A Case of You. Rick Blechta

way, maybe ten minutes.”

      “Look, you don’t need to run.”

      “I’m just saying I can if you want.”

      “Just hurry. Bring everything you’ve got on Curran. The cop at the end of the street will pass you through. Tell him to speak to Detective Palmer if you get any grief.”

      Jackie was groping for her jeans under the coffee table with her free hand as she asked, “Care to tell me what this is about?”

      “Curran found the singer’s friend dead on his porch when he got home from his gig a few hours ago.”

      “Shit. Murder?”

      “Yes. And don’t talk to anyone about this between where you are now and Curran’s house. Got that? No one. Not even Palmer.”

      “You got it, boss.”

      Shannon sighed. “Don’t call me boss.”

      Jackie washed up and threw her clothes on in record time, slipping into her runners as she shuffled down the hall to the small home office. Her friend, nearly six feet in height with the slender body of a jogger, was sitting at her desk, dressed in only a short satin robe, no slippers, coffee cup in her right hand and computer glasses poised on the end of her nose as she read through the morning email. How could she not be freezing to death?

      “I didn’t expect you up this early,” Carolina said without looking up.

      “Got a phone call. Something’s happened.”

      At Jackie’s tone, the tall woman looked up. “Does it have anything to do with what you were using my computer for until all hours?”

      “Yes, but I’m sworn to secrecy at the moment.” Jackie grinned as she scooped up her notebook from the desk and a sheaf of downloaded documents from the printer. After stuffing everything into her backpack, she started down the hallway for the front door. “Although, if you don’t want to wait for me to be able to tell you, I’d suggest turning on the TV. There’s probably something there.”

      Jackie actually did run down to Curran’s house on Bain Avenue, since she needed to get her blood and brain moving and was also pretty eager to see what was shaking.

      Of course, the constable on duty at the end of the street stopped her and an argument ensued, since she didn’t look like anyone who would be summoned to a crime scene, unless it was to provide a confession. Unfortunately, he actually said that to her. By the time another constable had trotted down the street to get between them, the media had also closed in, with the result that the argument wound up on the morning news, hard facts about the case being pretty sketchy at that point.

      Jackie was close to being arrested when she remembered that Shannon had told her to mention a Detective Palmer if she got hassled. That name eventually opened doors, but not before the two cops had searched her backpack thoroughly and a female constable had patted her down, all of which the TV cameras recorded.

      As two constables escorted Jackie along the street, she reflected on the fact that she’d have to do better at keeping her temper and tongue under control.

      Once in Curran’s kitchen, she found the master of the house, her employer, the fabled Palmer and a junior detective who’d been elected to take notes. As she joined everyone around the table, Shannon flashed her an expression that clearly said, Keep your mouth shut unless you’re asked something specific.

      ***

      Shannon’s brain felt as if it were made out of cardboard, not a good thing when she needed all her faculties. The situation was far too tricky for an error in judgement.

      Curran had passed on everything he knew about Olivia’s deceased friend. That wasn’t a lot, but it was more than he’d told Palmer originally. It wasn’t that Curran had purposefully held anything back, she just had better interrogation chops and possessed an uncanny knack for coaxing memories to the surface. To toss the homicide detective another bone, Shannon had also summoned her new operative to throw in whatever she could about the dead woman – but no more. The PI couldn’t see where this was going yet, and she didn’t want to give anything away unnecessarily.

      While he’d been out of the room, Palmer had shown a bit of initiative and spoken personally to the old lady next door. She’d provided him with the heretofore unknown tidbit that Curran’s wife had walked out on him several months earlier. That got Palmer excited all over again.

      “And the old lady says you had another woman living here with you,” Palmer was just saying when Shannon zoned in on the conversation again. “What do you have to say about that?”

      “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t think it had any bearing on things,” Curran shot back. “I told this woman all about it yesterday afternoon when she was here. I’m not trying to hide anything!”

      He’d indicated Goode, who hadn’t spoken up to this point, except for a “What’s happening?” when she’d entered.

      Palmer swivelled to her. “Is this true?”

      Goode had her notebook on the table and read from it. “Yessir. He told me about his wife leaving and indicated that he’d invited the singer to move in. That was shortly after two thirty yesterday, sir.”

      Shannon couldn’t believe Goode was making fun of the homicide detective. She’d have to put a stop to that as soon as she got her alone, or immediately if it got out of hand. No matter that Palmer deserved it. Fortunately, the crack seemed to go right over his head.

      “Did he mention anything to you about this Maggie coming over to see him?”

      Goode didn’t even blink as she said, “No, he didn’t.”

      “And why didn’t you ask him why he hadn’t bothered to contact the missing girl’s friend to find out if she knew where the girl might be?”

      Goode feigned embarrassment (and she did it well). “I guess I dropped the ball on that one, didn’t I, sir?”