“Why would you say that?” Travis asks, wiping egg off his chin.
“Because he’s not mean or vindictive. He helped me get an agent. He could’ve ruined my chances of getting published, but he didn’t. How could a man like that commit murder?”
“I’m sure you’re right,” I say without much conviction. I wipe my mouth and place my napkin over my plate, signaling an end to lunch and the interrogation.
Travis waves for the check.
As I pay the bill, I watch Holly Ryder walk back out the front door. I’m not so sure Clark is as innocent as Holly thinks he is. But I am sure of one thing. Holly Ryder didn’t murder Beth Ellen. She’s too small and too weak to make the stab wounds that took Beth Ellen’s life.
I ask the waiter to put the rest of my fancy cock in a doggie bag. Ivan will dine in style tonight.
Thirty-Two
I’m barely out of the restaurant when my cell rings. I hope against hope that it’s Gloria. I’ve been thinking about her ever since our faux pas the other night. I don’t know how to handle the situation. Do I call her and tell her that Sheri was just a client and I was humoring her with the whole hand-holding thing? But even if Gloria buys that, what does it say about me? Am I a putz for playing along with Sheri’s libido in order to make a paycheck? Even if Gloria forgave me and we got together, wouldn’t she always wonder if I were out earning another paycheck from a sexed-up woman? I couldn’t figure out what to do. This is one of those situations where a lesbian Dear Abby would be useful.
I look at my phone. It’s not Gloria. I don’t know whether to be relieved or not.
“Bravo,” I answer.
“I’ve got Terri Barton here and she’s got some info I think you’ll be interested in,” London says.
“Really?” Could this be the break this case needs? “Can I come down?”
“That’s why I called. How’d the lunch with Holly Ryder go?” London asks.
“She’s too sweet, too small, and not strong enough. I think we can cross her off the suspect list.”
“Okay. When can you be here?”
“I’m downtown. I’ll be there in five. Do I need to bring jelly donuts?”
“Nope. Chubby is on leave.”
“Can I bring you anything?”
I swear I can hear London smile across the phone waves. “Just yourself.”
“You got it.”
That’s another thing. I keep having this flirty thing with London. Just because I slept with her once doesn’t mean we have a relationship or anything. But now I’m more confused than ever.
Travis jerks me out of la-la land by saying, “Was that London? Is there a break in the case? Are we going to her office?”
“Yes. Maybe, and no. I’m going to her office.”
Travis pulls a long face. “What about us? How will we get home?”
“You’ll drop me off at the police station. Then you’re going to the gym.”
“I can’t possibly work out after that meal,” Travis says. He looks over at Michael who is doing hamstring stretches right in the middle of the sidewalk.
Michael looks up. “I’ll go to the gym. Does it have a barre? Is there a dance studio?”
“I don’t mean to work out,” I say. “I want you to talk to Zelda and see what she knows about Terri—you know, like how Veronica and the plastics mistreated her back when. Pick her brain.”
“Oh, right.”
Michael claps his hands. “Oh, goodie, another intrepid interview.”
Travis looks at him disapprovingly. “Dicks don’t clap their hands like that.”
“I’m not a dick. That’s really mean and hurtful,” Michael says. His bottom lip pooches. Great, now he’s as pouty as Travis.
“It’s slang for detective,” I explain.
“Oh, sorry,” Michael says. “In that case, I will try to refrain from clapping.”
They kiss. I roll my eyes and get in Silver. After all, there’s only so much PDA a person can stand.
*
Chubby isn’t at his usual station. The new desk officer waves me through, saying, “Detective Wells is in her office waiting for you.”
“You know who I am?” I ask.
“London said she was expecting a woman who was attractive with a nice ass. You fit the bill,” the desk clerk said. He was tall and thin—the very antithesis of Chubby.
I try hard not to blush. I pass through and make my way to London’s office. Terri Barton sits in one chair and London is poised behind her desk.
“Boy, when you say five minutes you mean it,” London says.
“We were having lunch at that French restaurant downtown.”
“Ooh là là,” London says with a very bad French accent.
“I’ve never eaten there,” Terri Barton says, inserting herself into the conversation.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Terri, this is Jamie Bravo. We’re working the case together,” London says.
“We know each other,” Terri says. “Well, I know her. She probably doesn’t remember me. I was an outcast in school.”
“I remember you. I wasn’t popular either.” I sit in the empty chair beside her.
“You managed to play under the wire,” Terri says.
“Barely. High school is tough ground. It’s a wonder any of us survived. But, hey, you look great. How’d you like the reunion?” I ask.
London quietly observes our exchange. She must think I can worm more out of Terri than she ever could.
“The reunion wasn’t bad. Veronica even talked to me for a couple of minutes. She was nice,” Terri says.
“You must have got her on a good day.” I notice a new spider plant on the desk. “I see you got a new plant.”
“Yeah, the boys are placing bets on how long this one lasts,” London says.
“Those things are the hardiest plants on the planet,” Terri says.
