Beware Beware (18 page)

“I know Daphne. She may not want to be with me, but she wouldn't do anything to hurt me.”

“Honestly, it wouldn't hurt you to part ways with me, get someone with a serious resume. I have yet to clear anyone of murder, you know.”

“But I trust you. I need a friend for this.” He spoke slowly, emphatically, with a beseeching gaze that dug into me in a way that was almost painful. “Promise you'll do what you can.”

“Okay,” I said, and with that I loosened my feeble grasp on any dim longing for extraction. If Jamie wanted me to play the hero, I was still willing to take that on. “I'll talk to Daphne. In the meantime, though, I have to kick you out. My roommate doesn't even know you're here.”

“Right,” he said. “Thanks for letting me crash.”

He grabbed my hand and squeezed it with a shy smile that brought warmth to my cheeks. I stood up and pulled back to help him off the couch.

*   *   *

We walked out together, and I waved to Jamie as he hopped into his car. Then I saw it, halfway up the block—the white Audi, engine off, sleeping on the curb.

I ran up the middle of the street, trying to get there before the car came to life. It showed no sign of starting, and I slowed about fifteen feet away. The driver was inside, but I couldn't see his face. It was hidden under the bill of a large cap. I glanced at the license plate—it was the same car.

I walked up to the window and saw why it wasn't moving—the driver was asleep, the cap on his face a shade from the morning light.

I knocked on the glass and he woke up with an exaggerated shake of the shoulders. He grabbed at his hat and pushed it back over his head, then turned to see me a half-second later. The window opened three inches with a rubbery moan.

I hadn't seen him up close before, and he was less threatening than I'd imagined. His wide-brimmed cap was flashy and brand-new, with a holographic sticker still attached, and a black bristly strap of beard stretched from ear to ear. His chest was visibly soft beneath the cotton of his T-shirt, and he wore baggy denim shorts adorned by a wallet chain. He looked stoned, his eyes the dull brown of dead leaves ready to crumble. “Yeah?”

I motioned for him to get out of the car with my head. “Let me buy you coffee. I think we have common interests.”

“Yeah?” He looked at my breasts and I pretended not to notice. “Like what?”

“I think we're both fans of the late Joe Tilley.”

He shrugged, a large motion that was supposed to carry swagger. “Never saw him in anything.”

“You know his friend, though. Jamie Landon? He's a friend of mine, too. I couldn't help but notice you were following him right until Tilley got killed. He's been hanging out here, too. You just missed him.”

His eyebrows formed a grave line. “Hey, whoa. I don't know what you're blabbing about, but it sounds like a thing you might want to keep quiet.”

“I want to talk to you,” I said. “Just coffee, okay? Nothing to lose.”

He looked at his watch, a flashy thing with a gold chain bracelet and a big round face. “Whatever. You want to get in the car?”

“I'll drive,” I said, with a bit too much haste. “I'm parked right up the block.”

I almost jumped when he got out of the car. His obedience took me by surprise.

“What's your name?” he asked.

“You can call me Song.”

“Song. That's a nice name. Really, ah, musical, I guess.”

I smiled. He was kind of a dope.

“I'm Donnie. Short for Donaldo, not like Donald Duck.”

We drove to a Starbucks a half-mile away, and I bought him a vanilla Frappuccino. The coffee shop was crowded, so I suggested we leave. He shrugged and followed behind, and we sat on the short plaster wall enclosing the parking lot. I lit a cigarette, and he took one, too.

“Sorry to ambush you like that,” I said. “I just had a few questions.”

“Are you a cop? 'Cause if you're a cop you know you got to tell me that, right?”

He spoke like someone who learned criminal law from television. I knew this because I understood him, recognized the facile line from some forgotten show.

“I'm not a cop.” I smiled. “But now I know you're a criminal.”

He sniffed. “I didn't say that.”

“Hey,” I said. “I'm not here to judge how you feed your family.”

“Family? Please. How old do you think I am, girl?”

I hadn't meant to be literal—Donnie looked young. “I don't know. Twenty-one?”

