“Cloister identified it?” Javi asked. “Whose was it?”
“Middle-aged wealthy widow,” Tancredi said. A wry smile tugged at the corner of her mouth as she propped the door open with her foot. “We don’t think she was driving.”
“Because she’s wealthy, middle-aged, or a widow?” Javi asked as he cocked his head to the side.
The smile disappeared from Tancredi’s face. “She was on a yacht the night of the accident. We’ve got pictures from her and her friend’s Instagram accounts. Hashtag life begins at forty.”
“Quite the merry widow, then.”
Tancredi shrugged. “Drunk, anyhow,” she said. “Maybe whoever took the car knew they’d have a few days before anyone reported it was gone.”
“You’re sure this was the car?” Javi asked.
“Pickup,” Tancredi corrected him and then rolled her eyes at herself. “Witte identified some marks that his dog had left on the doors. Bourneville also found blood trace in the car and some items that may have belonged to Janet. We sent them down to forensics. There was blood on them, so we should be able to tell if it was hers or not.”
Javi nodded. A direct comparison with an existing sample would be quicker than having to run it through every sample in CODIS while they hoped for the best.
“What were the items?” he asked.
“Business cards,” Tancredi said. She wrinkled her nose and shrugged. “We never found a wallet. Whoever did it probably took it and didn’t notice they dropped the cards when they emptied it out. Oh. The hotel called back.”
For a second, Javi drew a blank. Then he recalled the email he sent before Cloister knocked on his door. Other events had made it slip his mind.
“The suitcase?” he said.
Tancredi nodded as she pushed herself off the door. “Check-in wasn’t open when she arrived at the hotel. She left it behind the desk to pick up later. Some idiot put it in Lost and Found. It’s waiting for someone to pick it up. I’ll go after I report to the lieutenant about seizing Ms. Lopez’s car.”
She looked worried. Either Frome’s new willingness to look at the case hadn’t filtered down to his deputies, or his foul mood had.
“I’ll do that,” Javi offered. “Cloister can fill me in, and Frome will want to talk to him about Bourneville’s search.”
Tancredi tilted her head to the side and gave him a measuring look. There were times she reminded him of his grandmother. The ends they put it to were different—a career in law enforcement versus genially despotic rule of her social circle—but the sharpness behind their eyes was the same.
Neither woman would likely appreciate the comparison.
“Are you sure?” Tancredi asked.
Javi nodded. “I need to fill Frome in on what we’ve found out about Janet’s background anyhow. It makes sense to do it all at once.”
“Okay. Thanks.” Tancredi patted her hair down and tried to tuck the stray ends back into her braid. “I’ll head to the hotel, then, grab the suitcase. Hopefully there’s more than clothes in it.”
Before she could leave, Javi handed her a napkin. “Here.” He rubbed his thumb along his jaw. “You’ve got something on your face.”
Tancredi flushed, spat on the napkin, and scrubbed her face. She looked at Javi expectantly as she finished. The smear was now a blotch that looked like the worst bruise in the world.
“Better,” he lied. “And I did care, the other night.”
She wiped the napkin along her jaw again and gave him a small smile. “I know it wasn’t my business, but Witte would never have called you. He didn’t even tell us it was his birthday last month. Like it would be too much bother for us to get a card and a cake?Weget to eat the cake too.”
Javi wanted to ask. He wasn’t going to. It probably wasn’t that bad that he didn’t know Cloister’s birthday—birthdays weren’t part of whatever they were doing, and Cloister obviously didn’t make a big deal of it—but the idea of having to ask Tancredi for the information made him bristle. Besides, he could guess the date. He’d felt awkward about it for the last few weeks.
“Next time make it fried chicken,” he said dryly. “I think he lives on that.”
Tancredi laughed and headed off.
The door swung shut behind her, and Javi finally let himself scowl. Of course Cloister wouldn’t tell anyone it was his birthday, Javi thought sourly. He pulled out his phone and ordered a coffee from the app with angry, impatient swipes of his fingers. No, he’d just set you up to let him down instead. So he could still play the martyr, even if he was the only one who knew about it.
Anger tasted like bad coffee and pennies in the back of Javi’s throat. He didn’t know what irritated him more, that Cloister had tried to trick him into a real—sort of—date, or that Javi had—sort of—apologized for it all.
