by D P Lyle
There was a brief hesitation as Ray processed that little tidbit. Then, “You sure?”
“Yep. Got it all recorded.”
“Not who I expected.”
“Me either. Tammy will go nuclear.”
“That’s what she does best. Anything else you got to say?”
Did I? Was I forgetting something? No, Walter being Barbara’s lover about covered all the news I had. “Like what?”
“Like why cops are crawling all over her place.”
“Tammy’s?”
“No, Barbara Plummer’s.”
“What?”
Nicole stood against the island, coffee cup in hand, looking at me. She started to say something, but I held up a finger.
“Did I stutter?” Ray asked.
“That makes no sense.”
“Apparently it does to the local PD.”
“Why are they there?”
“Don’t know yet,” Ray said. “Got a call in to Bob Morgan.”
“Homicide Bob Morgan?”
“All I know is that he’s on the scene. And he wouldn’t be there unless he had to be.”
This was getting weird. Or weirder. First Walter humping Barbara. Now a homicide detective at her house. I felt the hair on my neck rise. I hate that feeling. The one that said things were likely even worse than they seemed. And they seemed bad. Did Walter kill Barbara? Right in front of Nicole and me? While we sat in the sand watching and listening to the entire affair? Affair being the operative word. I hadn’t heard anything that sounded like a struggle or a gunshot or yelling or anything. Of course smothering and strangulation didn’t make much noise.
Slow down. Don’t assume anything.
“I’ve left him a couple of messages,” Ray said, “but it seems no one is returning my calls.”
“I did.”
“Eventually.”
“Funny,” I said. “I’m just up the street. I’ll venture down that way and see what’s going on.”
“Be cool.”
Be cool. Ray speak. He didn’t mean hip or with it or any of that type of cool. Be cool was Ray’s code for giving nothing away. More than simply keeping your mouth shut, your face flat, expressionless, giving away nothing. But also never look away, never smile, never express surprise or anger or any emotion, never give a clue as to what you’re thinking. Be cool.
“You mean like don’t give them what I recorded last night?” I asked.
“Especially what you recorded last night.”
“Isn’t that withholding evidence or something?”
“It’s called protecting a client’s privacy,” Ray said.
“Is that legal in a homicide?”
Nicole’s eyes widened. I shook my head and again raised a finger.
“If this is a homicide,” Ray said.
“Must be if Morgan’s there.”
“I guess it depends on who did what to who and why. But I’ll handle all that. Just stay cool.” He sighed. “Something doesn’t feel right here.”
Ain’t it so.
“Just see what the story is,” Ray said. “Don’t dig around. Not yet. Not until we know more. Then we’ll sit down and decide how to handle the video.”
“Will do.”
“And do not engage Morgan. Play dumb. I’m sure you can do that.” Ray, my father. “In fact, avoid him completely if possible.”
“Got it.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
ONE OF THE many tricks I had co-opted from Ray was to always have several outfits on hand. For Ray, that and a few disguises were part of the job, part of staying below the radar. Whatever he might need to “be invisible” or “be someone else” as he put it. For me, it was a bit different. Whether at my own bar, or trolling the other local watering holes, I often ended up crashing somewhere other than home and having extra clothes and toiletries in my car saved a lot of shuffling. One night stands being what one night stands are. I know, I know, piggish at best, but at least I was always prepared. Like an Eagle Scout.
Another sore point between Ray and me. For some reason he didn’t accept running a bar and chasing bikinis as a real job. Seemed to work for me, so what the hell. Ray felt I only had two options: hurling fastballs or working for him. The former was a previous life and the latter not really an option. For me, anyway.
I stepped outside, snatched my gym bag from the rear seat floor-board of Ray’s pickup where I had dropped it, and carried it inside.
“When are you going to tell me what’s going on?” Nicole asked.
“As soon as I know.”
She jammed her fists against her hips. “And when exactly will that be?”
“As soon as we wander down the street and have a chat with the cops.”
“What cops?”
“The ones that are snooping around Barbara Plummer’s place.”
“You’re kidding? Is it the homicide cop you were talking to Ray about?”
“I suspect so.”
“Someone was murdered? At her house?” Her eyes widened. “Was it Barbara?”
“I guess we’ll see.”
“Then quit fooling around and let’s go.”
“Give me a sec.” I began sorting through the items inside my bag: workout togs, sweats, jeans, tees, windbreaker, a suit, shirt, and tie rolled inside a plastic garment bag, and an assortment of shoes and caps.
“What’s that stuff?” Nicole asked.
“Clothes.”
“You carry a closet around with you?”
“Never know what you’ll need.”
“You’re a regular Boy Scout,” she said.
“Eagle Scout.”
“Of course you are.”
I think she was being sarcastic but I chose to let it slide.
I selected a pair of jeans and a blue polo. Plain, vanilla, functional. Nicole, on the other hand, wore painted-on jeans and a silky black long-sleeved pullover that hugged everything, sleeves pushed up to her elbows, hair combed out and scrunchied into a long ponytail, no makeup. She looked stunning.
