"Well, I've got a team assigned to her as we speak. They're running pretty tight on patrols today but Staff Sergeant Morris had a car available to keep an eye on her. I sent him all the info we got on the dark green sedan. Once she gets out of here they'll begin to tail her. I guess…ironically the tables have turned when it comes to being followed."
Mike acknowledged his partner with a faint nod.
Leaning against the corner of the young Inspector's desk, he kept a close eye on the northwest interrogation room, where they'd move Gifford to for the time being.
Sitting there by herself, lonely and scared, that red dresscoat wrapped tightly around her tense shoulders as she stared at the empty table ahead, Mike almost felt sorry for her.
Almost.
There'd been nothing in her file that suggested close family living nearby, much less a spouse to distract the reporter from her writing adventures. So at the end of the day, in her time of great mortal peril, Gifford's sole hope relied on a certain two San Francisco Homicide detectives. He wondered just what a life filled with such solitude would do to a person after a while.
"Why her, Steve? It just doesn't add up."
Rubbing his clean-shaven chin once again, Mike let out a frustrated sigh, feeling the events of a tumultuous day wear on his nerves more than usual.
"Beats me…", the young Inspector returned, hands folded over his stomach as he leaned back in his office chair, "Who knows if there isn't something else that Gifford won't tell us. Maybe she tried to make contact with Willis at one point? I mean, after all, she was the one providing us with the Happy Artist lead. What if she did the same thing that Seavers did, start to dig into the case and tripped over something…something important enough that it raised the suspicion of whoever is behind this."
"You and I both know that she would absolutely go as far as lying about something that's this important just to…to hang out with us."
"Mhm hm."
With a resigned sigh, Steve ran another hand through his wavy hair, then joined his glance over to the interrogation room.
"For what it's worth, I spoke with Willis' manager again and he confirmed my suspicion. She doesn't have a bodyguard. Never had one. Nobody that he knows that drives a dark green sedan."
"I am not liking how all these…these events are beginning to circle around Ellen Willis and her estate. Not one bit."
Deep in thought, Mike reached down to the button on his blue vest, absent-mindedly fidgeting with it as the thoughts continued to circle his mind. Eventually it was Steve who spoke up again.
"Last night, I went through some of those articles Seavers left behind again, trying to get a timeline on when limbs originally began to show up, and which trend we were following here. Legs didn't wash ashore on the west coast up until six months ago. And our region just since about…about a month ago. You don't think this cartel we're after…you don't think they're for hire, do you? Like, maybe they started on the east coast but then people like Willis hired them, looking for a new limb, so they relocated? The leg we found on the beach could have been a good fit for our successful actress."
"I hope not. But it's possible. Get with Gerry and get a warrant for Willis' bank accounts. If what you're suggesting is true…well, an operation like that is going to cost money. A lot of it."