Drawing Conclusions by Deirdre Verne

question caught me off-guard.
    â€œI didn’t. Not once.”
    DeRosa made to continue, but I interrupted him.
    â€œThat’s a problem. I usually spoke to Teddy all the time.” The revelation disturbed me. I struggled now to recapture the exact time line of events. “I called Teddy on Tuesday, but his secretary said he was busy. Same thing the next day. If I’m remembering correctly, we hadn’t spoken since the prior week.”
    â€œDid you have a regular pattern?”
    â€œTeddy checked in almost every day. He usually called me in the morning. Nothing big, just a quick hello. Sometimes Charlie would get on the phone too to confirm their racquetball game. The labs have an indoor court and they played regularly.” I grabbed DeRosa’s phone and dialed the house phone. Charlie picked up on the first ring.
    â€œDetective DeRosa, how may I be of help?” Charlie mocked.
    â€œIt’s me, you halfwit. I have an important question: Did you play racquetball with Teddy the week he died?”
    â€œUh, no. He cancelled on me,” Charlie replied. “I won the week before, though. I bet he’s rolling over in his grave knowing I got the last point.”
    I pressed the button to end the call and felt my hand go limp. DeRosa caught his phone as it slipped to the ground.
    â€œOh my God,” I cried. “Teddy must have known something.”
    I turned to DeRosa. My body begged to cry, but my tear ducts were dehydrated. It was almost as if my internal clock for mourning had timed out, forcing me to deal with the case. I buried my head in DeRosa’s chest, my hand resting firmly on his shoulder. I felt his heart pick up speed and his chest tighten. A new fact had surfaced now, and we both knew it. Teddy was not caught unaware in his office the night of his death. He was involved in something that led to his death, and he was not oblivious to the threat, hence the canceled appointments and cut-off communication with friends and family.
    DeRosa pried my hands from his body. “We’re not working fast enough,” he warned. “Forget offense, we’re not even playing solid defense.”
    â€œYou’re supposed to be the expert.”
    He punched away at his phone. “I’m going to try and book a flight. I’d be more comfortable if you were with me.”
    â€œWhere to?” I asked knowing full well the Caribbean was a long shot.
    â€œNational Airport. Washington, D.C.” DeRosa spoke into the phone, dictating flight instructions to a desk officer on the other end. “Just see what you can do,” he said as he clicked off his phone and marched down the dirt path.
    â€œI’ll call you with the details,” he yelled over his shoulder.

sixteen
    DeRosa slammed his plastic tray on the wobbly cafeteria table overlooking the runway at LaGuardia Airport.
    â€œExcuse me,” I said, as I inched along the wall past a family with five kids, all of whom required a heavy dose of Ritalin and a solid spanking. Four of the five kids sported the family’s upturned nose with a sprinkling of freckles across the bridge. I eyed the youngest boy with suspicion and gave the parents the once-over. The boy’s dark hair and hooked nose seemed glaringly out of place. I let my imagination wander, coming to the quick conclusion that the mother must have had an affair and in her fried state had lost interest in all things disciplinarian. With my luck in the gutter, I fully expected to see at least two of the kids seated in my row at takeoff.
    Cafeteria patrons aside, the flickering fluorescent lights and mauve décor ensured that the Gateway Café would never make the pages of a Zagat’s food guide.
    â€œHow did you get through the line so fast?” DeRosa squeezed into a chair and eyed my plate full of food. “It’s like the entire borough of Queens chose tonight to eat out at the airport. It’s not even a Friday