Kate Vare stood on the doorstep a little after nine. She held a coffee travel mug with the city of Phoenix logo wrapped around it. She said she was there to take the evidence seal off the garage apartment. We could use it again. I led her up the stairs and she pulled the label off the door.
“So this means what?”
“To me, it’s misdemeanor homicide,” she said. “Asshole-on-asshole crime. Now we have one less asshole in the world. I’ve got plenty of cases where real people have been hurt or killed.”
She was enjoying this way too much.
“And what about Robin? She’s a real person.”
“If she’s telling the truth, we don’t have any further questions.”
“A beheaded Sinaloa cartel hit man and no further questions?” I stared past her, taking in the view at treetops from the walkway. The air was yellow brown. “What happened to your big media event? Your major case?”
“Things change, Mapstone.” She cocked her head and looked up at me. “Do you see any media? I don’t see any media. Meanwhile, we’ve got a new round of layoffs coming.”
“I’m sure Wal-Mart will hire you.”
“Oh, I’ll be around,” she said, sipping her coffee.
So I told her about the chase the night before with the Kia. She shrugged.
“Did you file a report?”
I shook my head.
“Maybe it was a robbery attempt.” One eyebrow went up. “Maybe you imagined it all. You look fine now. So if you’re worried, file a report. Meanwhile, if Ms. Bryson remembers anything she wants to tell us, call me.”
Vare turned like a figurine on a music box and stalked away. I swear she was smiling.
“She’s told you the truth.” Mostly. “Do your damned job, Kate!” I spoke to her back, which disappeared into the house.
I spent the day writing a grant proposal, to fund a history I wanted to write of Phoenix. If I was going to make my re-entry into academia, I needed to publish again. And the histories of the city were lacking. Brad Luckingham’s book left out so damned much and VanderMeer’s wasn’t even in print any longer. I fretted about my future. Every job was being chased by six unemployed persons, and the competition was much greater among people with advanced degrees in the humanities. The situation was even worse in Phoenix, by far the largest city with only one real university. I hated to be at the mercy of ASU. Although I had gone there as an undergrad, I had long since moved on. But I really needed this job. And they had come after me, several high-ranking folks urging me to apply for the job after Peralta lost the election. By the end of the day, my eyes hurt from so much computer time. Robin did yoga in the guest room and stared out at the interior courtyard, saying little.
