Across the freeway they watched the long slopes of Mount Potosi catch the morning’s first sun. Thin ribbons of light fell through the window onto the floor of their hotel room. They each felt as worn as the room’s thinning carpet.
“You said his daughter’s apartment was full of guns?” asked Nick.
“Assault weapons,” Caroline murmured. Terrible stuff.”
“So maybe she was the target and not her father?”
“Could be.”
“All we know is the detective’s client was one of the multinational oil companies,” said Nick. “Although he may have had others. We don’t know if he came to Hollywood just to see his daughter, or if he had other business.”
“My hunch is he was hired to find out how the climate change research was leaked to environmental groups.” said Caroline.
“Agreed,” Nick yawned. “Not very interesting. It doesn’t matter to us who leaked the research. But what would be nice is getting these internal studies into court as admissible evidence, and that’s not exactly in our wheelhouse.”
“That’s for the attorneys with environmental organizations.”
“Exactly.”
“So how about this?” asked Caroline. “We’ll rest up for a bit and then go after the guy Dorothy used to work for.”
“I forgot about him. So we shut this guy down?” asked Nick.
“Shut down his fracking, ruin him financially, and humiliate him personally, the trifecta.”
“Not a bad day at the office.” said Nick.
Across the freeway, miles to the west of the massive Bass Pro Shops building, Mount Potosi absorbed the first thin glints of morning sun.
