Eight is for grief.
There were eight crows.
Gabriel noticed me staring at the birds.
"Olivia?"
"Sorry." I yanked my gaze away. "So how do you want to handle the interview?"
We continued on, passing people that I'd have normally crossed the road to avoid--even with a gun in my purse. But they all steered clear. That may have had something to do with the big guy in shades walking at my side.
We reached the walk-up apartment. An unconscious drunk lay on the stoop, his hand extended, fingers poised as if he'd been holding something. Probably his keys. They were long gone. So was everything of value in his apartment by now, I'd bet.
As we climbed the stairs inside, I saw a dead crow on a landing. The hair on the back of my neck prickled, but I kept going.
I'd seen the poppies a few days ago, and Pamela hadn't died. Or had it been a warning that she was in danger? I scowled and rubbed my neck again. That's how superstitions thrive--you see a so-called omen, and when it doesn't come true, you find another event that fits ... if you ram that square peg into the round hole.
We knocked on Gray's door. A woman answered, and I was glad I'd suggested Gabriel stand back. I'd worked at the shelter long enough to recognize an addict--the haunted expression, the gaunt face, the telltale tracks. Despite the obvious wear and tear on her body, she was decently groomed and had some color in her cheeks. A recovering addict? Either way, she wouldn't respond well to a guy who could pass for DEA.
"Hi," I said, flashing my friendliest smile. "I'm looking for Josh Gray. I'm a friend of his sister, Terri." Gabriel's background check had turned up a half sister in her early twenties.
"The college brat?" The woman looked me up and down. "If she sent you to score from him, Josh don't do that no more."
She started shutting the door. My hand shot out to stop it.
"It's not that. She said he might be getting back into graphic design"--that was his college background--"and I was hoping to hire him."
"I dunno nothing about that."
"Could I speak--?"
"He's not here."
She gave the door a sudden shove and I stumbled back. The door didn't close, though. A big Italian loafer stopped it.
The girlfriend looked down at that shoe, then up at the rest of Gabriel.
"No," she said as she backpedaled. "No, no, no. I don't know nothing. Nothing."
"About what?" he said smoothly, stepping into the apartment.
"You're the guy who called Josh, pretending to be some lawyer."
"
Pretending?"
She pointed a trembling finger at him. "You're no lawyer. I know what you are. Josh told me what you guys did to his friend."
"I thought you didn't know anything," Gabriel said.
She ran--straight for the balcony door, which was wide open. I tore after her. She lunged through and yanked it shut behind her. Then she scrambled over the rusted railing and dropped one floor to the ground.
I raced back to Gabriel. "Come on. We need to catch her."
"Do I look as if I'm dressed for an alley chase?"
I glowered at him and started for the door, but he caught my shoulder.