CHAPTER 39

Present

“MR. MALCOVE, PLEASE tell us about Jeremy’s girlfriend.”

“Deanna? Not much to tell.”

“Because?”

“Because we never met her. It’s pretty strange. You see, the five of us all hang out together, all the time. And the girls are always part of that. Some of my girl’s best friends are the other guys’ girls. That’s just how it is, when you’ve been friends as long as we have. But this chick… she was different from the beginning. Jeremy never said much about her, and has avoided bringing her by, for anything.”

“Did you ask him about it?”

“Did we ask him about it? Man… yes. Hell yes. All the time. It’s our main thing to pick at him about. Thought he had a quadriplegic or bug-eyed girl, or some other crazy shit he was keeping from us. But then he showed us her pictures and, well… we shut up after that. He wants to keep that smokin’ hottie to himself, then whatever. I mean, he’s probably worried she’ll get tempted. I was prom king, you know that? Senior year, Altoma High School. 2003. I can send you a copy of the yearbook page if you want it.”

“We don’t want it.”

“Well, I can. If you change your mind. Just let me know. Anyway, Jeremy’s our pretty boy and all, but sometimes the girls like a man that’s a little rougher. Like me. Maybe that’s why he hasn’t ever brought her around. Or maybe… maybe she ain’t real after all. I mean, shit, have you seen her pictures? Girl could be one of those Victoria’s Secret models, seriously.”

“Did they fight a lot?”

“Fight? Man, I don’t know. Like I said, he’s all tight-lipped about that girl. But I know he’s whipped. Seriously whipped. When she calls, he jumps. And he doesn’t give two shits what we think about it. That’s… I’ve known that kid twelve years and this is the only time he’s ever been like this over a girl.”

“Thank you for your time. We’ll call you with any further questions.”

“What’s this about, anyway? J in some kind trouble with the girl?”

“Would that surprise you?”

“J’s clean. Always has been. He wouldn’t get involved with anything shady.”

“What if she asked him to?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so. He’s whipped, but he isn’t stupid.”

“Again, thank you for your time.”

“Wait—you never said what was up.”

“We’re not at liberty to discuss this with you, Mr. Malcove.”

“Well that’s some bullshit. I had to leave work for this.”

“I’m sorry for the inconvenience. I’m sure you’ll find out more soon. If you are, after all, good friends.”

“Who do I talk to about validating my parking?”

CHAPTER 40

Present

WE SHOULD MOVE for a warrant.” Brenda pushes an energy bar into her mouth and balls up the foil, stuffing it into a pocket of the car door.

“Too early. We won’t get it.”

“Mort will. If we get him late in the afternoon. Nap time. Brosky said she approached him then, and he all but gave her his firstborn grandchild just to get rid of her.” The words tumble out through granola, a speck of matter flying out and landing on the center console.

“For God’s sake, Brenda.” He glares at the piece of food. She lets it sit there. “You really think this girl’s got it in her?”

“I can’t believe you don’t. You’re letting her pretty face turn you stupid.”

“And you’ve been wanting a female killer since you lost the Howard case. You gonna clean that off?” He shifts in his seat, his feet stretching out, hand reaching for the glove compartment for a wet wipe. This is why she drives. No one can maintain his level of cleanliness and stay sane. Or married. The man has two ex-wives to prove it.

She swallows the last bit of granola down with a swig of bottled water. “I still say that bitch did it. You men don’t understand the depths of our psyche. Hell, I come close to killing you about three times a day.” She smiles at him and rescrews the lid to her water, flicking at the piece of food and watching it bound toward the floorboard. Beside her, David lets out an irritated sigh, a wet wipe finally in hand. Pansy.

“You talk to Chelsea Evans yet?” He glances over as he asks the question.

“Yeah, questioned her yesterday. It’s in the file. Why?”

“Had a voice mail from her this morning, wanting an update.” He balls up the dirty wipe.

She shrugs. “She’s a rookie. Doesn’t know the ropes yet. I’d bet you it was her first time ever being questioned. She probably just wants to make sure we got everything.”

“Well, you call her back. Last thing I need is a newbie crushing on me.”

She laughs in response. “That newbie might be the key that cracks Deanna Madden wide open.”

“We got bigger shit to deal with than this chick. You know that, right?”

“Talk to me about that at Jeremy Pacer’s funeral, when we still don’t have an arrest.”

He looks out the window, across the street and to the apartment building, a prostitute on the front steps raising a middle finger in greeting. “Hopefully it won’t come to that.”

“That’s your job, optimist. I’ll stick to reality. And the reality is, this girl’s guilty.” Putting the car into drive, she glances over. “You done sitting here? I’m starving.”

CHAPTER 41

Present

RUN THIS BY me one more time. What you have on the girl.” Judge Thomas Mort sits back, the chair creaking, his eyes falling on the desk clock. The clock is dead. Its arms haven’t moved in years, the dust layer dulling the brass top. The pen, stuck in its side, also dead. He should throw it out. No one would notice; his grandchildren never visit anyway. He closes his eyes, linking his fingers on his chest and dropping his head back. He’d seen the pose in a movie once, Robert Duvall assuming the position, and it had looked intelligent, like a deep meditative thought on whatever fate was being decided. The pose has the added benefit of hiding whenever said decision making led to a short nap, a frequent reprieve when one deals, as he does, with so many heavy topics each day. Why did these clowns insist on coming in the afternoon, right after his lunch? This is the third pop-in this week.

Somewhere from the right, the female detective speaks. “She’s the girlfriend, for one.”

“Which means nothing,” he barks, his eyes still closed. “That’s why you investigate her, not a motive for any crime.” Hell, if love and sex are suspicious, he’d be arrested a hundred times over.

“Well she’s a girlfriend he seemed to hide from everyone. Maybe she got sick of it. Didn’t want to be put in the corner any more.”

Those lines of stupidity come from the left, from the man, and it’s a dumb enough statement to crack an eye open for. He arches a brow in response before letting his head fall back to the headrest. “Tell me you didn’t come here and waste my time over circumstantial theories my eight-year-old grandson could poke holes in. You guys know the drill. Stop massaging my balls and get on with it.”

“Deanna Madden has a familial history of psychosis. Her mother murdered her father, along with her two younger siblings.”

“She ever, herself, demonstrate any violence?”

“Hints of it, sir. Chelsea Evans, a new hire in the department, lives a few doors down from her. Madden attacked her once, in jealousy over Jeremy Pacer.”