He laughed. “No way, man. I'm almost twenty-four. How old are you?”

“Twenty-seven.”

“No way. I would've guessed twenty-two,” he said, leering.

The tone of the interview was not what I'd expected, but it wouldn't hurt if he wanted to hit on me.

“So,” I said, softening my voice. “Are you a drug dealer, too?”

His smile stiffened on his face, constricting just a fraction of an inch.

“I mean, what's that like?” I powered on. “Fast cars, fast women, all that? Is it like on TV?”

The stiffness fell and he laughed. “I'm not a drug dealer. I'm much cooler than that.”

I powered up my smile. “So why were you following Jamie around?”

He raised one eyebrow. “Slow down, girl. What are you supposed to be anyway?”

I thought for a second and decided it wouldn't hurt to be honest when Donnie seemed to like me. “I'm a friend,” I said. “And kind of a private investigator.”

“Like Sherlock?”

“Sure.”

“Were you stalking me?”

“No,” I said. “I was stalking Jamie.”

“Some friend, huh?” He laughed again.

“Anyway, so I know you were tailing him for some reason or other, and I need to know why. Were you planning to hurt him?”

“Nah,” he said. “I don't even know the guy.”

“Did you know Joe Tilley?”

“Nope.”

I leaned forward and said, like I might be joking, “Did you kill him?”

He snapped his head back into his neck, giving himself three slim chins. “You think I'm that gangster? Like I could just cruise into a hotel and kill a movie star?”

I shrugged. “Well you were up to something. I know that much.”

“Yeah?”

“I know that you work for Jamie's suppliers. I know you were following him around when he was passing those drugs onto Tilley. That's enough to get suspicious, wouldn't you say?”

He shook his head, his eyes going bright. “No, you are way off,” he said. “Shit, you're not going around saying this to cops and stuff, are you?”

“No,” I said. “I'm just an interested party.”

“I never even met Joe Tilley. Hand to God, man.”

“Then why the interest in Jamie?”

His mouth closed and he moved his lips around like he was chewing something. I waited for him to open it again, then remembered the scant names Jamie had given me.

“Do you work for Tin Tin?” I asked.

His eyelids gave a flutter of recognition, and he smiled when he saw me notice. “Nah,” he said. “I don't work for no Tin Tin.”

I put out my cigarette in my empty coffee cup and gazed at him with an air of admiration. “Wait,” I said. “You're not the Young King, are you?”

He burst out laughing, and I pretended to be embarrassed. “Stop that,” I said pleadingly, tugging at the sleeve of his T-shirt.

“How is it that you know that name, and know exactly jack shit about him?”

“He's a man of mystery,” I said, assuming that was true.

“Yeah,” he said. “I guess he is, isn't he?”

He started whistling. He was a good whistler, able to carry a tune without lapses of breathy labor. It took me a minute to recognize the song:
Old King Cole was a merry old soul, and a merry old soul was he. He called for his pipe, and he called for his bowl …

“So Young King had you following Jamie, huh?”

He kept whistling, his eyebrows wiggling up and down.

“Jamie said Young King was the one who got him on board in the first place. Why did he need you trailing him? Did he think Jamie was stealing or something?”

He stopped whistling. “Look,” he said. “I was just keeping an eye on him for a minute. Nothing illegal. I'm innocent as a baby.”

That didn't sound particularly innocent, but I let it go.

“Didn't you think it might be smart to back off after the murder?”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“Clearly you're still chasing Jamie. If you hadn't been dozing off, I never would've caught up to you.”

He gave me a look of confusion, and then he smiled. “He's steppin' out on his girl, huh?”

I wasn't sure whether to offer that nothing had happened, or that he no longer had a girl. Both options sounded too defensive, and since it was none of Donnie's business, I shrugged and changed the subject.

“Do you have any idea who might have killed Tilley?”

“Maybe,” he said. “I might have some, uh, valuable information.” He said “valuable” like it was the biggest word in the world.

“Care to share it?”

“Let me buy you dinner,” he said. “Got to get you back for this anyway.” He shook his cup, the emptied plastic lined with froth.

