Dirty (20 page)

“Cleaning house.”

I hadn’t realized I’d murmured the words aloud until Max said, “I know I need to straighten up but...”
 
He shrugged.
 
“Who cares?
 
I kind of like it this way.”

I shook my head.
 
“No.
 
I didn’t mean you needed to clean house.”
 
Though he did.
 
Pizza boxes and Chinese take-out containers were still scattered about, giving off the odor of long-expired eatable substances.
 
“I meant...”
 
I shook my head again.
 
“Nothing.”
 
I patted his arm.
 
“Thanks, Max.
 
This really helps a lot.”

He grinned shyly.
 
“Any time, Mrs. C.
 
I...”
 
He ducked his head bashfully.

I smiled and gave him another appreciative pat, this time on the back.
 
“Let me know if there’s ever anything I can do for you.”
 
I stared back down at the pages, tried to gather my wits.
 
This...had shaken me.
 
I didn’t like to admit that often, but this time it was undeniable.

Max sent his chair banging into the file cabinet as he hurried to get to his feet when I stood.
 
“Come by and see me again sometime,” he rushed to say.
 
He glanced around the dimly lit room.
 
“Gets pretty lonely down here.”

I couldn’t help myself.
 
I had to hug him.
 
“I’ll do that, Max.”
 
I drew back and smiled.
 
“You know you’re always welcome for dinner at my house.”

“ ’kay.”
 
He ducked his head again, shuffled his feet.
 
“I always did think you were the hottest...mom.”

I left the dungeon certain of one thing...somehow I was a beacon for trouble with men.
 
Even the ones whose skinned knees I’d once bandaged.

My cell phone punctuated the epiphany with a blast of musical notes as I climbed into my Jeep.

I fumbled around in my bag until I found it.
 
“Mercer.”
 
A single twist of the key in the ignition had the engine humming.
 
Hot air from the air conditioning vents blasted my face.

“This is Nance.”

Uh-oh.
 
This sounded like more trouble.
 
Just what I needed.
 
I slumped back against the seat.
 
“Yeah, Nance, what can I do for you?”
 
I kept the first suggestions that popped to mind to myself.
 
Shove chop sticks up your nose?
 
Kick your ass?
 
The pictures he’d posted on that unofficial webpage flickered across my mind, making my teeth clench.

“I need you to come down to the station.
 
We have a little problem, Ms. Mercer.”

Ms. Mercer?
 
Now I knew I was in trouble.

“What kind of problem?”
 
I didn’t like having my chain yanked.
 
Definitely not by a shit like Nance.
 
If he had business with me he should just spill it.

“You know that rock that crashed through your window?”

Duh!
 
What was wrong with this guy?
 
I bit back what I really wanted to say...
what is yes, Alex?

“Well, it was used to bash in the skull of an illegal border crosser.”

What the hell?
 
Before I could find my voice and demand more specific details he added, “But don’t worry, your rock didn’t kill him.
 
The pound of cocaine shoved down his throat did that.
 
Now get your ass over here, Mercer.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

This wasn’t the first time I’d been left to stew in an interview room.
 
I doubted it would be the last.
 
But it did kind of tick me off that I was being treated like a suspect.
 
Excuse me, not a suspect...a person of interest in an ongoing case.
 
That was the PC term.

So what if the rock came from my yard?
 
I didn’t spend a lot of time counting rocks to make sure no one had taken one.
 
Unlike Nance, I had better things to do.
 
But then, since he had a great deal in common with the mineral matter in question, considering one rattled around in his skull, maybe I should cut him some slack.

Not in this lifetime.

I did the usual while I waited.
 
Tore off chunks of my Styrofoam coffee cup and made a not so neat little pile for the detectives to clean up later.
 
Counted the evidence of water leaks on the ceiling and the chipped spots on the walls, which were in desperate need of a paint job.

Paced the room, ensuring that I swung my hips in my best streetwalker stride.
 
Shucked my jacket, mainly to give the guys in the viewing room something more interesting to talk about in light of the fact that the strappy little camisole showed off a considerable amount of my more marketable assets.

When I’d lost interest in all of the above I dropped back into the chair and played puzzle with the remains of my cup.
 
Reflected on the fact that I needed a manicure in addition to a touch-up on my roots.
 
That lasted about two minutes before I pushed back my chair yet again, making sure the metal legs scrapped the already scuffed tile floor with a screech loud enough to make the most macho of the bunch wince, and stood.

For fifteen additional minutes I sashayed back and forth, thought about calling Hobbs and having him send for Bob Fraley.
 
That would really piss off the whole division.
 
Bob might not be a practicing attorney but he would definitely have the whole frigging lot of them on their toes in two seconds flat.

But then Bob might not feel obliged to help out given that he’d warned me to steer clear of Disposable and I neglected to listen.
 
Oh well, how boring would life be if I always did what I was told?

The door opened and I turned to face what would no doubt be a barrage of useless questions seeing as I didn’t know anything about any dead guys.
 
At least not that I was aware of.
 
