City of Secrets by Kelli Stanley Page A

twist.
    â€œMeyer … did you tell him you were going to hire me?”
    The lawyer cleared his throat. “Yes. He made no objection—”
    â€œDid it ever occur to you that he asked for you in order to get to me?”
    â€œI’m not sure what you mean—”
    Miranda shook her head and winced from the spasm, neck and shoulder muscles knotted and tense.
    â€œI mean he’s dangerous, goddamn it. And I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s guilty.”
    More silence. She looked down, picking at the tassels on the edge of the white cotton bedspread.
    Meyer’s voice came over the wire smooth and unperturbed. “I can only say I believe him to be innocent. At least of these crimes. Will you please come down for an interview? Speak to him, perhaps, before you make up your mind?”
    Miranda closed her eyes. Duggan’s face when he handcuffed her, when he slapped her, when he tried to break her. And then Pandora’s body, kaleidoscope swirl, solidifying, red and white. Red and white.
    Drip-drop. Drip-drop.
    â€œAre the autopsy reports in? Would I have access to everything I need?”
    â€œYes. Their case is purely circumstantial, and the speed of the arrest itself proves—”
    â€œSave the argument for the jury. What about the ethics of hiring me when you work for me?”
    His voice relaxed. “I’ve taken the liberty of drawing up a contract. It stipulates that I have hired you as a temporary consultant who is to investigate the specific matter at hand, and that any legal issues resulting from the arrangement will be handled by Lattimore.”
    â€œHe’s junior.”
    â€œAnd a highly capable attorney.”
    She grunted. “I’ll meet you at noon. On one condition.”
    â€œName it, my dear—you know I have the utmost faith and—”
    â€œYeah, yeah, I know. Listen to me. If I agree to this—and it’s a big fucking ‘if’—I handle it my way. And if I uncover anything that corroborates the charges—anything—I turn it over to the cops at the same time.”
    He sounded surprised. “Reciprocal discovery of inculpatory evidence. We’ll talk it over when you get here.”
    â€œYou’ll need to agree before we talk.”
    The lawyer blew out a breath in frustration. “Miranda, my child, you do want to find the killer, do you not? And you do need a source of income?”
    â€œThe bulls think the killer’s in custody. I’ve got ads in the paper. I’ll be back on my feet in a week. What I want to know is whether you’re willing to stand behind Duggan all the way down the line.”
    Siren in the background, someone shouting. Meyer’s voice gruff this time.
    â€œVery well. You have my word—if you should choose to accept my offer. There are other private detectives, after all.”
    She grinned. “And my guess is you’ve had a hell of a time finding any who will touch this case, or you wouldn’t have agreed to my terms.”
    Warm laughter poured out of the receiver. “Touché, my dear. I’ll see you at twelve.”
    Miranda slowly hung up the phone. Her hand crept up to her left cheekbone as she remembered the last time she saw Gerry Duggan.
    *   *   *
    She took a long shower, lathering up with Lady Esther’s latest soap. Rubbed Dorothy Gray Salon cream on her face, concentrating on the age spots of eyes, nose, and throat. Miranda looked at herself critically. Back on the chain gang at the Club Moderne soon and couldn’t afford to look thirty-three.
    Made a pot of Hills Brothers coffee on the small stove, wrapping up the package of Ozzie’s treasures, still strewn on the kitchen table. Drank two cups quickly, large hands wrapped around a jadeite coffee mug.
    Chose a conservative suit, gray jacket, white blouse, demure hat, last year’s style, tilted on the left with a black net veil and plastic