who you ask.” She rocked back in her chair and stretched her arms overhead. “What can I do for you?”
“I’m not even supposed to be here, Jules. Promised Slick Danny.” I studied my coffee cup. “He wouldn’t betray me like this.”
“I’m sure it’s not that bad, Mikey. Tell me.”
I sipped the coffee, scalded my tongue. “I’ve come about a murder investigation.” I explained the situation, why I couldn’t file an official report. “So you see, something’s wrong with the facts, Jules. I need more evidence. Have to see that case file. That’s why I’m going behind Slick Danny’s back.”
She stared at me a while. She could get into big trouble showing me the file, but I didn’t know what else to do. The case was stuck in my head.
“You sure she was home all night?”
I crossed my heart.
“I’ll see what I can do. No promises.” She squeezed my hand, then shook her head. “This could get me busted down to traffic.”
* * * *
Thursday, 2:30 P.M.
The next day, I sat crammed in Slick Danny’s shiny Mustang with him smoking like a chimney. We were watching a guy who was suing over a claim of severe injuries from a car accident. He was supposed to be confined to a wheelchair. The insurance company hired us to prove he was a fraud. I’d already caught several shots of him walking, but my partner wanted a couple more good ones.
“Did you check up on Montebella?” I adjusted the sun visor to keep a clear view of the apartment building up the street.
“No, Michael, I’ve been busy. Think I don’t have other things to do?”
“Oh. I getcha. Know you can’t do everything.” I fiddled with the lens on the camera, making sure I’d be ready. “You get that bonus from Montebella?”
“Huh? Oh, yeah, yeah. Montebella was real happy with our work.” Slick Danny reached in his pocket, pulled out his lighter, started flicking it. “Been meanin’ to give you your share.”
“Nah. You keep it.”
Slick Danny took the last drag of a cigarette, mashed the butt in the Mustang’s overflowing ashtray, and threw his lighter on the dash. He hunched his shoulders, rubbed a hand across his forehead. “I had time to do a little checkin’ after all. At a conference in Chicago, like the man said. Talked with the hotel. I also chatted up his ugly little secretary. Woman looks like death suckin’ a sponge. Ran upside her at a deli, know what I mean? Have a date with her on Friday. Waste of a perfectly good weekend night.”
I stared at him. Finally he added, “Only way to get the information you wanted.” He covered his heart with his hand. “I’m taking one for the team. You owe me.”
“I do? How much?”
He smirked. “Montebella took a girlfriend with him to the conference. They stayed on a couple of days after it ended. Spent a lot of time in his room. He couldn’t have done it, not directly at least.”
“You think he hired out?”
“Nope. Guy’s crookeder than a dog’s hind leg, but no way he’s connected.”
“Speaking of crooked.” I pointed to the apartment building. Our target, a squat guy with bushy red hair, peered out the door, looking both ways. He didn’t spot us. With the lens on my camera we didn’t have to sit close. He hurried down the steps lugging his wheelchair. I got a few nice close ups. He set the chair on the sidewalk, sat down, and rolled away.
* * * *
Thursday, 7:47 P.M.
Slick Danny dropped me in Silver Spring just before the street lights came on. I stopped at the Tastee Diner for steak and eggs like I do most Thursdays, then set out for my parents’ place to meet Jules. She’d said she had a folder and some info to pass along.
I cut through parking lots to East-West Highway and continued until I turned into my parents’ neighborhood just off 16th Street, a stone’s throw from the District line. Jules sat in my parents’ driveway in an unmarked cruiser. Climbing out, she punched my arm.
“Don’t have long, Mikey, I’m covering Delmonico’s shift tonight.”
I paused at the front door, loving how welcoming my parents’ house felt. The smells of cooking and lemon Pledge. I’d moved out last year. I figured a man in his thirties can’t keep his folks company forever. But I know they miss me. That’s my parents for you.
I dug in my pocket for my key ring, shoved the key into the lock and twisted. I slammed into the door.
Locked.
They must have changed the locks and forgotten to tell me. Guess age does that to memory.
“Did you let them know we’re coming, Mikey?”
“Nah, they never mind.” I reached under a flowerpot on the porch and hauled out the spare key. We entered. “Mom! Pop! I’m home. I’ve got Jules with me.”
A loud thump came from upstairs. Pop cursed. I started for the steps. “What’s the matter, Pop? Mom all right?”
“Just a minute,” my mom shouted down to us.
Jules grabbed my arm, her short nails leaving crescent-shaped dents in my skin. “We should have called.”
“Why? She said they’d be down.” I rubbed my arm.
Mom hurried down the stairs two at a time, her hair mussed. She tucked a mis-buttoned shirt into a pair of jean shorts.
“Hi, you two. Didn’t know you’d be stopping by.” Her cheeks glowed red. Jules shared the same shade of red, like they were both sunburned. Women are weird sometimes.
“I’m sorry, Aunt Louise, we should have called,” Jules said. “We’ll go somewhere else to talk.”
“What? Why? We’re here. Right, Mom?” I looked back and forth between them.
“Of course. Stay.” She patted Jules’ arm. “I’ve got some apple cobbler in the fridge.”
Armed with dessert, Jules and I moved to the dining room, pulled up heavy chairs to the table. Mom retreated upstairs leaving us to our case.
“So what do you have for me, Cuz?” I asked through bites of apple.
Jules sighed and opened the case file. “You’re going to have to make a report, Mikey. The prosecutor’s got a right to know there’s a problem with her case.”
“Slick Danny told me not to.”
“And what about an innocent woman going to jail? Slick Danny doesn’t care about that?”
“He cares, Jules. It’s just—”
“Mikey, you ever think maybe your partner doesn’t have your best interests at heart? Why doesn’t he want you coming forward?”
“You don’t understand him, Jules. He’s looking out for me. He’s my friend.” I pushed back from the table. “Why’re you always saying bad things about him? What did he ever do to you?”
Her palm slapped the table. “The prosecutor’s good. She’ll listen. And I already talked to the lead detective. Thing is, there’s no motive, only the suspect’s blood. Leaves a big gap in the case. Now you say she couldn’t have done it. Why not file a report?”
“Not yet. I’m gonna get the evidence first.”
“Fine!” Jules shook her head. “The evidence rests on finding the suspect’s DNA at the scene. Some blood on the victim’s sleeve and collar. The killer tackled Leslie Galt, must have hit the table edge on the way down. Got a few spots on the table as well as the victim. No hair or fibers matched