2
"I never thought we'd see you again, Inspector," Nikki said. The Barbary Now barmaid set a glass of soda water in front of Garreth, eyeing him with avid curiosity. "The cops who came in the other night, your partner and the handsome one, said you'd been killed."
Garreth smiled thinly. "I was, but death was so boring I gave it up. Can you stand to answer a few more questions about Lane Barber?"
She sighed. "Shit. More? I've told every frigging detective in the city every damned thing I know . . . which is zip, nada. We never passed more than the time of day, little comments about music or fashions or some guy."
Garreth broadened his smile to a friendly, persuasive one. "People say more than you might think. You mention a toy you've bought for a nephew or child and they come back telling you about one they bought once. Did Lane ever do that? Or maybe she mentioned some game she liked as a kid, or a pet she had."
Nikki's fingers drummed on the bottom of her plastic tray. "No . . . nothing."
Garreth could hardly believe that. Even someone with the experience and control Lane had must relax once in a while. Why should she avoid talking about pets and toys as long as the reference did not give away her age?
Then he thought about how he had lied needlessly to Evelyn Kolb about his interest in her thermos. Fleeing where no one pursued.
He paid Nikki for the soda water and sat back sipping moodily. Maybe Lane always avoided making personally revealing remarks. That was not much different from what someone like Chiarelli did, being undercover twenty-four hours a day every day. After so many years, caution may have become a reflex. Had that always been true, though? Maybe clues to her past lay in previous identities. As a younger, less experienced person, she might have been more open.
Her picture, with a different name attached, must be in the past files of agents here and in Los Angeles. Finding those agents would involve time and patience, but he was used to legwork. Eventually he could learn previous names and where she had worked. That would lead him to people who had known her.
The trouble was, memories failed. The further back into her past he went, the fewer people would even remember her, let alone recall specific conversations. The trail inevitably became colder and thinner. Except if someone had a good reason to remember her.
Such as an assault?
If he could find them after forty-odd years, the people involved in that assault back in '41 might give him the best chance he had at her past. The assault itself suggested a woman more hot tempered and less cautious than the one he had met. She even gave her real name when booked. Perhaps she told people about herself back then, too.
He wished he had written down the facts and names in that complaint when he had the file in his hands. Now he would have to go to Bryant Street in the morning and hope that word of his resignation had not reached the Records people yet so that he could see the file again.
He also wished he had had a closer look at that envelope on Lane's desk. He closed his eyes, trying to visualize it. He saw the address with its ornate penmanship clearly enough, but what he needed was the return address, and no matter how he concentrated, he saw nothing but a blur, a vague, peripheral smudge. He tried visualizing the postmark, too. That had not registered at all on his memory.
Finally, sighing, he gave that up. Scratch the luck of a return address. What else did he have? Names?
He considered names. All those she had used for herself professionally could be considered derivations from "Madelaine." Not unusual. Typically an alias bore a resemblance to the righteous name. He could almost bet that all her false surnames resembled "Bieber" much as "Barber" did. However, the name on the registration of the car and driver's license, Alexandra Pfeifer, was another matter. He still saw a resemblance, but an ethnic one. What were "Bieber" and "Pfeifer," Germanic? Could it be she chose "Pfeifer" because she was familiar with names like that? Could she have come from an area populated by people of German descent?
As if an answer to that helped. There had to be hundreds of Germanic settlements across the country.
Finishing his soda water, Garreth left the club and headed back for his car. What he needed to do was consult experts and find out where large Germanic groups had settled. It might help him.
At his car he was fishing in his pocket for his keys when a voice said, "Thank God. I was afraid I'd be sitting here all night, Mikaelian."
Garreth spun around.
Rob Cohen stepped from behind a nearby car. "This is getting to be a habit, turning out the force to find you. At least you're considerate enough to drive a conspicuous car. The lieutenant wants you at Bryant Street to talk to the shooting team."