The most intriguing statements of all were provided by a married couple, Mack and Maura McCool, who were renting out their garage to Young as a small apartment space. They claimed Young had told them a few days before the murder that he was planning to leave town and head north. Portland, maybe. Or Seattle. Mack McCool had been in Ace’s for most of the evening, while Maura had washed, ironed, and packed Young’s clothes for him ahead of the trip while the young man worked his last shift.

He’d shown up at their house on El Paso shortly after midnight. Maura McCool had gone to bed around a half hour later, while Mack McCool and Young had stayed up and drank a few beers and watched a rerun of a football game. They’d both fallen asleep on the couch, also confirmed by the wife, who’d gotten up during the night for a glass of water. Early the next morning, Mack McCool had dropped Young off near the 5 in Glendale, where he’d been planning to hitch a ride.

The McCools had effectively provided an alibi for the prime suspect in Geersen’s case. The only window of opportunity was the ten minutes or so between leaving the bar and when the McCools said Young had arrived at their home. Nowhere near enough time for him to go to the house on Morrison, kill Eleanor, and make his way back to El Paso.

And then there was the disappearance of Alicia to consider.

A search of the McCools’ house, car, and the garage apartment had turned up nothing. The murder weapon had never been found. Detective Geersen had noted that the McCools’ Buick LeSabre sedan had been detailed on the Saturday morning, just hours before Eleanor’s body was discovered by Chuck Lawrence.

Jessica looked up from the final page. Holliday was sitting on the chair next to the desk, glasses on, also reading through the pages from the murder book, in case he had missed anything first time around.

“Who are Mack and Maura McCool?” she asked.

“You know the old guy who’s always in Ace’s Bar playing cards? That’s Mack McCool.”

“You spoken to him?”

Holliday laughed. “Yeah, if you can call ‘I don’t speak to asshole journalists’ a conversation. Believe me—Mack McCool is not the friendliest of guys.”

“What about the wife?”

“I tried her a couple of times. Wouldn’t answer the door.”

“I’ll give Mack McCool a go. See if he’s feeling any more talkative.”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Jessica got up from the bed and stretched. It was time to call it a night. “Thanks for the drink,” she said. The bottle was almost empty. “Let’s get together at some point tomorrow and decide on our next move.”

She headed for the door.

“Jessica?”

“Yeah?”

“You still haven’t told me the name of your client.”