We jumped into her SL and she fired it down the street, covering the half mile at warp factor four. She slid to a stop across from the Plummer home. Three uniforms stood in the front yard. They looked up, irritation etching their faces. Probably deciding whether or not to hand out a speeding ticket. Their collective expressions changed to ones of awe as Nicole stepped out. She had that effect on all of us with XY chromosomes. Probably on most with an XX pattern, too. I think she just racked up three more erections. She was on a roll.
We crossed the street and approached the gathered officers.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
“Who are you?” one of the officers asked.
“Longly. Jake Longly. This is Nicole Jamison.”
He heard me, I think, but he wasn’t really paying attention to me. Instead his gaze devoured Nicole. Finally, he said, “You know the folks who live here?”
“Not really.”
Now he looked my way, his head cocked to one side. “That sounds like a qualified no. Do you or don’t you?”
“Never met them.”
“Then what’s your interest here?”
“Just curious. All this activity looks like something big.”
This activity consisted of the three officers, four patrol units, two unmarked cars, and the ME’s van, which squatted in the driveway.
“Just curious?” the uniform asked. “You know anything about this?”
“This what?”
“Jake Longly?” The voice boomed from the front door where another uniformed officer stood. I recognized him immediately. The no-nonsense Blake Cooper. Just great.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Cooper asked as he walked toward us.
“Says he’s curious,” the first officer said.
Cooper ignored him and asked me, “You know anything about this?”
“Like I told Officer . . .” I nodded toward him.
“Coffman. Charlie Coffman.”
“Like I
told Officer Coffman, we saw all the activity and stopped to see what the story was.”
“The story is there’s a woman inside. Mrs. Henry Plummer. She’s been murdered.”
“Really?”
“No, I’m making it up. Of course, really.”
His attitude was a shade less friendly than it had been the night Tammy five-ironed my car windows. Maybe several shades.
“We didn’t know,” I said.
Cooper fixed his glare on me, holding it, and then said, “Do you see my problem? The other night I have to run you off. Lurking just up the street. In a neighborhood that isn’t yours. And now like magic here you are again.”
“Last time I was working. This morning we were just heading out for breakfast.”
“And exactly where were you last night?”
“With me,” Nicole said.
Cooper’s face gathered an expression that said, “Yeah, right.” I understood his confusion. I still hadn’t figured out how I ended up hanging with a woman like Nicole. Some things defy explanation.
Cooper then gave Nicole an up and down, pausing here and there, taking her in. “All night?”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but yes, he was. And he was magnificent.”
She was good. Very good. Seemed to knock some of the wind out of Cooper’s sails.
“Look, Ms . . .”
“Nicole. I live just up the street.”
“And just happened by?”
“Like Jake said, we were going out for breakfast and saw all this.”
“And you’re his alibi?”
“Not that he needs one, but sure.” She propped her fists on her hips.” And he’s mine.” She smiled. “In case I’m a suspect, too.”
Did I say she was good? Very good? No hesitation, no nervousness. She jumped right into the lie and took off with it. Pretty good acting job.
“Didn’t say either of you were suspects,” Cooper said.
“Sounded like it to me,” Nicole said.
Cooper shoved his hands in his pockets, rocked back on his heels, and looked back at me. Mostly. His gaze kept bouncing in Nicole’s direction. “See, the part that bugs me is that this is one hell of a coincidence. Bumping into you here the other night. And now this. At a murder scene.”
“Don’t know what to tell you,” I said.
Cooper rattled what sounded like keys in his pocket. “I don’t believe in coincidences. Mainly because they never are. Seems they usually end up connected.”
“Can’t argue with that.”
“So, tell me again. Why were you here the other night?”
“Doing surveillance.”
“For Longly Investigations, right? Your dad’s firm?”
I nodded. “That’s right.”
“Staking out who?”
“Can’t say.”
“Wasn’t Mrs. Plummer, was it?” Cooper asked.
“Still can’t say.”
“I could run you in. Bright lights. Hard interrogation. All that crap.”
“My answer would still be the same. I don’t know anything about a murder and can’t talk about a client.”
“So she—the dead woman—Mrs. Plummer—she wasn’t your target?”
I chose not to respond. Or smile. Or look away from Cooper’s firm gaze. Be cool. The silence that followed was thick. And uncomfortable.
Cooper nodded as if saying, “So that’s the way it’s going to be?” Then he spoke. “Detective Morgan’s inside. Bet he has a few questions for you.”
Ray’s admonition to avoid Morgan echoed in my head. The plan was to chat with someone lower down the food chain. Like Cooper, or Coffman. Grab a few details and hit the road. Of course, running into Morgan was always a possibility. After all it was his crime scene. But Morgan wasn’t Cooper. Not even close. He was tough and didn’t take no well. A bulldog and not above bending the rules. I’d heard that hard interrogations under Morgan could be harmful to your health. Since we had what we needed, that a murder had occurred and that Barbara was the victim, I decided it was time to vacate the premises.
“Sure,” I said. “Tell him to call me any time.”
Cooper nodded to one of the uniforms who headed toward the front door. “He’ll be out here in a minute.”
“Wish I had time, but we have to run.”
Cooper straightened his spine, tried to appear authoritative and in control. “Breakfast can wait.”
