See Jane Die Part 13

"I didn't pick up on that."

Mac cranked the engine, pulled away from the curb. "Let's talk about the tape," he said, shifting the subject.

They hadn't worked together long, but she recognized his maneuvering, anyway. "What about it?"

"Has it occurred to you that the guy on the tape and your brother-in-law fit the same general description?"

"Sure. But so would maybe twenty percent of the male population of Dallas. You're grasping at straws."

"Is that what you'd say if he wasn't your brother-in-law?"

Her face warmed. "He was her plastic surgeon. He-"

"Look, n.o.body at the hotel recognized our guy from the tape. Chances are he wasn't a hotel guest. So

that's a dead end. We have to look at every possible angle. Your brother-in-law's a married man. Married to a very wealthy woman, by the way. One who, I'm certain, would not be happy to learn he was involved in extracurricular activities with a patient."

She frowned. "How do you know Jane's wealthy?"

"Everybody knows." He eased to a stop at the light at Commerce and South Walton Street. "About her inheritance and you being cut out. Life in a fishbowl, Stacy."

"Wonderful," she muttered. "Just frigging great."

He sent her a sympathetic glance. "If it helps, the guys think it sucks. A few of them figured they could have hit you up for a loan." He said the last deadpan, though his eyes gave him away. She liked him, she decided. And he was certainly the least-arrogant guy she'd been partnered with.

"No comment?" he said.

"I don't want to encourage you. You are not funny, Detective McPherson."

"Yeah, I am. Admit it."

"I will not. But I do appreciate you keeping the macho bulls.h.i.t to a minimum."

"Be still, my heart." He took the ramp onto I-35E. "What type of vehicle does your brother-in-law

drive?"

"An Audi TT roadster. Cherry-red. Why?"

"We have the time, let's take another swing by La Plaza. Run the doc's plate number and vehicle past the

valets."

"You're fixated," she said.

"Just covering all the bases. You would, too, if you didn't have a personal involvement here."

The valets logged the plate number of every car they parked. She suspected their UNSUB-unknown

subject-was smart enough to know that, but it was worth a shot.

She narrowed her eyes, irritated. "Fine. Let's go."

They made La Plaza in good time, parked and spoke with both the valets. One had been on duty the

previous evening, the other had been off.

While Stacy questioned Andrew, the one who had worked the night before, Mac went with the other to

check the logbook. "Do you recall a red Audi TT roadster arriving last night, somewhere between ten-thirty and eleven?" she asked.

He thought a moment, then shook his head. "Sorry, Detective. A car like that doesn't stick out here.

That's all we see, day in and day out. Now, that-" he pointed at Mac's Ford "-sticks out."

She changed tact. "You notice a big guy walk past, leather bomber jacket, baseball cap?"

He squinted as if working to recall details of the previous evening. "I don't...maybe, yeah. I think I did."

Her heart quickened. "Would you recognize him if you saw him again? Or could you pick him out of a

photo lineup?"

"Sorry. I didn't see his face."

Of course not. This one's smarter than the average bear. He'd thought it through.

"Could you tell, was he blond? A brunette? Redhead?"

A gleaming black Jaguar pulled up; he glanced at it. "Not sure. Like I said, I didn't get a good look-"

The Jaguar's front pa.s.senger door popped open. "I've got to get this car."

"Go ahead." She handed him her card. "If you remember anything, call me. Day or night."

"I will."

"Hey!" she called as he walked away. He stopped and glanced back. "Who worked with you last night?"

"Danny Witt."

Stacy watched him a moment, then turned at the sound of her name. Mac strode toward her. "Well?" she

asked when he reached her.

"If the doc was here, he didn't valet. You turn up anything?"

"Andrew thinks he remembers seeing our guy, but didn't get a look at his face."

"Dammit. Who is this guy? Houdini?"

"No, just clever." They started toward the Ford. She checked her watch. "What time is Vanmeer's ex's

plane due in?"

"At 10:42. Flight 1362. American."

"Right on schedule."

They climbed into the vehicle and headed toward DFW. Traffic was light and the thirty-minute drive took

twenty. They reached the concourse with enough time to grab a hot dog and a c.o.ke.

Stacy finished the last of both as they announced the arrival of the Miami flight.

Elle Vanmeer's ex-husband was one of the first to exit the plane. Business-cla.s.s seating, Stacy

acknowledged. From the profile Mac had a.s.sembled on him-wealthy businessman with interests in oil,

energy and technology-she would expect no less.

With him was a gorgeous blonde at least thirty years his junior. Again, no big surprise. Both looked as if they had gotten too much sun-and drunk too much champagne.

Stacy took out her shield and stepped in his path. "Mr. Hastings?"

He stopped. His gaze landed on her shield, then shifted to Mac's, His expression subtly sharpened.

"Charles Hastings," he said. "Can I help you?"

"Detective Killian, Dallas Police Department. This is my partner, Detective McPherson. We need to ask you a few questions."

"About what?"

"Could you step over here, please?"

He looked irritated. "Sweetheart," he said to the woman, "head on down to baggage. I'll meet you there."

The woman nodded and, after sending Stacy an irritated glance, walked away. Stacy and Mac led the

man to a quiet corner.

"We need to ask you a few questions about your ex-wife."

He c.o.c.ked an eyebrow. Obviously, there had been more than one Mrs. Hastings.

"Elle Vanmeer."

"Elle?" He made a sound of derision. "I can't imagine why."

"When's the last time you spoke with her?"