Rarities Unlimited 04 - The Color of Death

that just the first name you thought of?”
    “Don’t run that bitchy mouth on me,” Sizemore said. “You’re not too old to get slapped and I’m not too old to do it. I gave you a job when nobody else would touch you with anything but his dick and don’t you forget it.”
    How can I? You remind me twice a day. But that was old history, so all she said aloud was, “Why do you think Groves is the leak?”
    “Why do you care?”
    “We can’t afford to be embarrassed by more screwups,” she said. “We were lucky not to lose the second Branson and Sons package. If I’ve missed something, I want to know it.”
    “Groves was in the parking lot.”
    “A coincidence.”
    “Yeah?” Sizemore took a long drink. “Groves has a CI and he’s not sharing the information with anyone, including Kennedy. Then Groves shows up in the parking lot just in time to stop a robbery and be a hero. Coincidence my ass. He’s got a line into the gangs that we don’t. I want his CI before something happens that makes us look like more of a donkey’s asshole than we already do.”
    Sharon was quiet for a moment. Then she nodded. “All right. How?”
    “I’m betting the CI is Natalie Harrison Cutter.”
    “The woman he caught swapping stones?”
    “Yeah.”
    “You think he flipped her, that she’s his informant in return for not getting arrested?”
    “The timing is right.” Sizemore reached into the breast pocket of his suit and handed Sharon a picture. “This was taken off the security cameras.”
    She gave it a comprehensive glance. “Ms. Cutter?”
    “So Groves says, only no one by that name is registered at the hotel or for the gem show.”
    “False name?”
    “That’s what I’m assuming. Nobody in the FBI data banks popped under that name either.”
    “What about Arizona law enforcement?” Sharon asked.
    “Zilch.”
    “Did anyone get a look at the citizen who was with Groves in the parking lot?”
    “The SAC said she was facedown between the cars. Female. Caucasian or Hispanic, under fifty.”
    Sharon tapped the photo with her fingernail. “From what I’ve heard, the female Groves was with in the hotel was a green-eyed redhead, late twenties, early thirties. Other than the age, the rest is wrong for Cutter.”
    “The hair was a wig. Don’t know about the eyes.”
    “A wig? How can you be sure?”
    “Kennedy told me they found a red wig in the parking lot near where the female had fallen.”
    “So I’m looking for a Caucasian or Hispanic female around thirty whose eyes may or may not be green—colored contacts are easy to get. What about height? Weight?”
    “Five-foot-five or -six. One-thirty to one-forty. Not a stick.”
    “Good for her,” Sharon said. “Anything else?”
    “Shit, you want me to connect the dots for you?”
    “Fine. I’ll show her picture around as soon as I finish the paperwork on the—”
    “Give me the damn thing,” Sizemore cut in, grabbing the photo. “I’ll take care of it myself.”

Chapter 43
    Phoenix
    Friday
    6:30 P.M .
    Kirby parked the white SUV in the east economy lot at Sky Harbor. He’d already ripped off the fake beard and stuffed it in the cowboy hat along with the panty hose. Now he switched boots for running shoes and shoved all the leftovers in a small nylon duffel. When he got out of the car, nothing of his disguise remained except the dark hair and jeans—which hardly stood out in Arizona—and the surgical gloves he wouldn’t remove until he shut the car door.
    The bullet hole on the rear panel that had seemed to be as big as a baseball while he was driving on the freeway looked insignificant in the long golden light of a desert evening.
    Snub-nose guns are no damn good past ten feet. But at least the bastard didn’t get a window. That would have been hard to hide.
    And getting shot would have been even worse.
    Kirby peeled off his gloves and stuffed them in his pocket. Then he walked toward the shuttle stop and went inside the parking building, where cars could be sheltered from the sun on a first-come, first-serve, pay-more basis. He took the shuttle to the airport, got out at the first stop, and headed for the nearest bathroom. He flushed the face fur in one stall, walked to the next airline terminaland the next john, and flushed the gloves. Three times. While he was at it, he took care of most of the hair color with paper towels and water from the toilet. He dumped the panty hose in a closed trash container at the food court. In