“Not for her,” I add. “London can kill anything.” To prove my point, London dumps her coffee dregs into the plant’s pot. She gets up and refills her cup from the hot plate across the room. I notice the coffee is very thick. It’s more like coffee-flavored sludge.
“So, Terri was telling me she may have seen someone following Veronica and Beth Ellen out of the reunion,” London says, re-taking her seat behind the desk.
Surprised, I look at Terri. “Really? Do you know who it was? Was it someone we knew from high school?”
Terri shifts in her seat. “No, it wasn’t anyone we knew. But I think it was someone Beth Ellen knew,” she answers.
“Why do you say that?” London asks.
“Because this woman kept staring at Beth Ellen and Beth Ellen pointedly ignored her,” Terri says. “I kept an eye on her. They left and she followed them out seconds later.”
London lifts the cup to her lips, looks at it, and wisely decides against it. She set the cup down. “What did she look like?” London asks.
“I didn’t really get a good look at her. The lighting wasn’t the best. But she was about my height, maybe heavier, and had darkish hair.”
“Lighting? Why was it dark?”
“The nuns did the decorating and they used ambient pig lighting,” I try to explain.
London doesn’t touch the pig comment. She says, “So, you think maybe this mystery woman may have followed Veronica and Beth Ellen home?”
“She just seemed so intent on them, like she couldn’t take her eyes off Beth Ellen—you know like she had a real axe to grind. I thought I should come tell you. I felt sorry for Veronica being behind bars and all. I just don’t think Veronica could’ve done it. She adored Beth Ellen, you know.”
Something seems hinky. It’s almost as if Terri had practiced this little speech in front of a mirror, testing out her performance.
“Okay, well, I think this means we’re looking for a woman of average description with dark hair, who hates Beth Ellen and maybe even Veronica,” London says. “Hates one enough to kill her and the other enough to frame her for the murder.”<
br />
“What about a sketch artist?” I ask. “Could you give us a ball park image to work with?”
“Like I said the lighting wasn’t the greatest,” Terri says, sadly shaking her head.
“How about in the hallway? The light was better there.”
“I didn’t. . . really see them in the hallway.”
Terri was fidgeting. I don’t think she practiced for this line of questioning. I push her further by asking, “Did she have short hair or long?”
“I think it was medium—you know not long or short,” Terri answers. She’s obviously getting flustered.
“So shoulder-length like yours,” London says.
“Yes, that’s right,” Terri says. “I’m afraid that’s about all I can give you. I know it’s not much help, but I just thought you should know.” She stands.
“All right, well, thanks for coming in,” London says. “This gives us plenty to work with.”
Terri walks to the door then turns back to me. “Jamie, could you do me a favor?”
“Depends on what it is.”
“I just wondered if you could ask Veronica to put me on her visiting list. I saw in the paper where her law firm and lawyer friends are staying clear of her. She hasn’t had many people come to the jail. I thought she might like the company. It would lift her heart to know somebody cared.”
“I’m sure she’d like that. I’m seeing her this afternoon. Why don’t you leave me your number and I’ll call you later.”
“That’d be great,” Terri says. She beams with pleasure.
After Terri leaves, London leans back in her chair with her hands behind her head. “What’d you think about that load of bullcrap?”
“Yeah, she was a little sketchy on the details. She described about half the people at the reunion.”
“She also described herself.”
“You think she did it?”
London shrugs. “I don’t know. If she did, it was pretty stupid to come in here and tell us she saw herself. I think she came in here because she wants to see Veronica. She wanted you here for the interview. She knows that you know Veronica and could get her on the the visitor’s list. ‘Lift her heart.’ What was that all about? She have a crush on Veronica?”
“Terri crushed on all the popular girls, especially the gay ones.”
“She’s gay?”
“She never came out or anything. I just kind of assumed. You know, the Dockers, the shoes.”
“Probably gay but closeted. What do we know about her?”
“Travis looked her up. She works for a software company in the R&D department.”
“So she’s computer savvy.”
“And on her Facebook page, she only has seventeen friends. Mostly family, and the rest seemed to be people who are collecting friends and don’t really know her, and a couple of computer geek guys.”
“So she’s smart and lonely and she has a crush on Veronica,” London says. She gets up and waters her plant with the remains of her coffee.
“I don’t think coffee is good for a plant.”
“I’m trying to kill it before it dies on its own. It hurts my feelings when I can’t even keep a plant alive. I’m such a loser,” London says.
“You really think that because of a plant?”
“Naw. I just want to see how many plants those stupid idiots will buy me.”
“Cuz you’re not a loser. Not in my book anyway.”
“Oh, do tell me more, Miss Bravo, about this little book of yours,” London says, edging closer to me.
I can feel my thighs turn all wibbly-wobbly. God, this woman turns me on.
Then, as soon as she gets in striking distance, her phone rings. “Damn it,” she says, looking down at the screen. She answers it, saying, “Hold on. I’m putting you on speaker.”
“Who is it?” I mouth soundlessly.
“It’s the crime scene guy,” London whispers. She speaks toward the phone, “Go ahead, Gil. What’d you find?”
“We found a print on the back cord of Veronica Smythe’s modem that doesn’t click with any of the others.”
