“No idea,” I admit. “But I emailed off a request to the crime lab at about four-thirty this morning.”
Emily isn’t facing me anymore: she’s turned back to her computer, now, searching frantically for something in the CD-ROM of files from Banks.
“Don’t bother,” I tell her, shaking my head sadly when she turns to look back at me, startled. “I already know what you’re looking for. Griffin, Chamberlain, and Yee. The other recent folks that got busted for MDMA on tour with Ferry. They all copped a plea pretty quickly. Nobody ever bothered to do full workups on the drugs. Nothing past just the field test, anyway, and that just tells you if there’s MDMA present.”
Emily slumps in her chair, disappointed.
“That’s… not good,” she says.
“Well, it’s notideal,” I correct. “Or at least it doesn’tseemideal. But, you never know what might come of it.”
But I’ve got an idea or two about that. Those three guys are all still serving their sentences, so there’s a good chance that the drugs are still in the police evidence locker. I’ve got calls in to some friends at the DEA who might be able to find out and speed things along for me.
Unfortunately, that’s all on the wrong side of the wall of separation, and I don’t think I should share that with you right now. It just kills me to see the anxiety on your face, and I wish there was some other way I could smooth it away.
I roll my shoulders again, trying to work out that persistent kink, wishing I dared to ask Emily to help me out with it again. When I glance over, the redhead’s hands are in her lap, kneading at thin air. Emily’s face is pensive, a ghostly shadow of anxiety and sadness in her eyes. Her hands go flat as soon as she realizes I’m looking at her, smoothing the skirt over her thighs instead, as her face turns pinkish. If I didn’t know better, I’d say she’s wishing I’d ask, too.
Another yawn forces its way out of my mouth, and Emily answers in kind.
“Quit doing that,” she says, sheepishly crossing her legs. “It’s contagious.”
“I know, and I’m sorry,” I say, shaking my head. “I’m still waking up. That wasn’t much of a nap.”
“You really do need to take better care of yourself,” she says. One of her hands starts to move toward me, as if she was reaching out to me but stopped as soon as she realized what she was doing, and her eyes are haunted again.
“I need a bit of a pick-me-up,” Emily says, shaking it off and standing up. “I’m going to get a cup of coffee. Would you like some, too?”
“It’s like you’re reading my mind,” I tell her. “I think we could both use a boost.”
“Someone’s got to take care of you,” she says, with a wistful half-smile as she opens the door “Since, I mean, you’re not going to do it yourself.”
My eyes linger on her as she walks away, taking in the coppery fall of hair at first but drifting rapidly lower to swaying hips and the curves of a lovely ass. You have no idea how much I’d like for you to take care of me, Emily Wilson.
I need something, and fast. Even if my calls to the DEA do bear fruit, it may not be quick enough, and I can’t hold off on taking Frank Wilson to trial forever.
* * *