Page 47 of Nightshade

“I don’t know. The whole thing was captured on camera and to me it looks a bit off.”

“How do you mean?”

“Like maybe he knew you.”

“Can I see it?”

“I can have Mercy send you a link. Give it a watch and let me know.”

“Will do.”

“Spivak did three hundred days in county lockup a couple years back. I know you came out here from jail division. Where’d you work?”

“I started at Biscailuz like everybody does, and then I was at Pitchess until I got the transfer to Avalon.”

“Spivak was at Pitchess. Maybe he recognized you from there.”

“Maybe. There were a lot of people there. Obviously.”

“You know personnel records are private under the union agreement, so I don’t always know what’s behind transfers to Catalina. Anything I should know about you and Pitchess? Anything that might have to do with Spivak?”

“Uh, no, I don’t think so. I mean… I don’t know that name. I’ll look at the video but I doubt I’ll recognize the guy. There were too many people in those dorms out there.”

It was clear to Stilwell that Dunne didn’t want to talk about whatever it was that had gotten him transferred to a substation where he would operate below the mainland’s radar. He decided to let it go for now.

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” Stilwell said. “So look at the video, and if it jogs anything loose, let me know.”

“Will do, Sarge,” Dunne said.

“Okay, rest up. We need you back.”

“As soon as I can, Sarge.”

“Just call me Stil.”

“Copy… Stil.”

Stilwell disconnected and went back into the bar. Saunders was still playing pool. The woman Stilwell had pointed to the table earlier was there along with another woman who had joined in a three-handed game.

“Just in time,” Saunders said. “We can play teams.”

“Actually, I have to go,” Stilwell said. “And it looks like you already have a three-way going.”

“Oh, come on. Stay. This is Brenda, and this is… Darlene. Girls, meet Stilwell. People call him Stil.”

Stilwell uncomfortably raised his hand in a hello.

“Nice to meet you, ladies, but I really have to go,” he said.

He waved Saunders over for a private moment. “I’ll get the tab at the bar,” he said. “Text me if I need to grab a hotel room.”

“No, the guest room’s yours,” Saunders insisted.

“Not if you get lucky. I don’t want to come in right in the middle of that.”

“It’s not a problem. Where you going, anyway?”

“I want to follow up on that sail bag. Need to go see a guy about it up in Malibu.”

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