I crossed my arms. “Tonight?”

“Slow down, girl,” he said, his tone mocking. “Let's shoot for tomorrow, huh?”

“Sure,” I said. “What time? Where?”

He laughed. “Let me think on it. I'll text you, okay?”

We exchanged numbers and I drove him back to his parking spot, outside my house. It occurred to me that he knew where I lived—that everyone seemed to know where I lived.

*   *   *

When I got to the office, Chaz was already there, chomping on a sesame bagel. A fat seed stuck to his lip, and his voice was thick with cream cheese. “Late morning, huh?” he said. “Your client called.”

“What? Here? She has my cell.”

He shrugged. “It was more of an office business call, maybe.”

“You talked to her?”

“Yeah.”

“What did she want?”

“She said to let you know that she was still retaining you on her boyfriend's behalf. Is that news to you?”

I sat down. “Sort of. She dumped him last night. I was going to call her when I got in.”

“Ah,” he said. “Well, how was the rest of your night?”

I blinked hard. “Jesus, that was last night I went over to your house? It feels like it's been days.”

“Yeah I missed you, too. I gather you stopped by here.”

“How do you figure?”

“See, this is why I'm the detective and you're the intern.”

“I'm not an intern. You pay me.”

“Do I? I shouldn't.” He smiled. “Anyway, it smells like a chimney in here.”

“Right. Sorry. I was stressed out,” I said. “Actually, it looks like Arturo isn't in. Do you mind?”

He sighed. “Go ahead. Kill yourself at your own pace. What do I care?”

“Thanks.” He popped open a window and I lit a Lucky Strike. I took a deep draw and exhaled.

“So,” he said. “You did talk to her.”

I gave him the whole thing, as close to verbatim as I thought I could manage. He nodded along with his arms crossed.

“Smart girl, that Daphne. Wish I'd thought of that.”

“Who do you have to blackmail?”

“Lots of folks.”

I laughed. “Anyone with money?”

He shook his head with mock sadness. “If I'd known this case would take you to Tinseltown, I wouldn't have given it up.”

“Do you want it back?” I lit another cigarette and spoke through my teeth. “I'm serious, Chaz. You're welcome to take the wheel here.”

“No, the clients know you already. They seem to trust you,” he said. “And besides, it's your case. You think you could just let it go like one of your oafish blind dates?”

I'd never had an oafish blind date, but I could tell he was only half joking. “Oh, come on. It's not like you'd shut me out. I'd see it through with you.”

“Have some pride, Song. Do you even know why I hired you?”

“Diversity?”

“Don't be flip. I'm trying to tell you something.”

“Fair enough,” I said. “You hired me because I had nowhere to go, because that case destroyed me, and you're a nice man.”

“That's most of it, sure, but Art had to sign off. He's not the adopting type.” He waved one hand, dispelling smoke. “Song—that case destroyed you, and you let it happen. You're a sicko, but you got the job done. No stone unturned, no bridge unburned.”

I felt the sting of a tear in one eye and held it off with a brief laugh.

“So that's the last you heard from her, then?” he said after a pause.

I bit my lip. “Technically, yes. But I saw Jamie after.”

“After? When?”

“Daphne broke up with him when she left our meeting, and Jamie came over to drown his sorrows.”

“What time?”

“Oh man, like one in the morning?”

Chaz stared at me with a cocked eyebrow. “You know boys are only interested in one thing, right?”

I rolled my eyes. “So I've heard.”

“Well, what did he want with you at one in the morning?”

“A drinking buddy, mostly.”

“That it?”

I hesitated. On the one hand, I was a grown-ass woman, and I had the right to fool around with anyone I pleased. On the other, there were professional limits, and I put a lot of stock in my boss's trust and opinions. “Have you ever gotten involved with a client?”

He snorted. “Who do I look like, James Bond?”

“So that's a no?”

“Believe it or not, I've had opportunities. But I've been married a long time, and that means something to me.”

“What if you were single?”

“I have to tell you, I don't like where this is going.” He flicked something from under his fingernail. “What time did he leave?”