Body of Shadows Read Free Page A

quiet enough to sleep in. Drift could have it if he wanted but elected to stay right where he was when he got promoted to head of the department three years ago.
    "Closer to the coffee," he said.
    Actually that wasn't true.
    Three people paced it off to prove it.
    He dialed the cell phone of Dr. Leigh Sandt, the FBI profiler from Quantico, Virginia, and pulled up an image of a classy, 50-year-old woman with Tina Turner legs.
    She actually answered.
    "Your caller ID must not be working," Drift said.
    She laughed.
    "Long time," she said.
    "Too long. I have a situation."
    "An angry husband?"
    "Not funny," he said. "I have a victim of last night, an attorney, single, attractive, repeatedly choked while being raped. Her wrists were tied to the headboard. Here's the unique thing. The guy cut off her left ear."
    "Did he take it with him or leave it there?"
    "Took it."
    He let the words hang.
    He knew that she knew what he wanted, namely to check and see if any similar murders had taken place across the country over the years.
    "Personally it doesn't ring a bell but I'll check," she said.
    "How soon?"
    She exhaled.
    "You know what your problem is, Dent? You never stop being you."
    He smiled.
    "I'm writing something down," he said. "It says, Send Leigh flowers."
    "Dent, you're the cheapest guy on the face of the earth. It's never going to happen. You know it and I know it."
    "That's why I told you I was writing it down," he said. "That way you at least know I thought about it." A beat then, "Remember when you stayed at my house? The towel malfunction—"
    "Stop. I'm still in therapy over that."
    "Good."
     
    He hung up and found Sydney Heatherwood sitting in one of the two worn chairs in front of his desk. She was the newbie to the department, stolen out of vice personally by Drift last year. She wore a pink sleeveless blouse that showcased strong arms and contrasted nicely against her mocha African American skin.
    "Do you want me to send Leigh flowers for you?"
    He pictured it.
    "Yes," he said. "That will totally flip her out."
    She held her hand out.
    "Give me thirty bucks."
    He checked his wallet.
    There was a five and three ones.
    He picked up a pencil, wrote Send Leigh Flowers on a piece of paper, and handed it to Sydney. "Tell you what," he said. "Just fax her this."
    Sydney gave him a look.
    Then she pushed a stapled set of paper across the desk.
    "That's the victim's cell phone records," she said. "Just came in."
    "That was quick. I'm impressed."
    He studied them starting with the most recent and going back three days.
    Sydney pointed to the most recent pair, which was a text from the victim asking someone to cover a court hearing in the morning
    "That was to a number registered to Pantage Phair," Sydney said. "She's an attorney in the same firm as Jackie Lake."
    "Okay."
    The entry before that was a phone connection, not a text, lasting about two minutes. Sydney pointed to it and said, "That call was to Grayson Condor. He's an uppity-up in the firm."
    Those were the only entries from yesterday, the day she got murdered.
     
    Drift stuffed the records in a manila envelope and said, "You feel like taking a ride?"
    "To where? The law firm?"
    "I'll give you a hint. I'm either thinking of that or the flower shop."
    "Well it's not the flower shop."
    "Bingo."

     
    6
    Day One
    July 18
    Monday Afternoon
     
    The disbarred lawyer, Richard Blank, lived in a contemporary mansion in Beverly Hills. Yardley pulled the BMW through the wrought iron gate past the stone lions, up the cobblestone driveway and next to the water feature, where she killed the engine and stepped out.
    The air was more humid than she expected.
    Cotton-ball clouds swept overhead.
    When she knocked on the door, a man answered. It was him. She recognized him from the pictures and, seeing him in the flesh for the first time, began to work on how to best change his face.
    "Yes?" he said.
    "How would you like to be a lawyer again?" Yardley said.
    The man wrinkled his