London slaps her desk top. “Yes! Score one for the good guys.”
“I’m running the print now,” Gil says.
“Awesome. Let me know what you find.”
“I’ll get back as soon as I can,” he says.
London hangs up. She smiles naughtily and says, “Now where we?”
Thirty-Three
“Listen, about Veronica’s doorman, Bruce. We should talk to him.”
“Okay, if that’s how you want to play it,” London says. She looks a little hurt that I didn’t take the chance to jump her bones. It’s not because I don’t want to. I want to, all right. But my heart keeps thinking about Gloria. The ongoing feud between my heart and my body is giving me a bad case of inertia.
London continues, “Let’s go have a talk with this Bruce fellow. He should know if there were any visitors to Veronica’s apartment.”
“Condo.”
“That’s what I meant.” She rose and grabbed her keys. “Maybe we’ve been looking at this all wrong.”
I followed her out the door. “What do you mean, all wrong?”
As we walked by the desk clerk, I noticed he was flipping the pages of Men’s Health magazine.
“No wonder he looks the way he does,” I remark once we’re out of his earshot.
“Yeah, and he hates donuts. The guys around the office think there’s something wrong with him because he doesn’t eat donuts. He’ll probably live long enough to collect his pension.”
“You will, too,” I say giving her an eyebrow waggle.
“Aren’t you full of compliments,” London says.
She sounds like she’s sore at me. “Listen,” I say. “It’s not that I don’t find you attractive, I really, really do. It’s just that. . .”
“I know, I know,” she says, waving away my apology. “You got a thing for the schoolteacher.”
“Yeah, guess so,” I admit.
She opens the door to the Crown Vic and slides behind the wheel. “For your information, I wasn’t wanting to put a ring on it.”
I get in the passenger seat. I look over at her. “Then what were you wanting to do with it?”
She responds by leaning in and pressing her lips to mine. My body responds. Next thing I know my hands are wrapped around her neck, pulling her even closer, and all I can think about is her skin next to mine and. . .
She breaks the kiss. “It doesn’t take a detective to figure out you liked that as much as I did.”
“Yeah,” I admit. “You got a way with your lips.”
*
She doesn’t kiss me again. I think she only did it that one time just to show me what I was missing. As she steers the car toward The 509, my body still thrums and hums from those lips of hers.
“What if the killer got Veronica’s key somehow? Long before the murder took place and they just bided their time until the right moment?” she asks.
“And that fingerprint belongs to them. But why would it be on the modem? Did the fingerprint belong to a cable guy?”
“Exactly what I was thinking.”
London parks the Crown Vic on the street in front of The 509. She’s right in a red zone, but when you’re a cop, you can do that. When we walk through the double glass doors, Bruce is at his usual post behind the desk. He looks just as snooty as ever.
“I told the police everything I know. We want to put this whole messy incident behind us. The 509 has a reputation to uphold and the tragic event that occurred in Ms. Smythe’s condominium has done enough damage to what was a sterling record of decorum,” he says in one long breath.
“We can talk here or down at the station. Your choice,” London says.
“What is she doing here?” He points at me. “She’s not even a real police officer.”
“For your information,” I say in my own version of a snooty tone, “Ms. Smythe hired me to find the perpetrator of t
his tragic incident. She won’t be happy about your withholding information that could clear her name. And, I’m sure her dissatisfaction will be reflected in your Christmas bonus.”
This threat seems to get his attention. Evidently the wrath of Veronica has long arms.
“I have a log book of the comings and goings of all visitors,” he says. “If you’ll follow me to my office.”
“You have an office?”
He sniffs and ignores my question.
“Does your log book have all tradespeople who have been in the building?” London asks.
“Of course. I even record the mailman,” Bruce says.
His office isn’t the biggest place, but it isn’t a dump by any means. If I’m being honest, it’s much nicer than my own office. And it doesn’t smell like Chinese food.
His desk is cherry, the chairs leather, and the lamps are brass. But what really catches my eye are the framed photos artfully arranged on his desk. They are of none other than Justin Bieber.
“Big fan?” London asks.
“He’s a musical genius,” Bruce says. “He’s severely underrated.”
“I see,” London says.
Bruce sits at his desk and opens a big spiral binder. He doesn’t invite us to sit. We do anyway.
“How far do you want to go back?” he asks.
“Start by going back a month,” London says. “And we’re only interested in anyone who had access to Veronica’s apartment.”
“Condo,” he says, flipping pages.
“Whatever,” London replies.
My knee bounces up and down in anticipation. We need a break in this case. The clock is ticking for Veronica. The judge bumped her trial up to next week so we need a suspect ASAP.
“And I don’t need a rundown on the mailman unless he delivered a package to the door,” London says.
“We do not allow that. I am in charge of all deliveries.”
That’s great,” London says.
“Ah, here’s something. There was a cableman last week. Apparently, Ms. Smythe had her modem replaced. It states here that the cable company had offered her a new modem that was faster. She took up the offer.”
Till Beth Do Us Part (A Jamie Bravo Mystery Book 2) Page 20