Page 18

I reach for the glass of water on my vanity, buying time. As I do, I let a thread of my influence slip into my words. Not much—just enough to make most humans pliable, suggestive.

“Elizabeth and I talked about the usual things,” I say, voice honeyed, eyes locked on his. “Her auditions. Her dreams of Hollywood. Nothing unusual.” I tilt my head slightly. “Maybe you should focus on her other friends. She had many. I’m sure I wasn’t the only one she confided in.”

The suggestion would work on most. Would make them nod and move on to easier questioning, maybe even leave.

But Callahan just narrows his eyes slightly.

“Nice try, Ms. Reid.” His mouth quirks, almost a smile. “But I think we both know there was more to that conversation.”

A chill runs through me. My influence bounced right off him. That never happens with most humans.

“You’re very direct,” I say, switching tactics. I move closer, watching his reaction. Most men either back away from assertive women or get aggressive. He does neither.

“In my experience, directness saves time.” His eyes drop to my lips for a fraction of a second, then back to my eyes. “And time is something Elizabeth Short ran out of.”

“Poetic.” I reach for my cigarette case, partly to have something to do with my hands. “You’re right, of course. We did talk about something else.” I light the cigarette, exhaling slowly. “She was scared.”

His posture shifts subtly. “Of what?”

“It’s hard to say.” That much is true. She had said so much. “She thought someone was following her. Watching her. I thought she was paranoid.”

“And now you regret that.”

It’s not a question. I look away, taking another drag. “Wouldn’t you? Perhaps if I took her more seriously, she wouldn’t be dead and I wouldn’t be in this jam.”

“Do you consider this to be a jam, Ms. Reid?”

“Please, you can call me Lena.”

He pulls out a small notebook. “Did she mention any names? Any places she was going?”

“No.” The lie feels heavier than it did the other day. “She was always chasing one opportunity or another. That’s how it is for girls like us in this town. You take chances. You take what you can get.”

Of course, he wouldn’t understand that. Men have no idea what it’s like.

“Some chances are more dangerous than others.” He flips through his notebook. “The police report says you’ve been in Los Angeles for three years. Moved here from Salem, Oregon, at age twenty-two. Your parents still live there.”

“You’ve done your homework,” I say as smoothly as possible, though his knowledge rankles me. What else does he know? Does he know what my parents are? What I am? What if he starts poking deeper and finds holes in our stories?

“It’s my job.” He looks up. “How did you and Elizabeth meet?”

“At an audition. We were both terrible. I mean absolutely awful.” I can’t help but smile at the memory, made even more fresh by her diary entry. “We went for coffee afterward and laughed about it. Been friends ever since.”

“Just friends?”

My eyes snap to his. There’s no judgment in his expression, just careful observation. Still, the question makes me tense. It’s a dangerous one, considering where I was last night. Did he know? Was he the one following me?

I swallow. “Mr. Callahan, I’m not sure what you’re implying.”

“Just Callahan. And I’m not implying anything. I’m trying to understand the nature of your relationship.”

I take a final drag of my cigarette before crushing it in the ashtray. “Betty was like a sister to me. I loved her. I would have protected her if I’d known she was in real danger.” Myvoice catches, genuine emotion bleeding through. “I should have protected her.”

Something in his expression softens marginally and in that I think he might be younger than I thought. Maybe early thirties. “That’s not your job, Ms. Reid.”

“No, it’s yours, isn’t it?” I counter. “Her family hired you to find whoever did this to her.”

He nods once. “And I will.”