“Not really. You see, Nicole has hypoglycemia and she’s sinking fast.” I didn’t wait for a response. I grabbed Nicole’s arm and directed her toward her SL.
“I’d suggest you wait,” Cooper said. “Morgan won’t be happy if he has to track you down.”
“I’m easy to find.” I tossed a wave over my shoulder.
“Some folks just can’t get out of their own way,” Cooper said.
As we climbed into Nicole’s car, I saw Morgan. Coming out the front door, talking with a crime scene tech.
“Move it,” I said. “Let’s get out of here.”
She fired up the SL, hung a U, tires chirping, and raced back up the street.
“What was that about?” Nicole asked.
“Morgan. Tough SOB. I’d rather let Ray deal with him. They’re about equal on the tough SOB scale.”
“And you’re not? Poor baby.”
“Now you’re a comedian?”
“I have my moments,” she said. “Where now?”
“Go up around the bend and pull over.”
She did.
I called Ray. “The victim’s Barbara Plummer.”
“I figured,” Ray sighed.
“I managed to dodge Morgan but I’m sure he’ll be pointed our way soon enough.”
“No doubt. Head on back over here and we’ll come up with a game plan.”
“I think I’ll stop by and have a chat with Walter first.”
“Good idea,” Ray said.
Me? Good idea? Was this really Ray?
Ray continued. “Get a feel for his stress level. See what he does and doesn’t know.”
“Before Morgan even knows he’s on the radar?”
“Exactly.”
“I know Walter,” I said. “He’s a great attorney but a shitty poker player. Never can hide what he’s thinking. If Barbara’s murder is news to him, I’ll know.”
“And if it’s not?”
“I’ll know that, too.” Ray didn’t respond so I continued. “Should I tell him we know about the affair? About the video we made?”
“Better if it comes from you than from the police.” I heard Ray sigh. “And it wouldn’t hurt to let him know that we’ll have to give Morgan the video. I’m sure he’d appreciate the heads up.”
“When will that happen?”
“As soon as he asks for it. Which will be as soon as he knows we were watching Barbara Plummer. Hate to do that to Walter, but we can’t withhold that. Besides, he’s not our client. Henry Plummer is.”
“Okay. I’ll be over there soon.”
“Be cool.”
“Always.” I disconnected the call.
“What now?” Nicole asked.
“Wait a few minutes. Then we’ll ease back down to Walter and Tammy’s. I want to see if Walter’s home.”
“Why not just call him?”
“Need to see his face when I talk to him. Gauge where his head’s at.”
“Makes sense.”
“If you can creep this German rocket ship and not drive like Speed Racer.”
She stuck her tongue out at me. It was a nice tongue. Pink and perfect. Like everything else Nicole.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“WHAT DO YOU want, Jake?” the ever-pleasant Tammy said when she answered my knock.
Nicole had managed to control her lead foot long enough to ease back down the street and turn into Tammy’s drive, snugging up close to the garage door where a thick shrub partially hid the car. It wasn’t easy for her, being a Danica Patrick clone. I complimented her. Another tongue directe
d in my direction.
When I suggested she stay in the car, Nicole said, “No problem. I’ve seen what the woman can do with a golf club.”
Smart move. Tammy wasn’t thrilled to see me at her door and Nicole would probably have caused her DNA to unravel. Tammy had both fists jammed on her hips, head to one side, a plush white towel around her neck. Soft music drifted out the door. She wore sweat-stained gray tights and a pink tee, her face flushed and moist. Home Pilates no doubt. Tammy was big on Pilates. And about every other fad that swept through her world. What else did she have to do now that she had married all the money she’d ever need?
“Is Walter here?” I asked.
“Why?”
“Need to talk to him.”
Her eyes narrowed. “About what?”
“I’ll save that for him.”
She looked past me toward the car. “Who’s that?”
“A friend.”
She squinted, shielding the morning sun from her eyes with one hand. “Is that who I think it is?”
“Depends on who you think it is.” Did Tammy know Nicole? They lived in the same neighborhood after all.
“You know the one I’m talking about. Little blond, big tits.”
Several possibilities ran through my mind. “You’re going to have to help me here.”
She slugged my shoulder. She always liked to do that. Sometimes a rib shot. Those hurt more. Sometimes taking my breath away.
“Asshole,” she said.
“We aren’t married anymore. You can’t hit me.”
She cocked her fist. “Try me.”
“Look, you’re trying to make a point. I’m trying to help you here.”
She shook her head. “The point is you’re a pig.”
“So you’ve said.”
“The girl. She was the golf pro over at the country club. Liked to screw on the seventh green.”
“Sarah Jane. She liked some of the others, too. But, yes, I think the seventh was her favorite.”
“How good for you.”
“No, that’s not her.”
She looked past my shoulder again. “Then who’s the new bimbo?”
“She’s not a bimbo.”
“If she’s with you, she’s a bimbo.”
“She’s actually a nun. Or a supermodel. Or a neurosurgeon. I forget which.”
“Jake, I’m busy.” A patrol car slid by. She stepped out on the porch and her gaze followed it. Then she saw all the other police cars. “What’s going on?”