Colby Brass. Debra Webb

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      She tapped him on the shoulder.

      He jumped.

      Then she saw the reason he hadn’t heard her. His shoulder-length hair hid the wire extending from his ear to his MP3 player.

      He snatched the earbud free and jammed it into his apron pocket. “Can I help you?” He cleared his throat. “I mean, sorry.” He forced a smile. “How may I help you, ma’am?”

      The distinct flicker of worry in his eyes warned that he’d committed this transgression before and wanted no part of that kind of trouble again.

      “Have you been stocking on this aisle all afternoon?” Might as well get straight to the point.

      He glanced past her, then searched her face a moment as if attempting to determine if she was a spy for management. “Since about one.”

      She hitched a thumb toward the front window. “My best friend had a big fight right outside with her ex. Did you see it happen?”

      He stiffened. “I already talked to the police. I told ‘em everything I know.”

      Von produced a trembling smile. “I can’t get the police to tell me anything and I’m really worried. She’s at the hospital and her ex took her little girl.” Von shrugged. “I really want to find that bastard before he does something even more stupid.”

      The clerk licked his lips, checked both directions of the aisle. “I wish I could help you.” He shrugged. “I really do. But I really did tell the cops all I know.” He gestured to the floor to ceiling, wall to wall window. “I could see them arguing but I couldn’t hear what they were saying. The dude grabbed the kid’s hand and walked off. The woman ran after him. Looked like she was yelling but I couldn’t hear what she was saying.”

      “Which way did they go?”

      He pointed left and shrugged again. “That’s all I know.”

      Von gave him a grateful smile. “Thanks.”

      The police would continue questioning employees until they were certain no one had seen or heard anything. Von had other plans.

      If the violent part of the confrontation hadn’t happened in front of the store, then it had to have occurred after the ex walked away with the kid in tow. Von moved out the front entrance and turned left.

      Concentrating on the snowy sidewalk, she passed a restaurant, a bookstore and a pharmacy. When she reached the end of the block she turned around and retraced her steps.

      No blood. Just the slush of snow beaten down by foot traffic.

      How far had Larkin and her ex gone before the physical confrontation occurred? The Colby Agency was five blocks away. A street over and four blocks down. The woman had been bleeding profusely. Wherever she was attacked, presumably with a knife, there would be blood close by. If not on the sidewalk near the toy store … if not in front of witnesses who surely would have called the police—It had to be in a more secluded place. Some place no one would look on a busy afternoon only a few shopping days from Christmas.

      Von checked the wide alley between the pharmacy and the bookstore. Some trash, a few empty boxes and a Dumpster but no blood. Double-checking as she retraced her steps, she returned to the sidewalk and moved on to the next possibility.

      Between the restaurant and the toy store was another alley, this one too narrow for the city’s garbage truck. Again there were empty boxes. A couple of garbage cans and not much else.

      “Damn it.” Had Wanda Larkin gotten disoriented and confused the location of the confrontation? Maybe she’d followed the jerk a considerable distance from the toy store.

      Von ventured deeper into the alley. As she neared the end where the alley gave way to another sidewalk and street, her gaze snagged on a dark spot. Not mud or other grime. This was distinctly rusty in color. The snow was a slushy mess from the foot traffic but there was something …

      She touched the spot, assessed the smudge on her fingertip.

      Definitely blood.

      Her heart rate accelerated as anticipation fired in her veins.

      At the intersection of the alley and the parallel street that ran behind the toy store another stack of boxes were overturned and scattered.

      More blood.

      Von dragged box after box aside … a woman’s coat had been wadded into a ball and tossed to the side. Von cautiously unrolled the coat. The lining was bloodstained. Fur-lined ankle boots were hidden behind more boxes … and socks—all bloodstained.

      Judging by the amount of blood on the ground, Von estimated that Wanda Larkin had been immobile and hemorrhaging heavily for several minutes. Lying on the frigid ground with no coat and no shoes.

      Fury roared through Von as she pieced together the story the elements of the scene revealed.

      The ex had meant for Wanda to die.

      Von sat back on her haunches and surveyed the scene once more. Larkin had stabbed his ex-wife or slashed at her with the knife. Von inspected the coat, noted the hole in the garment. Not an extended tear in the fabric, a distinct hole. No slash. He’d stabbed her. He’d hit her or pushed her hard enough to knock her unconscious or stun her, at least for a few minutes. Then he’d stripped off her coat and boots, tried to camouflage her body and walked away.

      Leaving her to die.

      Exposure to the extreme cold would have hastened the outcome.

      “Bastard.” Von pushed to her feet and double-timed it back to the toy store. She tracked down the guy she’d questioned before. “Do me a favor.” The clerk didn’t look too gung-ho, but Von went on, “Tell the police there’s blood in the alley between this store and the restaurant next door.”

      The guy’s eyes rounded. “Blood?”

      “Tell them!” Von ordered as she backed down the aisle toward the exit. “Tell them now.”

      She didn’t wait around to get caught up in questioning. Her SUV was in the parking garage down the block and across the street. On the way, she put in a call to Victoria and explained what she’d discovered near the toy store.

      “Von, I want you to rendezvous with Jim and Trinity,” Victoria instructed. “They’re en route to Rogers Park. The ex-husband reportedly lives or spends time in the area.”

      “Do we have his name or a description?” Von asked, pushing aside the automatic reaction that had nothing to do with this case.

      “His name is Kobi Larkin. Research is sending a DMV photo to your phones now. Also, Trinity obtained a photo of the child at the mother’s apartment. He’ll forward that to you as well.” Victoria hesitated. “And, Von, tread cautiously,” she warned. “Keep me posted. I’ll follow up with Chicago PD.”

      “On my way,” Von assured the chief of the Colby Agency as she sprinted to her SUV. Her mind raced ahead of her … to Rogers Park.

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