Chasing Darkness by Robert Crais Page B

the picture with wide, curious eyes.
    â€œAre you a policeman?”
    â€œNope. Elvis Cole. I’m a private investigator.”
    She smiled, the smile making her even prettier.
    â€œIs that really your name?”
    â€œWhat, Cole?”
    â€œNo, silly, Elvis. I’m Cass, like Mama Cass Elliot. She used to live right up the hill. A dude comes here, his name is Jagger, and a dude named Morris who says he was named after Jim Morrison, but that’s kinda sketchy.”
    The sixties live.
    Cass called over her shoulder.
    â€œPhil, can you come see this, please?”
    Phil put down the bowl of tuna and came up behind her, wiping his hands on a towel. Cass showed him the picture.
    â€œWas this guy a customer?”
    Phil considered the image.
    â€œHe’s the one they found in the fire. You didn’t see the news?”
    Cass didn’t know what we were talking about.
    Phil said, “Yeah, he used to get the curry chicken. It was always the same. The curry chicken on a sesame roll. He had a bad foot.”
    Phil was a score. They might have shot the bull while Phil made Byrd’s sandwich, and Phil might remember something useful.
    â€œThat’s right. He was here about two weeks ago, just before he died. Do you remember what you talked about?”
    Phil handed back the picture, shaking his head.
    â€œSorry, bro. He hasn’t been in for a couple of months, something like that. It’s been a while.”
    â€œHe was here exactly fifteen days ago, and two days before that. I found these at his house.”
    I showed him the two most recent receipts. Phil squinted at them as if they were an incomprehensible mystery, then shook his head.
    â€œI don’t know what to tell you. We get busy, I wouldn’t have seen him if he didn’t buy a sandwich.”
    The tingle faded, but Cass brightened and spoke up.
    â€œWe might have delivered. Let’s see if Charles remembers.”
    Phil was still squinting at the receipts.
    â€œThere’s no delivery charge, see? We didn’t deliver. There would be a charge if we delivered.”
    Cass said, “Oh, don’t be a gob.”
    She went to the end of the counter and shouted for someone named Charles. A stock clerk in a green apron ambled out from between the aisles. It wasn’t just me.
    Phil took the picture, and showed him.
    â€œYou deliver for this guy? The name was Byrd.”
    Phil glanced at me again.
    â€œWhere’d he live?”
    â€œAnson Lane. Off Lookout, up past the school.”
    Charles took his turn with the picture, then shook his finger as if the finger was helping him fish up the thought.
    â€œThe dude with the foot.”
    â€œThat’s the one.”
    â€œYeah, man, I saw it in the paper. That stuff was crazy.”
    â€œYou delivered groceries to him two weeks ago?”
    â€œNope, I never delivered to him. I know him from the register, but he hasn’t been down in a while. Ivy came for his things.”
    Cass laughed.
    â€œOh, that chick!”
    I said, “A girl named Ivy picked up his groceries?”
    â€œHe’d phone the order, and she’d pick it up. He had to stop driving.”
    Cass was making a big loopy grin.
    â€œCharles was so totally into that chick.”
    Charles flushed.
    â€œStop it, dude. Discretion.”
    â€œWho’s Ivy?”
    Cass touched the midpoint of her left forearm.
    â€œShe had a broken heart here on her arm. The wreckage of Charles’s love.”
    â€œ Dude! ”
    Cass was pleased with Charles’s mortification and crossed her arms smugly.
    â€œShe lived up there in the big redwood house. A total hippie throwback to the commune age.”
    Charles shot a sulky glance at Cass.
    â€œIt’s not a commune. Dude rents out his rooms, is all. Ivy crashed there for a few weeks.”
    Cass mouthed her words with exaggerated volume.
    â€œNot long enough to drop her shorts.”
    Phil laughed and went back to