PART 6

During our years as Titans, Donna and I learned a lot from each other. We were both spatially oriented. Which meant we both focused on scenes as a whole. I showed her how to spot a gun under a jacket. She showed me how to tell quality clothes from knock offs.

I still remember our first "professional" shopping trip. I paid attention as she oh so seriously pointed out the difference between French seams and overlock stitching. I nodded my head as she took me through perfume samples. Followed, naturally, by the makeup counters.

I thought I was humoring her. Truth is, I was being an arrogant prick. Hadn't I trained under the world's greatest detective? Hadn't I held my own for years? What was she going to show me that I hadn't learned in my first year with Batman?

I stopped laughing when her training paid off. Big time.

My point? This was the same situation. So far, we hadn't turned up much on our suspects. Whoever was selling the drugs was being subtle in how they spent the money. No exotic vacation homes. No fancy cars. No overseas travel.

It was time to take a more personal approach with our last three suspects.

First up, Brad Branson. Orderly. He had an inch thick juvenile record for dealing. Oxycotin. Demerol. Percoset. Apparently he'd been clean since turning 21. Otherwise, the hospital's background check would have turned up something.

Donna was showing off her new stilettos. She grabbed my arm for balance. The tight skirt only added to her unsteadiness. Which was the point.

Branson hurried off the elevator with an empty gurney. Donna stumbled against him. He had one hand on the gurney, the other grabbed her waist to try to keep her from falling.

Donna does a great pratfall. I sipped my coffee to keep from laughing out loud.

They landed on the wall next to me. Donna had one hand in his hair as she fell. I let my gaze sweep across his hands. Manicured. Waxed eyebrows. Blonde highlights. Bonded teeth. He was high maintenance. On an orderly's salary. I helped Donna out of his arms and to her feet.

"You okay, sis?"

She flashed a too grateful smile to Branson then nodded to me. He turned back to his gurney. I noticed he kept looking back, though, still checking Donna out even as he moved down the hall. Once he was gone, we compared perceptions.

"Nails, eyebrows, hair."

Donna nodded in agreement. Something told me he was the wrong person. What? I thought about the other details of that brief encounter.

"Maybe he has a family member in beauty school."

I quirked an eyebrow at her.

"And you know that because--?"

"His hair was too dry, overbleached. No professional would have put more chemicals on hair with that much damage."

It came to me then. His cologne. The initial scent was rich but it had faded too quickly. The after scent was harsh--almost medicinal. He was all show and no substance.

Two days later we tried again. This time our target was Ona Hill, R.N.

At the nurses' station, Donna excitedly chattered on about the possibility of doing a photo shoot of hospital staff for an ad campaign. Her hands were all over the place. Sweeping gestures outlined her grand vision.



With perfect timing, Donna's hand swept the air just as Ona Hill passed by and knocked her purse loose. It stopped inches from my feet. Contents scattered across the floor.

I scooped the items back into the purse, glancing over them as quickly as I could. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Donna delaying the nurse with her apologies.

I took a longer look at what was in the purse. Creme de la Mer. Expensive. But this was only a trial sample. Anybody could afford it. $9.99 on eBay.

An appointment card for an exclusive hair salon. The kind of place that books a year in advance. Getting warmer.

Then I noticed the purse itself. Vintage Chanel. Vintage as in most people would have to mortgage their homes to be able to buy it.

As I handed the purse back to Miss Hill, I caught a glimpse of the papers in her hand. A purchase agreement. The address was for one of the new, upscale Yorkshire condos. Prices started at $750,000.

Bingo.