Chapter Thirty

Thirty

Could Dylan Welch have murdered someone before he disappeared? Had Trevor Weiss found out about it, sent those anonymous texts, and threatened to tell more people—forcing Dylan to come out of hiding and kill Trevor, too? And if Dylan's best friend, Sky, had somehow learned the truth…was he cold-blooded enough to make it a trifecta? I had answers to none of these questions, yet they wandered through my mind as I left the South Street Diner and headed toward my car.

It made me realize something important: I needed to tell the cops what I knew.

Several blocks away from the diner, I unlocked my car, got in, and headed back to my office. I'd been planning on calling Lee Farrell once I got there, but it was close to rush hour and the roads were already clogged, so, after about ten minutes, during which I'd moved maybe three inches, I told Siri to call him instead.

Lee answered quickly—and, if I was going to be honest, rudely.

"What is it now, Sunny?"

I gawked at my mounted phone as though it owed me an explanation. Lee had never snapped at me like that before. Either he was pulling my chain or something was going on with him. And Lee wasn't much of a chain-puller.

"Is there a problem?" I asked.

"Yes." He sighed heavily. "It's not your problem, though. It's mine. Sorry."

"That's okay. You want to call me back, or…"

"No, no. I'm fine. What's going on?"

I exhaled. "I'm assuming you know that Sky Farley was shot."

"Yes," he said.

"Okay, well, I'm afraid that Dylan Welch may have done it. I think he may have shot Trevor Weiss, too."

"What? Wait. Have you found him?"

"No, I haven't," I said.

"Damn," he said.

"Why damn ?"

He sighed again. "Tell me why you think he shot Sky Farley and Trevor Weiss."

I told him about Elspeth, how she'd shown up at my apartment terrified. I told him about the phone calls, the texts, the audio messages she'd received over the past few days—all from a blocked number. I told him how he'd ordered her to go to his apartment and fetch his gun. How he'd forced her to call someone and tell that person he was dead. I told him how he'd made threatening comments, how he'd sent images of her, taken though windows, letting her know that he could kill her at any moment—and that he was capable of doing so. "In one of the messages," I said, "he all but confesses to killing Trevor."

"Uh-huh," Lee said.

I frowned. That wasn't the reaction I'd been expecting. I told him about the money stolen from payroll, and how the CFO suspected Dylan and how a sizable amount of those funds had gone missing following his disappearance. I even told Lee how the Mob was after Dylan for drug money and how I nearly got run off the road by some goon, just because I'd been in possession of Dylan's phone.

"Uh-huh," Lee said.

I pressed on. "I don't know if you saw this on the phone, but right before he left, he got a bunch of texts from an anonymous number."

"Murderer," he said dully. "Yeah, I saw those."

"Lee, I've gotta tell you," I said. "Considering the information I'm giving you, you're sounding pretty underwhelmed."

"Sorry," he said.

"What's going on?"

"Sky Farley came out of surgery," he said. "The bullet missed her vital organs. She lost some blood, but she's going to be fine."

"Yes," I whispered, thinking of Lydia, how much she'd been through already. "That's wonderful news."

"Uh-huh," he said. "It would be more wonderful, though, if she would give us any information about who shot her."

Traffic started to speed up, the way it so often did around here—suddenly and inexplicably. Several cars honked. I moved forward. "What do you mean? She won't talk?"

"Oh, she's talking. But she's not saying anything."

"Why not?"

"Apparently, she's traumatized. She doesn't remember the shooting. She'd turned off the lights in her office when he came in, so she couldn't get a good look at him, or if she did, she honestly can't recall anything about him. Other than he's male and taller than her. Which means he's over five feet tall. And she's not even entirely sure he was male."

"She said all of that?" I asked.

"Yes," he said. "She did."

"To you directly?"

"Yes," he said. "I'm just leaving the hospital. I'm hoping she remembers more after she's had some rest. Security can't seem to get any good footage from the CCTV at Gonzo. Cameras were down all morning. Some computer fritz."

"How about the elevators?"

"Nothing yet, and it's a pretty narrow window of time," he said.

"Maybe he took the stairs."

"Very funny," he said.

"I try."

"Oh, and FYI, we did talk to Elspeth Wasserman. She gave us a statement about finding Sky."

"Did she tell you about Dylan's calls?"

"After we dragged it out of her," he said.

"Yeah, he warned her not to tell the cops."

"Well, that doesn't matter much."

"Why not?"

"Her phone was stolen."

"Ugh . "

"Yep," he said. "She called 911 from Sky's office phone and didn't notice it was missing till she was in the ER, so it could have happened at the party, or any time after she left it."

"Big window of time."

"Enormous."

"Is she still at the hospital?"

"She was waiting to get discharged when I went to see Sky."

I exhaled. "He told her not to say anything to the police," I said. "He threatened her." I pulled up to the traffic light, which had just changed from yellow to red. An acid-yellow Porsche swerved around me to run the light, nearly hitting me in the process. It took me a few seconds to catch my breath. I flipped off the driver. He reminded me of Dylan.

"Thank you for the info," Lee was saying. "I didn't mean to sound ungrateful, and I'm sure you're right. That creep Welch is out there somewhere, and he's been stalking that poor girl, trying to make her believe he's something to be afraid of."

I drove for a few moments, my pulse still racing from the near crash, thinking about what Lee just said. "It's circumstantial," I said, finally. "Even if Elspeth's phone is recovered and you can hear the messages and see the texts, it doesn't tie Dylan to the murders in any meaningful way. He could have been lying. He could have been messing with Elspeth's mind, some stupid Batman-villain fantasy playing out in his head. Anyone could have told him about Trevor's shooting. He could have been high and delusional, pissed off because maybe Elspeth rejected him at Bottle Poppin' Friday. He just wanted to scare her. Wouldn't stand up in court. Blah, blah, blah."

"Yes. All of that. Except what the fuck is Bottle Poppin' Friday?"

I ignored the question. "On top of all that, Dylan's still missing, so you can't question him."

"Right again," he said. "So far, we have two shootings that appear to be connected—one murder, one attempted murder. We are running ballistic tests. But we have no DNA, no murder weapon, no eyewitnesses that we know of—and one surviving victim who remembers nothing. I hate to minimize anybody's trauma, but, man, it would be good for us if Sky Farley recovered her memory."

"I hear you," I said.

"Maybe with time, she'll find some clarity," he said.

Or maybe she already has clarity but doesn't want to point the finger at her best friend. I thought it but kept quiet. I took my next available right, heading back to where I came from. "I'm going to try and talk to her," I told Lee. "I'll let you know if I find out anything."

"Thanks, Sunny." Over the Bluetooth, I heard a beeping sound, a car door opening and closing. "I owe you one."