The sun shining through the window lit her hair, and he understood why Cara had followed this particular lead. Not just the company that had loaned money to her husband but the killer with the long, blond hair.
But he also noted the old-woman arms with jiggling flesh hanging loose from the bone. This was no hammer murderer. He didn’t know much about the Albanian mafia, but surely a highly organized criminal operation would choose a more efficient way to dispose of a business partner who was no longer needed.
“When did she leave?”
“Approximately an hour ago. I happened to look out the window and saw she was driving a black Mustang convertible, a very old one. Oh, and she cut her hair again.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because I run a legitimate business. I can’t have criminals coming and going.”
Jordan regarded her carefully. She may have been old, but her dark eyes were still keen with intelligence. “Legitimate? You lent her husband twelve million dollars and the only record of it is a piece of paper.”
That surprised her but she recovered quickly. “I don’t like to pay lawyers.”
“Karl would have had to pay a lawyer, though, once you loaded up his business with debt and forced him into bankruptcy.”
Ajila Gioni shrugged. “It’s hard to say what would have happened next, now that he is no longer with us.”
Gioni Enterprises was an FBI problem. Certainly not his. He would relay this conversation to Wen and let her deal with it.
Jordan left her to her window display and stepped out onto the sidewalk. If Campbell had just ruled out her best, most important avenue of investigation, where would she go next? Did she have more leads to chase? Would she ever give herself up?
Before he packed it in himself, he decided he might as well go to Malibu and take a look at the house.
SEVENTY-EIGHT
CARA
Free speech much @AnnieLCSW? @socialmedpsychic414 didn’t encourage @carasloveisgold to kill herself. It was a simple observation that she’d record it. Which sounds about right to me.
—@trueleo405
Cara was about to enter the left turn lane leading to Broad Beach Road when she saw the flashing red and blue lights. A police car was blocking traffic. The driveway and the street by the house were crowded with official-looking vehicles.
Veering back into traffic, and ignoring the horn of the Mercedes she’d just cut off, she merged into the right lane, turned quickly into the Trancas Country Market, and parked.
It had actually taken Stephanie longer to squawk than Cara expected. Still, she had been counting on a little time to regroup before she decided how and where to turn herself in... or if there were any other options. She supposed she could just drive over to the house and surrender now, but she didn’t want her last act of freedom to be so humiliatingly public.
She wasn’t ready.
How could she ever be?
A man who looked a lot like Robert Downey, Jr. stared directly at her. Actually, it was Robert Downey, Jr.
There was a time when she would have been thrilled to be recognized by an A-list movie star. As he stepped closer, she started the car and shifted into reverse, ready to peel out of the parking lot.
“Nice wheels,” he said, before continuing on into the grocery store.
She killed the engine.
When she was absolutely certain that neither Robert Downey, Jr. nor anyone else was paying any particular attention to her, she got out of the car and threw away the baggie, napkin, and empty bag of chips from the lunch Aunt Evelyn had given her.
Then she eased out of the lot and headed back down the Pacific Coast Highway toward Kanan Road, just like that was what she’d planned all along.
But nothing she’d planned had panned out at all.
SEVENTY-NINE