Warren Rayburn made an appearance in my thoughts but, in reality, I didn’t know squat about him...except that he’d rocked my world ten years ago in a shabby motel that had since been torn down and replaced with a Sand Dollar Tanning Salon and a Dominos Pizza.

Chief Cates, looking distinguished as always, with Detective Nance right on his heels, entered the room.

“Mercer.”
 
Cates acknowledged me with a nod before taking a seat at the small metal table.

“Chief,” I returned as I pulled my own chair back out and settled into it.

Nance leaned against the wall behind the Chief.
 
“Mercer,” he offered in that holier-than-thou tone that made me want to slap that smirk clean off his horsey face.
 
(My apologies to horses in general, but you know what I mean—the whole Jay Leno elongated face that lacks any chin to speak of.
 
Good thing Jay had personality going for him.)

“It seems someone is attempting to send you a message.”
 
This from the Chief.

Okay, I saw that now and I also knew the drill as well as anyone present, but did he really have to state the glaringly obvious?
 
The Chief generally showed more class than that.

“That would be my guess.”
 
I folded my arms over my chest, mainly because Nance hadn’t taken his eyes off my breasts since he’d said my name.
 
That reminded me.
 
I still had to find a way to get back at him for that unofficial web page.
 
It entered my mind to up and tell the boss then and there but I really didn’t care to see a grown man cry.
 
Besides, I had a dirtier kind of revenge in mind.

“Are you working on a case right now that may have set off an act of violence or revenge such as this?” Cates asked.

I pretended to consider his question for about twelve seconds, any longer than that would have been too long to be credible, then I shook my head.
 
“Nope.”

“Bullshit!”
 
Nance pushed off the wall and stalked over to stand next to the Chief.
 
I wondered if he thought his glare would be any more effective at a closer range.
 
It wasn’t.
 
“You’ve been nosing around in one of our old cases.”
 
He leaned down and said something in the Chief’s ear.
 
Judging by the change in the top brass’s expression, Nance had just shared with him that I’d recently viewed the Disposable case file.

The protracted pause that followed almost made me nervous.
 
But then I glanced at Nance and I just couldn’t maintain the tension.
 
The guy was a self-absorbed prick who’d missed out on his ticket to fifteen minutes of fame by not pursuing reality TV.
 
Part of one episode was all it would have taken to get him voted off the island.

The Chief spoke at length about sharing information and how particularly important it was this day and time.
 
Cooperation was the buzzword of the twenty-first century, he explained.
 
Not competition.
 
(I won’t bore you with the details.
 
Hell, I didn’t even bore myself.
 
I zoned out after the second sentence that included the word
teamwork
.)
 
Throughout the monologue I remained vaguely aware of Nance pacing back and forth like a caged rat.
 
He wasn’t smart enough or brave enough to be likened to a lion.

“I trust you’ll keep us informed if anything develops that would in any way impact my department or this homicide investigation.”

I snapped back to attention, manufactured a smile sweet enough to pour over pancakes.
 
“Of course.
 
You know you can count on me, Chief.”

Satisfied, he stood.
 
I did the same.

“We appreciate your time, Mercer.”

And with that polite, concluding statement the Chief exited the interview room, leaving Nance looking as if he didn’t know what to do or say next.
 
I could feel the disappointment and confusion emanating from him.
 
I felt certain he’d hoped for an opportunity to conduct a full-body search or worse, lock me up in the pokey for a night.

Determined not to waste another minute, I shouldered back into my jacket and headed for the door.
 
Nance could find some other way to entertain himself.
 
Odds were he’d had to do it before.

“Look, Mercer,” he said abruptly, stalling me at the door.

Damn and I’d almost gotten away without having to interact with him again.
 
“Yeah?”
 
I turned my head to look at him.
 
He wasn’t worth the effort required to shift the rest of my body.

He stroked his chin and nodded as if whatever he intended to say made total sense to him or like some epiphany had just dawned.
 
“I was just thinking we could look into this Disposable case together.
 
You know, revisit the old and see how it might tie into this latest murder.”
 
He shrugged.
 
“Like partners.”

I scrunched my face into a pensive expression then shook my head. “Thanks, but I already have a partner.” For the first time since I’d hired him I was glad to have Dawson on my home team.

I started to go...just leave it at that, but my more evil side just wouldn’t let me do it.
 
What can I say?
 
I’m from Texas.
 
We never forget anything (remember the Alamo?) and we take revenge to a higher level.
 
“Listen, Nance, do me a favor,” I said, drawing the full measure, at least as full as it got, of his over-confident, anal-retentive attention.
 
“Next time you have a thought...just let it go.”

Since my momma didn’t raise no fool, I made myself scarce before he understood he’d been insulted.
 
I could still hear Nance swearing at and about me to his real partner, O’Linger, when I stepped into the waiting elevator car.

Too bad the guy didn’t have a sense of humor.
 
He was definitely going to need one by the time I finished with him.

“Nance is seriously afflicted.”

That was my assistant’s only comment regarding my latest interaction with our least favorite member of Houston’s finest.