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“The red hair—was it a dye job or could it have been a wig?”
“It might have been either. It all happened so fast. I know that sounds like a cliché, but—”
“Understood, totally understood. If itwasa wig, they’ll probably find it in a nearby litter basket. If someone hasn’t filched it already, that is. How are the old eyeballs doing?”
“Better. I’m sorry to have made such a fuss, but—”
“Don’t be,” Kate says from her seat in the corner.
“It’s just that I thought it was acid. It said so right on the Thermos.”
“Because that’s what she wanted you to think,” Hughes says. “Like in a Road Runner cartoon where the box says ACME EXPLOSIVES.” She turns her head. “Kate McKay, right?”
Kate nods. She’s not taking a big part in the discussion, she’s letting Hughes do her job, but her attention is fiercely focused. Corrie has an idea her boss is very angry—it’s in her tightly pursed lips and the way her hands are knotted in her lap—but she’s showing respect.At least so far. If she feels that Hughes is fucking up or slacking off, that will change.
“I’ve read two of your books,” Hughes tells her. Then, turning back to Corrie: “The woman who threw that shit in your face, probably bleach, thought you were her, didn’t she?” Cocking her head at Kate, whose lips are now so tightly pressed together they have almost disappeared.
“Probably.”
“The Borsalino,” Kate says. “It’s sort of a trademark. It’s on all four book jackets and a lot of publicity photos.”
“Well, this one is evidence,” Hughes says. “You’ll get it back eventually, but you’ll have to buy another one if you want to wear it to your gig tonight.”
From Mallory Hughes, Kate takes this without comment. Corrie wonders again if she would from a man. Kate’s not a hater of men, but she’s got a lot of push-back in her.
“Are you going ahead with your lecture tonight at the Pioneer?”
“Oh yes. I’d be happy to comp you tickets, if you want to come.”
“Working.” Then, back to Corrie. “I want you to come down to the station this afternoon and make a statement. You up for that?”
Corrie looks at Kate, who says, “Earlyafternoon, if possible. I need Corrie later on.” Simply assuming that Corrie will be ready and willing to do her show-night duties. Corrie supposes there’s a degree of diva arrogance in this, but it doesn’t irritate her. On the contrary, she’s grateful for it. Understands it’s Kate’s way of saying she assumes Corrie is as brave as she is. Corrie wants to believe that.
“Let’s make it one-thirty,” Hughes says. “455 East 2nd, not all that far from where you were going when you were assaulted. I’ll want both your phone number and email address, since I expect you’ll be moving on with Ms. McKay.” She doesn’t defer to Kate because she’s not the victim. At least not this time.
“One-thirty it is,” Corrie says.
“If we catch her, you’ll have to come back. You’re aware of that, right?”
Corrie says she understands.
6
When Hughes is gone, Kate says, “I want you onstage tonight. Are you good with that?”
Corrie feels a bolt of fright at the idea. “Would I have to speak?”
“Not if you don’t want to.”
“Then okay. I guess.”
“You don’t mind being Kate McKay’s object lesson? Don’t resent me for it?”
“No.” Is that the truth? Corrie wants it to be.
“I want to take your picture. While your eyes are still red and puffy and your skin is still irritated. All right?”
“Yes.”