Stealing Faces by Michael Prescott

Author:Michael Prescott
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Suspense, Thriller
ISBN: 9780708943502
Publisher: Signet
Published: 1999-10-01T00:00:00+00:00

27

Shepherd was cruising the interstate, three miles from Tucson city limits, when his cell phone chirped. He fumbled it out of the side pocket of his jacket. “Shepherd.”

“Roy, it’s Hector. Something’s come up. Something sort of interesting.”

Alvarez was the phlegmatic type, slow to show excitement, but Shepherd heard a rare intensity in his voice now.

“Don’t keep me in suspense,” he said mildly.

“Well, the fax came in from Graham County.” The sheriff’s file on Kaylie McMillan. After leaving the hospital. Shepherd had called Alvarez and summarized Cray’s story. He’d told Alvarez to watch for the fax. “I took a look at it.”

“And?”

“Decided to post a copy of the lady’s arrest photo on the bulletin board. What the hell. She’s a fugitive, after all. Well, guess what.”

“I’m a real bad guesser. Hector.”

“Couple of patrol guys saw the pic and made her. I mean, they eyeballed her just this morning in a greasy spoon over on Speedway.”

Shepherd’s heart froze for an instant, then kicked into high gear. “They’re sure?”

“Real sure. They said she started acting nervous when they sat down at the next table. Even spilled a cup of coffee all over the table, made a real mess—then left in a hurry. They didn’t think too much of it at the time, but when they saw the photo, it was like, bam, that’s her.”

“What time this morning?”

“About nine.”

“What’s the name of the place?”

“Hold on.” Alvarez shouted the question, got an indistinct answer, and said, “Rancheros Cafe.”

Shepherd knew it. “Cross street is Woodland.”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, I’m about five minutes east of town right now. I’m going to detour over to the coffee shop and see if I can talk to anybody who remembers her.”

“You want company?”

“It’s not necessary. She must be long gone. But maybe I can take a statement from someone who works there. Who are the patrol cops, by the way?”

“Leo Galston—he’s a T.O.—and Kurt Bane.”

“I know Leo. I want a statement from him and his partner.”

“They’re already writing it up.”

Shepherd took the Kolb Road exit and shot north to Speedway.

He remembered telling Cray that this wasn’t his case. The Graham County sheriff had primary jurisdiction. There was no urgent reason for him to get involved.

But he hadn’t told Cray the whole truth, had he?

Shepherd’s mouth pinched. No. He’d said nothing about Ginnie.

His wife. His late wife.

Roy and Virginia Shepherd had lived on a cul-de-sac off Fort Lowell Road in a modest brick house, ranch style, with pebbles and cacti in the front yard and a small, thirsty, carefully tended garden in the rear. The neighborhood was typical of Tucson—middle-class, quiet except for one neighbor’s dog that never quit barking, bare of shade on hot summer days, untouched by any crime more serious than graffiti.

Shepherd and his wife had been happy there, or happy enough. The marriage hadn’t been ideal. Sometimes Roy had gotten angry with Ginnie for the amount of time she spent in the den, hunched over her computer keyboard, working on her project.

The project was a Web site she had created,

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