The ghost gave an odd snort of a laugh, then rubbed his mouth. "Sure."

"Can we go... ?" Finn motioned to a place outside the tape.

The ghost nodded, eyes still dancing with what seemed like genuine amusement.

"You're Officer Kendall?" Finn said as they walked.

"Lee. You can call me Lee." Kendall shook his head. "Man, I hope I remember all this when I wake up."

"Hmm?"

"I'm out on patrol. Gord takes off for a piss. And who walks up while I'm rehydrating? One of the most wanted suspects in L.A. Turning herself in to me. On my bike. I call it in and, bam, I get shot. Who shows up then? The same detective I'd been calling, who just happens to be able to see ghosts."

Kendall stopped by a storefront. "It's Gord's fault, you know. This morning he was going on about the Kane murder, saying people like that are just asking to get popped. That poor PR chick just got sick of all the bullshit Kane put her through. So after listening to him all day, what do I dream? This."

Finn nodded. What else could he do? Spend his few precious minutes with the ghost convincing him he was dead?

Maybe not the most ethical choice, but Finn had a job to do.

"So Peltier approached you..."

Kendall sighed.

"Please. Before you wake up."

"Fine. Okay. So she came from there – " He pointed to one end of the street. "The street festival."

"Street festival?"

"Golden Years Jamboree or whatever. An excuse to sell crap to old people. Not that she was anywhere near old enough – she's younger than me. That's dreams for you, huh? They never make sense."

"I guess not. Can you tell me what she looked like?"

His description matched Robyn Peltier right down to the white and navy sweat suit the other officer had seen her wearing earlier. Then Kendall told him what she'd said.

"She was having trouble turning herself in?" Finn repeated.

"Hey, it's not supposed to make sense, remember? So I made the call. And then..." Kendall glanced at his chest, as if expecting to see a bullet hole. "Bam."

"She shot you?"

His lips pursed. He had big lips, thick and bowed, as if they got pursed a lot and had permanently reformed.

"No, I don't... Let me think. I'm on the radio, asking for you and she moved... back. She staggered backward."

"Away from you?"

"Then I felt the shot." He pursed his lips again. "Or maybe I felt the shot before that. Hard to say. It's all a little blurry."

"But she stumbled around the time you were shot?"

"She fell back, looking at me like I'd smacked her and... and there was blood on her shoulder." He blinked. "She must have been shot, too."

Finn glanced across the scene at Damon, busy examining the crime scene. Finn had told him to stay away if he found the ghost – it was too much to explain otherwise.

Kendall continued, "The bullet must have gone right through me and into her. Huh." He pondered this a moment, calmly, as if piecing together a random crime.

"Then what?"

More pondering and pursing. "I'm not sure. Everything went black, then I was standing over my body."

"Was Peltier around?"

"Nope. It was just me until Gord came running over."

ADELE

Adele hadn't meant to kill the cop. She just hadn't seen any way to avoid it.

It was Robyn's fault. Apparently she decided being a fugitive made her a movie action heroine. Running through alleys, hiding in the shadows, giving Adele the slip, then kicking and punching her before tearing off again.

Adele rubbed her knee. That was going to bruise. The joint complained with every step, setting her teeth on edge.

Robyn was just lucky she hadn't hit Adele in the stomach. If she'd hurt the baby...

Adele wasn't sure how to finish the threat. She already had to kill Robyn. She put her face together with her name.

Not that the name would get her far. Adele Morrissey was a business, not a person. It was a corporation owned by another corporation, ultimately held by the kumpania, but behind so many layers that no layperson would connect them.

Adele couldn't even remember her real name.

Still, the cops might make the connection, if they tried hard enough, and they would, now that two of their own were dead.

If things spiraled further out of control, Irving Nast would come to Adele's rescue. She and her baby were too valuable to lose over a few dead bodies. If it came to that, though, she'd be indebted to them. Better to handle it herself.

She checked her watch. She'd missed dinner. Niko would not be happy. The communal Saturday dinner was a must

– a chance to discuss the busy night to come and reallocate resources if needed. Damn Robyn Peltier. Adele needed to wrap this up before she got into serious trouble.

She reached into her pocket and touched the silk shirt. A few days more and the link would be so strong she wouldn't need the prop – she could just visualize Robyn and see her, as she'd been able to do with Portia. It would never get that far, though. Robyn would die tonight, then Adele would call Irving Nast and continue negotiations.

She closed her eyes.

Oh, look, there she was, coming out of yet another store. What did you buy this time, Robyn? She'd already picked up a clean shirt and bandages and water to clean her wound. When Robyn retreated to a bathroom stall to fix herself up, Adele would have had her best shot to kill her... if Neala hadn't picked that exact moment to return the message Adele had left for Colm. Neala had phoned back to say Colm could not help her practice tracking Jasmine Wills. He had a lesson with Niko and, really, if Adele was going to learn to track Jasmine, didn't she need to be doing it by herself?

Bitch.

Adele could have really used Colm. After she finally got off the phone and fixed on Robyn, she'd seen her in a bathroom stall, dressing her wound. Which would have been perfect, had there been any way to identify the bathroom.

The last time Adele saw Robyn, she'd been on a street filled with eateries, any one of which could have housed the stall she saw Robyn using.

Robyn's wound hadn't seemed too debilitating. Still, Adele had hoped it was slow-acting, that the bullet would work its way toward some vital artery and, any moment now, Robyn would keel over dead.