You’re not going to like it? What’s that supposed to mean?
As though in answer to my silent question, images began to show on the far wall. The first was a head shot of a grey-haired man who looked puzzlingly familiar, though I couldn’t come up with a name. “Gavin Lambert,” Fiona said. “That’s whose prints were on the StarBar.”
“Wait,” Logan said. His eyes widened as he turned toward Fiona. “He’s an ex-cop. Why would he—”
“That’s for the two of you to find out.”
“Any idea how to track him down?” I asked.
“Sure. PAT identified his current place of residence.”
As though on cue, the android flipped to a new image. One that I recognized, having visited a number of times with Fiona, back when her dad was living there.
“Harvest Hill Villa?” I said, my voice rising in protest. “But that’s—
