“Piper said he wants to speak to you,” Cade said. “Let’s not give him a chance to play keep-away games with us.”
Marlow held the phone like it was a loaded gun for a second before reluctantly sliding it into his pocket.
“I’ll see what else I can dig up on Clemons,” Lem said. “If you find out anything from his boss, let me know. If I know where to look, I should be able to track him down.”
Cade slapped his shoulder. “And keep the SDPD off my back?”
“Always.”
Gavin Hackett was a sweaty man. It made his collar slump and beaded on his forehead, just under where his hairline had started a slow retreat to. When he unbuttoned his jacket, he flashed wet, dark patches of it under his arms.
Whatever he’d done wrong, he was not confident he’d done it well.
If Cade had been a genuine government official, he’d have immediately opened an investigation into Eye in the Sky Photography. He might not be able to say why straight out of the gate, but he was sure there was something.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “As far as we know, you’re not involved in Mr. Clemons’s situation.”
Hackett shifted on the seat opposite and then shifted back again. Cade imagined the swampy squelch of sweaty ass and regretted it almost immediately.
“I’m not,” he said. “Look, Clemons quit four months ago. No notice. Nothing. And after I went out on a limb to give him the job. Whatever happened at his house, between him and that wolf or that psycho Night Shift officer, it’s nothing to do with me.”
Cade paused as he glanced briefly at Marlow to try and assess his reaction to that. It didn’t seem to have struck a nerve, maybe because he knew he was innocent or because he’d heard it before. Most people either hero-worshipped or at least appreciated Night Shift, but there were a minority who hated them. Cade’s father had. He’d never liked any limits put on his behavior.
“That’s not why we’re here,” Marlow said. He sipped his sweet-and-sour broth and sat back in the chair. “It’s taxes.”
Hackett exhaled, and his mouth twitched into a quick, relieved smile. He was a lousy liar. A good liar would know better than to be relieved that the taxman was there. No one was ever relieved to know it was something about taxes. Not unless they had something a lot worse on their conscience.
“Oh, well, I’m all paid up,” Hackett said. “My accountant deals with all of that. I can give you her—”
“You hired Mr. Clemons when he first came to San Diego,” Cade said, ignoring the attempt to palm them off. “Why?”
“What?”
“Why?” Cade repeated. “Did you know him previously?”
“No,” Hackett said. He took a quick drink of his broth and nearly dripped some on himself. “I mean, he contacted me.”
“From?”
Hackett glanced between them. “From where he lived.”
“And where do youthinkthat was?” Cade asked with just a hint of emphasis. Under Hackett’s eye, a twitch started as Hackett realized there was a wrong answer to give.
Most of the time, back in Alaska, Cade had a petty thief or some idiot who’d thought he could sell company secrets on the other side of the table. It had also been in a small gray box of a room—everywhere he worked, no matter the company, had a room like that—not a coffee shop franchise with students and hipsters queued up in the background.
So far, the differences didn’t matter. The old pressure tactics still worked. Even good liars got nervous at the idea someone else had lied to them.
“… Portland?” Hackett said.
“Is that a question or an answer?” Cade asked.
“I mean, he was in Vegas when he contacted me,” Hackett said. “But he, um, came from Portland, I think. His most recent references were from there.”
“Did he say why he wanted to move?” Cade asked. “Was it for someone or…”
Hackett licked his lips. “Man trouble,” he said. “He, um, said he’d broken up with someone, and he needed a fresh start. I mean, hey, some guys just can’t pick ’em, right? That’s why I like girls.”
“Not women?” Marlow asked.
