“What if the site was a previous crime scene, Loo? Tariq brought a girl up there and something went wrong—could’ve even been an accident, she falls down the stairs, or out of a window hole. Or he really is a scumbag. Either way, he’s gone but Brigid knows what happened, decides to profit.”

“If she knew where it happened, why bother to snoop in the files?”

“Okay, maybe she knew about the place in general, but needed details,” said Reed. “Or she was searching for other real estate Tariq owned, thinking he might be back and she could get to him.”

I said, “Blackmail could be involved but there could also be a personal component. Avenging a friend. That would explain her bringing Backer up there to have sex.”

Milo said, “Screw you, Tariq. So to speak. But they got spotted. Twelve bil would make it easy to hire a high-grade hit man. Sultan’s already rescued Baby Bro from one murder, what’s a couple more ten thousand miles away?”

Reed said, “Plus, he’s a dictator, used to having his way.”

I said, “A dictator who opens his palace to the peasants because he knows he’s on shaky sand. A fuss about Teddy murdering a girl and getting away with it could shift the sands uncomfortably.”

Milo got up, paced. “It’s a great story and I hope to hell it’s wrong because how could we ever get to someone like that? There’s also the same big question: If Borodi was a crime scene, why hasn’t the sultan unloaded it? And why have a lame, unarmed wimp guard it part-time?”

Reed said, “What if the body’s buried there?”

“All the more so, Moses. Dig it up, dump it, move on. Why hold on to the place?”

Reed had no answer for that and neither did I.

I pulled out my cell phone. Seconds later, I was hanging up from a frosty chat with Elena Kotsos. “She’s certain Brigid wasn’t European. ‘Pure American.’ Which she clearly considers an insult.”

Milo sat back down. “Moses, stretch that net to the entire state. And thanks for coming up with this. You done good.”

“It’s my job, Loo.”

“Hey, kid, remember what I always tell you.”

“Take all of the credit, none of the blame.”

“Better than Prozac, lad. Now be off.”

CHAPTER

17

Milo ran image searches for the sultan and Prince Tariq. Two smallish men who resembled each other, with boyish faces, cleft chins, thin, precise mustaches. Full regalia, both of them smiling. Determination in the sultan’s eyes. Despite the show of perfect white teeth, discomfort in his brother’s.

Milo printed, kept surfing. female Scandinavian murder victim u.s.