Page 67

After negotiating security again, Jazz got on the phone to Lucia in the waiting area, exchanging information in short, vivid bursts.

“You’re sure you want to do this?” Lucia asked as Jazz watched a family of five meander its way into the gate area. Mom, dad, three kids who should have been poster children for their various age groups. Toddler in a stroller, burbling happily. Six-year-old with a neon-pink Barbie backpack, from which Barbie herself peered, battered and well loved. A disaffected preteen who sat with his face buried in his Game Boy screen, kicking the legs of his chair. “Jazz?”

“Remind me never to get married,” she said.

“What brought that on?”

“Kids.”

“Ah. I think you’d surprise yourself.”

“Me? Hardly. Not the motherly type, me.”

“Depends on your definition of motherly.” Lucia sounded amused. “I think of you as a mother wolf, defending her cubs to the death.”

“Yeah, well, I think of myself more as the single wolf, defending myself. Sorry. What were you saying?”

“I was saying this is a nice chat we’re having, but I’ve got work to do. So, you needed something…?”

Jazz hesitated, kicking a foot out rhythmically, watching the shadow move on the floor. “Lucia. Would you do me a big favor?”

“Big?”

“Major.”

“Of course.”

She sucked in a deep breath, let it out, and said, “Pansy scanned some photos for me. Would you put them out on the wires, see if anybody can match the images for me? Not the last one. I know who that is.”

“Oh, yeah? Who?” Lucia sounded interested, not invested.

“Ben McCarthy.”

Silence. Jazz listened to the distant, constant hiss of dead air, and finally said, “You still there?”

“Yeah. What kind of pictures?”

“Potentially exculpatory pictures.”

“Ah.” Nothing in her partner’s voice now, which was something in itself. “After I put them on the wire—”

“No, you don’t need to do anything else,” Jazz hastened to say. “I’ll take care of it.”

“I could ask around.”

Jazz stared hard at her shoe. “I couldn’t—that’s a lot of favor.”

“If I can wrap up this case today, I have free time tomorrow,” Lucia pointed out. “And you’re not coming back for what, three days?”

“Yeah.”

“You’ll go nuts.”

“Probably,” Jazz said, smiling. “But seriously, only if you have time, right? This isn’t work. This is—personal.”

“I know,” Lucia said.

“Be careful.”