with each other.”
“Okay. Are you aware of any other friends I could contact, or family?”
“No. She wasn’t from around here. But I don’t know where she was from. And no other friends. This town is—” She shook her head. “They’re damn happy to decide what kind of person you are. And then they never change their minds. And she wasn’t really looking for friends, anyway.”
Jericho nodded. How much of the not-looking-for-friends was innate, how much was defensive, would probably never be known. “Uh, bit of a weird question, but did she have a cat that you know of?”
“Yeah. Tux. He’s a nice little guy.” For the first time, she seemed vaguely pleasant and interested in the conversation. “Who’s taking care of him now?”
“Tux? Like Tuxedo. He’s black and white, I imagine?”
“Yeah. You seen him?”
“Not in person.” Jericho had no idea what it meant, if the cat in the woods was Lorraine’s. Nothing good, although at least he wouldn’t have to tell some neighborhood girl her pet had been murdered.
“I’ll take him, if you can catch him. Maybe I should go over there and look for him. Is he outside?”
“Uh—we’re not sure.” No, that was too vague. He made himself say it. “It’s possible he was killed, as well.”
And there went the pleasantness. “‘Possible’? What the hell does that mean?”
Was it reasonable to ask someone to make a victim identification for a cat? Probably not. “We’ve found a cat’s body, but it wasn’t in the house, and we’re not sure it’s his. Did he have any distinctive markings that you can think of, other than being black and white?”
“I don’t know.” Sandi seemed more shaken by the death of the cat than by that of her friend, but maybe that was because it was fresh news. “He— Lorraine always kept his claws trimmed way too short. I told her if she was going to let him go outside, he needed his claws to protect himself, but he dug his claws in when she petted him, so she trimmed them short.”
“So the asshole who killed him didn’t even get scratched.”
