I spent some more time searching for Rita Palmer online, looking through pictures, following links. No digital smoking gun, but now I had a name and a phone number for MacLeish. By the time I closed my computer, I was feeling good, confident. It wasn’t done yet, I reminded myself. But it was close.

I was locking the door, something resembling a bounce to my step, when a shadow caught my eye. Someone was leaning against my car. For a moment, time froze. Lou, I thought, it has to be Lou. But I was wrong. Escobar, MacLeish’s younger, more senior partner, was flicking through his phone, not watching me approach, although I was sure he knew I was there. Even the sight of a blue leaning against my car couldn’t dampen my mood.

“All the crappy condos in all the world and you happen to be waiting outside mine,” I said, laughing as I fumbled in my purse for my keys. “What makes me such a lucky girl, Officer?”

Escobar was dressed in plain clothes today, khaki pants and a black button-up, practically choking him. He watched me riffle through my purse with disapproving eyes. One hand was jammed in his pocket, and I wondered, for a moment, if he had a gun in there.

Escobar glared at me. “I wanted to stop by and see if you’d remembered anything else. About the deceased.”

“Where’s your partner, Sergeant?” I made a big show of looking around. Escobar scowled. If he was going to make much of a cop, he’d have to learn to control his temper better. And maybe that temper would let slip a few details on MacLeish I might be able to use to even the playing field. “And while we’re on the subject, how’d he get demoted?”

“I’m working solo today,” he said. He wasn’t working today, period. I’d almost bet money on it: this was a visit on his own time. “Where were you the night Ms. Howard and Hiram Klein were killed?”

“I spent the night,” I snapped. “With a friend. What else do you want to know?”

“How she wrangled Hiram Klein into the car, for one,” Escobar said, squinting now as he watched my face. “Heavy man for one woman. How she ended up strangled is another question I have for you.”

“I haven’t the slightest idea what to tell you,” I said. I’d found my keys, and I unlocked my car door, wondering if he’d try to stop me from opening the door. “Because I sure wish I could answer those things for you, but I really can’t help you.”

I’d gotten one leg into the car before Escobar caught the door and held it. “What did you do with the gun?”