He turned onto First Street. Damn, Susan would take his head off if he even brought this up. Blaming the victim because she was attractive was neanderthal brain thinking. It was also cop brain thinking. No one liked to admit it, but the vestige of sexual bias was still there.

No dating, Willard had said. And Ahnert’s reports had not mentioned any boyfriends. That still didn’t mean boys. . men. . didn’t see what he himself saw in the photo.

The beeper went off. He ignored it.

How was he going to get Susan to let him stay with this? Especially when he had no leads.

At McGregor and Linhart, he stopped at a light. Linhart Avenue. That’s where Kitty got on the bus after work.

The light changed and Louis swung across the left lane, cutting off a truck. The guy leaned out to give him the finger. Louis turned onto Linhart.

He drove slowly past a stripmall, a medical complex and the Driftwood Motel. He braked hard.

Damn. .

There it was. Hamburger Heaven. It was still there.

It had been remodeled, he guessed. The drive-in spots had been blacktopped over, the speakers taken out, the fifties-style architecture tarted up with tropical pastels. But it still had an old neon sign that advertised “Best Fries In Florida.”

He parked and went in, taking a stool at the counter. When a young waitress approached with a menu, he realized he had not eaten all day.

“Can I help you?” she asked.

“Only if you were about twenty years older,” Louis said.

She frowned.

“Sorry. Bring me a cheeseburger, fries and a Coke, please.”

The place was nearly deserted even though it was lunch time. Louis saw the white cap and black face of the cook. The smell of frying meat filled the cool air.

Louis thumbed through the countertop jukebox while he waited. It was a mix of oldies and new stuff. “Big Girls Don’t Cry” by the Four Seasons. “Papa Don’t Preach” by Madonna.

The waitress brought his food. The fries were a golden mound next to a plump-bunned burger.

“Looks great,” Louis said.

“If you like grease,” the waitress said.

“A quick question,” Louis said.

She looked suspicious.

“Is there anyone here who was working here twenty years ago?”

“Ray was, I think. I mean, he’s really old.”

“Is Ray the owner?”

“No, the owner’s dead. Ray is his son.” She paused. “You looking for a job? Ray’s looking for a cook. I’ll go get him.”

She was gone before Louis could say anything. He tried a fry. It was delicious. He dug into the burger. It was cooked just right.

A man emerged from the back. He was about forty-five, red-faced, his big belly wrapped in an apron.

“You the guy asking about the cook’s job?” he said, coming up to Louis, wiping his hands on the apron.

“No, the waitress misunderstood,” Louis said. “I’m an investigator. I’m looking for some information.”

“Investigator? What you investigating?”

“Kitty Jagger’s death.”

Ray was silent for moment. “I guess this has something to do with that Cade guy?”

“Why do you say that?”

“I read in the paper he got arrested again. He kill another girl?” He shook his head. “Man, they should’ve never let that bastard out.”

Louis let it go. “Were you here when Kitty worked here?”

Ray nodded. “My dad owned the place then. I was working for him, learning the business. I was only nineteen.”

“So you knew Kitty?”

Ray smiled slightly. “Oh yeah. Kitty was a great kid.”

“Were you here the last night she worked?”

Ray’s smile faded. “Yeah, but I left early. I wish I hadn’t. I wish I had given her a ride home.”

“You gave her rides home?”

“When she’d let me. Mostly she walked down to the bus stop.”

Louis paused, wondering where to go with this. “What kind of girl was Kitty?” he asked.

“What you mean?”

“Did she have a lot of friends?”

Ray shrugged. “I guess. I mean, she wasn’t one of the real popular kids, you know, the inner circle. You know how bad things can be in high schools with the cliques. There was only her and Joyce. They were like joined at the hip.”

“Joyce? Did she have red hair?”

Ray nodded. “She worked here with Kitty.”

“You remember her last name?”

“Crutchfield. I don’t know if she’s still around, but I remember she dropped out in her senior year and married some guy named Novack. I think he was from Immokalee.”

“What about boyfriends?” Louis asked. “Did you ever see Kitty with anyone?”

Ray hesitated. “Not really.”

“What does that mean?”

“I mean, there wasn’t one guy she was interested in. Though the guys that came in here, they sure were interested in her.” He paused, seeing the look on Louis’s face. “She was beautiful,” he said. “I mean, not just pretty like some girls. Kitty was beautiful. She could’ve been a model or something.”

“These guys,” Louis said. “Any of them try to pick her up?”

Ray looked uncomfortable. “Yeah. But she never went.”

Louis had to ask. “Did you?”

“Did I what?”

“Try to pick her up?”

Ray’s beefy face got redder.

“Ray, I’m not a cop,” Louis said.

“Okay, I asked her out once. She turned me down, all right?”

Louis had a vision of the fat teenaged Ray sweating up the courage to ask Kitty Jagger out. He hoped she had been kind.

“She give you any reason?”

Ray frowned. “Yeah, in fact she did. And you know what? I still remember. Twenty years later and I still remember exactly what she said.”

Louis waited.

“She said, ‘I’m saving myself for a rich guy.’ ” Ray shook his head. “Shit, like she was going to find a way out, going home every night to her crippled old man.”

The tone of Ray’s voice had changed. “What a waste,” he said.

A phone rang. The waitress called Ray’s name and told him he had a call.

“I gotta go,” Ray said to Louis. He pointed at the fries. “What do you think?”

“Best in Florida,” Louis said.

Ray gave a wry smile. “Lot of good it does me. The high school is only two blocks away, but they all go to McDonald’s now.”

Louis popped the last fry in his mouth and stood. “Thanks for your help.”

Ray went in the back. Louis left money on the counter with a nice tip for the waitress. Outside, he paused, his headache gone now, but the images of Kitty’s bedroom still a swirl in his head. He had to find Joyce Novack.

He paused to put on his sunglasses and his eyes drifted down to the newstand by the door. The headline in that morning’s News-Press couldn’t be missed.

HAITIAN PRISONER KILLED IN JAIL

Louis bought a paper and scanned the story. Jesus. The man who had been sitting next to him and Cade the other day had been stabbed to death. An investigation was ongoing, according to Mobley.

Louis got in the car. He was just starting the car when the beeper went off again. He grabbed it off the seat and got out, going to the pay phone. He dialed Susan’s office.

“Where the hell have you been?” she demanded.

“Never mind that right now.”

“Never mind? Look-”

“Susan, we have to talk.”

“Damn right we have to talk. We had a deal-”

“Not now. I’ll meet you at O’Sullivan’s in fifteen minutes.”

“Screw that. I can’t-”

“Be there, Susan. This is important.” He hung up.

Chapter Sixteen

O’Sullivan’s was nuts-to-butts cops. The Tampa Bay Bucs were battling the Bears to a soundtrack of clacking billiard balls and the swoosh of the bar dishwasher.

Louis made his way to the bar, the newspaper under his arm. He scanned the smoky room for Susan but didn’t see her. He hoped she hurried.

The football game broke for half-time and Louis looked up as a news update came on the screen. A small picture of a Haitian man came on the screen and the bar went silent.