It takes a minute to get her phone back from the front desk. We watch over her shoulder, making sure she doesn’t erase anything.

She doesn’t. And she works seven-day weeks—her movements look very well accounted for. On 9 January, the first day Biggs marked on the calendar, she was shovelling someone’s driveway. On 13 February, the day before Valentine’s, she was buying and delivering roses on behalf of disorganised husbands.

March 19 simply said, hair.

Thistle points to this. ‘What was that?’

‘Oh,’ Black says. ‘Yeah, that was a weird one. Someone wanted to buy my hair.’

A chill runs up my spine.

‘Buy your hair?’ Thistle repeats.

‘Yeah. They wanted a natural blonde, at least ten inches, no split ends. When I got to her place, I recognised her, actually. Another one of Warner’s girls, but she left before I did. I don’t remember her name. It was a good gig, though. She paid three hundred bucks.’

‘How much of your hair did she take?’

‘All of it. She shaved me down to the scalp. She was very careful. I felt bad for her. I figured she’d just found out she had cancer. Why else would you be willing to pay so much for a blonde wig?’

‘A wig,’ I say.

‘Yeah. I told her she could buy one from a shop, but she said she wanted to make it herself.’

CHAPTER 38

CHAPTER 38

A car has two occupants. One is the father of the other’s son. How?

‘You want me to try to get a list of Charlie Warner’s past employees?’ Vasquez says, eyes wide.

‘Right,’ Thistle says.

For a moment, the only sound is the humming of computers and the whirr of the AC.

Vasquez stands up, glaring at us both. I know how he feels. I don’t like the direction this case has taken either. If Warner hears that I’ve made this request, I’m a dead man.

‘And how exactly am I supposed to do that?’ he asks.

‘You’re keeping tabs on her already, right?’ Thistle says. ‘I figured you’d have one ready to go.’

‘It’s a highly sensitive investigation. Information like that is only accessible to people on the task force.’

‘Well, we need it. Do you want to tell the director, or should I?’

Vasquez sighs. Rubs his face in his hands. ‘Fine, I’ll do it. But anything you find, you tell me first.’

‘Done. How did you go with our suspect’s phone?’

‘Uh …’ Vasquez sits back down and digs up a graph on his computer. ‘Cell tower data doesn’t take her anywhere near the dump site within the last three months. But it’s possible she didn’t take her phone with her when she went.’

‘Or had it switched off,’ I say.